Page 96 of The First Time I Saw You
‘How much do I owe you?’
I sense that he is giving me a discount as he tells me the amount, then waits patiently while I fumble with my wallet and pass him the fare.
‘Let me give you a hand up the verge so you’re on the right path, eh?’
‘That would be great,’ I say reaching for the door handle and dragging up a reluctant Michael.
‘We’ll be fine,’ I say to him through gritted teeth and haul him out of the taxi.
Week Thirty-Five
Contractions Forty-Five Minutes Apart
Sophie
It’s almost dark. This is the first thought that crosses my mind. NotI’m alive, notIs Bean safe?ButIt’s almost dark. Strange how in the most dramatic of scenes the simplest words come to mind.
The noise from my mouth has disappeared and been replaced with the lilt and dip of my breathing. I take tentative steps into the kitchen, one hand holding Bean, the other holding the counter, my balance still wavering between left and right. I listen to the stillness for a moment, my hand reaching for the light switch, and I blink against the brightness. My legs shake as the tap fills the glass with water, my knuckles white and tense as I hold on to the counter. I drain the glass and glance at the clock. I must have missed the taxi: a car horn, a knock on the door, the door being slammed, edges its way into my subconscious, but it could have been any day, any time. I’m not sure what is real and what I’ve made up. I can’t have been unconscious for long – the sun was already setting when I had picked up my case.
‘Bean?’ I ask, my eyes filling and overflowing on to my cracked lips. ‘Bean?’ I ask again. I refill the glass and drink it faster.This will wake you, come on now, Bean, wake up.But Bean is tired.
My hand grips the banister and my stomach tightens. My feet wait until the pain has passed until I take the next step.
The bathroom wall is cold beneath my palm; each step feels more difficult than the last. Cold water rushes from the tap into my hands, splashing my face, awakening my senses.
‘Bean?’ I ask again. But my baby is fast asleep.
The mattress sinks as I sit down and reach for the phone.
‘Charlie? It’s me.’
‘I know. Caller ID.’
‘I, I think I’ve fainted. I’m fine, but . . .’ My voice is detached and reassuring; his reaction is not so detached, but it is reassuring.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah . . . I think so. I’m a bit shook up, I was going to the airport—’
‘No. No airports. I’m on my way home, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Is Helen with you?’
‘No, she couldn’t come. Caitlin is poorly.’
‘Call the hospital. Now, Sophie. I’m hanging up.’ I call the hospital and tell them what has happened, my voice breaking.
Bean hears me: what is all the fuss about? It stretches and turns. Relief cascades down my cheeks and pools beneath my chin.
‘Is baby moving?’ the midwife asks.
‘Yes.’ I gasp with relief.
‘And how do you feel? Have you lost any blood?’
‘No, I think I’m OK. I think I just fainted. I’m still having a few Braxton Hicks, but they have been happening a lot in the last few weeks.’
‘I would like you to come in, Sophie, so we can check that everything is as it should be. Some of the roads are still flooded but we could send an ambulance? See if it could get through?’
‘Yes, please . . . thank you.’
