Page 54 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
I turned right and headed up the hill. “There’s a speed limit in this road, all right? You want me to drive faster, you lend me one of those flashing lights.”
All the way there, I was thinking, Christ, what do you do if someone has a baby? There was something about newspaper, right? You were supposed to wrap ’em in it like an order of cod and chips. Only probably without the salt and vinegar. And towels, or was that just if you didn’t have any newspaper? Or was it the other way around? And boil up loads of hot water. That was what always happened in old films, anyhow. Dunno what they used it for. Maybe having a baby was thirsty work, and the new mum was always desperate for a cup of tea?
“You realise if I end up delivering this sprog, you’re gonna have to name it after me,” I joked weakly to Dave.
“If you end up delivering it, we’ll have more to worry about than what we’re gonna call it. Do you even know which end of a woman is which?”
“Oi, I’m not stupid. The baby comes out the end that hasn’t got makeup on, right?”
“These days? You’d be surprised,” Dave muttered.
“I even had a girlfriend once,” I added without really thinking it through.
“I know. You told me. You were both six, and you only liked her ’cos she let you wear her Barbie slippers.”
I’d told Dave that? Christ, I must have been drinking heavily that night. “I hope you’ve been treating that information as confidential.”
“Worried someone might think you’re gay? Anyway, far as I’m concerned, that does not qualify you to deliver a baby, all right? So get a bloody shift on.”
I let the dodgy logic and the doubt in my abilities slide. He had stuff on his mind.
After all that, when we finally pulled up in front of Dave’s well-kept semi in a much nicer street than mine, scrambled out of the car, and legged it to the front door, it was a bit of an anticlimax. We were met by Mrs. Next-door with her arms folded and bloodstains on her yoga pants, and told it was all over bar the shouting. “They’re upstairs. Jen’s fine and so’s the kid.”
“Blimey, that was quick,” I said, as Dave took off upstairs faster than I’d ever seen him move, in a sort of loping waddle.
Mrs. Next-door shrugged. “Third baby.” Then she grinned. “Don’t think Jen was in a hurry to call Dave, either. He’s been fussing round her like an old woman. Driving her mad, it was. Right. I’m off to get changed.”
I half thought about sneaking off and leaving them all to it—this was a family time, and I wasn’t family—but before I could make up my mind to get going, Dave appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a bundle of stained towels in a way that strongly suggested he wasn’t just taking them to the laundry basket.
He came down the stairs a lot slower than he’d gone up.
“It’s a boy.” Dave’s eyes were shining. “Look at ’im. You ever seen a kid so bleedin’ perfect?”
He held out the wrinkled, still-bloodstained bundle for my admiration. Southgate junior took one look at my ugly mug and started to howl the place down.
“Great pair of lungs on him,” I said, ’cos you have to in situations like this.
Dave cuddled him close, looking like the Michelin man holding a doll. “He’s a fucking champ, this kid. Come on, let’s get you back to your lovely mum. Cheers, Tom. I’ll catch you in a day or two.” The baby stopped crying, either recognising his dad already or knocked out by Dave’s beery breath.
“I’ll give you a call before we come round, yeah?” I called softly after him, feeling a bit shiny-eyed myself.
Just as I left, the midwife turned up. “You’re too late, love,” I told her.
“Everyone all right?” she asked briskly.
“Yeah, seems so. Little boy. Looks just like his dad.” By which I meant, not a lot of hair, red in the face, and slightly worse for wear right now but basically okay.
“Did she deliver the placenta all right?”
“Uh . . . Really not my area. They’re upstairs, yeah?”
I legged it.
Phil was still up—there was a light on in his top-floor flat. I parked on the street nearby and took the stairs two at a time once he’d buzzed me up.
“What happened to drinks with Dave?” he asked with definite air of expectation.
I grinned. “Just what you’re thinking happened. It’s a boy. Got a wail like a bloody banshee.”
