Page 101 of One Night With You

‘Me too,’ he agrees softly, and then we do what we didn’t do for those ten days we shared Jackson’s bed, and it is tender and gentle and emotional and perfect.

42

Nic

Millie is in labour. Everything I know about dads and hospital waiting rooms is what I’ve seen on TV. If I expected the same whisky-and-cigars anxious cheersing, a sense of reluctant camaraderie amongst men, I’m disappointed. Everything is clean and efficient. On arrival I’m directed to Millie’s suite where she’s make-up-free and in a hospital gown, flicking through a magazine.

‘Hey,’ I say, lingering in the doorway. I don’t know how much space she’ll need or want and I wait to be invited and instructed.

‘Nic,’ she says, brightly. ‘Hello.’ I feel a presence behind me.

‘Sandeep,’ I say, nodding.

‘Nic,’ he says.

‘Gang’s all here,’ Millie declares, before patting her belly and adding: ‘Well, almost the whole gang. Things are moving slowly, I’m afraid.’

Sandeep fusses around her, moving her pillow and cooing loving, encouraging words about how lucky the baby is to have her, how proud he is of her, how he’ll be just outside the theatre waiting for her. I feel like an intruder on their private and personal moments, and have to remind myself that this is my moment, too. I’m a part of the process as well. I’ve got just as much right to be here as he has.

‘And you,’ says Sandeep, as if he’s telepathically tuned in to the bad thoughts I’m having. ‘You’re wonderful too, Nic. I know this isn’t easy. I really appreciate you giving us the space to let our love grow at the same time as this baby. It’s not how I imagined becoming a parent, but I want you to know how committed I am – how committed we both are – to making this as loving a family as possible.’

‘Three parents,’ Millie says, patting her bump. ‘How much love is that?’

‘More than she’ll ever use up,’ I say, smiling, and I really do think that the three of us – the four of us – are going to be okay.

Sandeep and I walk into the birthing suite at the same time, and I feel so emotional and light-headed I swear it’s all I can do not to hold his hand. I want to holdsomebody’shand, right up until the moment Millie puts Lila Grace Sheridan-Greene in my arms, and then I realise I don’t need anybody else in the world. I’m a daddy.

‘She likes you,’ Millie says softly, and she looks exhausted, but happy.

‘You’re a hero,’ Sandeep tells her. ‘The nurse said you didn’t even tear!’

Millie is uncharacteristically sardonic. ‘Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like a motherfucker,’ she retorts, and as if toemphasise the point shifts her weight to make herself more comfortable.

The baby is … I don’t even have the words for it. Hypnotic. I can’t stop staring at her, and she’s not even doing anything. She’s sleeping, and pink, and scabby and weird-looking and perfect. I’m aware of the size of her, and of the size of me. She’s as light as air, and I know, right away, that I would lay down my life to protect her. Whatever she needs in this life, I will provide. She’ll want for nothing.

‘Can I …?’ asks Sandeep, gesturing to her, and you know what? I want her to be loved by as many people as possible. I don’t feel possessive or like nobody should have her but me. I mean, I want the snuggles, and I’m working up my nerve to take my top off for some skin-on-skin contact like the blogs said, but Millie is right – she’s so loved, and that’s all you want for your kid, isn’t it? Love. Love cures everything. Love is preventative. Love is.

The baby wakes up in Sandeep’s arms, and I feel a flush of vindication that she seemed so at peace in mine – and instantly feel regret that I’d even silently point-score. I suppose I am only human. I pull out my phone to snap a photo and send it to my parents, Ollie, and then Ruby.

I thought people who gave birth had to stay in hospital for days. Maybe even a week. But Millie is discharged that afternoon and just like that, our baby is out there in the world.

‘Careful, careful …’ I say as we navigate the hospital together. Sandeep has gone ahead to get his car, and we’re to meet him at the front. Millie is being pushed in a wheelchair by a nurse, and I can tell that despite the brave face she’s tired, now, and wants her own bed and house and shower. She still seems uncomfortable.

‘I’m being careful, Dad,’ the nurse says back to me. ‘You just focus on that wee bundle of joy you’ve got there.’

I can’t believe I am carrying a baby out of here. Yesterday she wasinside Millie’s bodyand now she’s here, outside of it, marvelling at the world and breathing on her own and making these adorable little croaky noises that break my heart and fill it up, all at the same time. Millie doesn’t even have to stay. She’s justgoing home,with a baby.

Shit. She is breathing, isn’t she? I slow down and reach out a finger to check. Okay, yes. Still alive. I’m doing pretty well so far.

We get around the corner and the nurse helps Millie up as Sandeep gets out the driver’s side and fusses with bags in boots and reassuring me that the hospital have already checked it and certified it safe.

‘I’ll … see you tomorrow?’ I say to Millie. She looks exhausted. The thought of being apart from my baby tears me in two, but I know I’m supposed to be respecting boundaries.

‘Listen,’ she says. ‘For tonight – for her first night. Why don’t you come and stay? You can’t miss her first night.’

‘Are you sure?’ I ask, and Sandeep winds his window down too.

‘We insist,’ he says.

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