Page 9 of Special Delivery
‘Yeah, well, you’re lucky,’ he grumbled, looking away.
‘I’m hardly lucky!’ Poppy retorted. ‘Look at me—I’m drenched! Actually, don’t look at me; I look like shit. So do you,’ she added spitefully, clocking his wet shirt stuck flat against his stomach.
Ignoring her, James began striding to the ward. ‘Hurry up,’ he ordered.
Scowling, Poppy reluctantly obeyed.
Back in her hospital room, Poppy prised a pair of dry tracksuit pants and a clean t-shirt out of her bag. The contractions were still manageable, so James had left her with blunt instructions to keep walking around to ‘hurry things up’.
She was going to do the exact opposite, because: screw him. She was going to buy chocolate and a trashy magazine and lie on this starchy bed and pretend she was somewhere far away where she didn’t need a brain or a body or a yellow card that said ‘not present’ where it should define a life partner.
She picked up her phone and swiped the cool glass. There were so many people to call but her brain couldn’t compute what she’d say.Hey there, sitting here ready to pop a baby out my vag! Just about to cross that threshold into single motherhood, don’t mind me!
She stood up and began the walk to the hospital cafe. She’d known logically that this day would come, but she hadn’treallyknown. In her bones, she still didn’t feel ready to be a mother. On an intellectual level, she knew exactly what she had to do: feed the baby, clean the baby, give it shelter and love. But how did you actuallydoall that?
She’d watched Dani pick it up, slowly learning to recognise what Nella needed. At first it had been a giant convoluted puzzle. They’d cried with laughter together at how stupid they felt, trying to calm the crying baby with their singing and dancing. They laughed and laughed because otherwise Dani would cry.
‘Contractions, love?’ asked an elderly volunteer behind the cafe counter. She had blue eyebrows pencilled on her forehead and Poppy wondered if it was a fashion statement or an eyesight failure. She looked like a very kind circus clown.
‘Yep.’ Poppy grimaced, picking up a magazine with Princess Kate and Meghan on the cover.
‘Would you like a curry pie on the house? The curry might speed things up for you?’
‘Thank you, that’s very generous, but I’ll stick to sugar.’ She dropped the magazine and three chocolate bars on the counter.
The woman took Poppy’s money with a smile. ‘This is a very exciting time for you and your husband, so make sure you enjoy every moment.’
‘Oh … er, yes, thanks,’ Poppy faltered. She tucked the magazine under her armpit and tried to smile but her face felt frozen. It wasn’t the first time it had happened—not even close—but the blow it caused in her chest never dulled. She wasn’t normal anymore. She was a statistic now, a minority, a cautionary tale to be traded over cocktails and coffee—and she still couldn’t work out how it had happened. Patrick was the kind of guy who, on a good day, could have thrown himself into parenthood. She could imagine his reaction to the birth if they’d still been together. He would have posted a family shot on Instagram within the hour.Welcome to the world little one!he’d write.Mum was incredible! Dad was a blubbering mess!
But with the benefit of seven months of cold, hard hindsight, Poppy knew now that Patrick was deeply unoriginal. He did what other people thought was funny and interesting, and then he did it ten per cent more so he seemed funnier and more interesting than everyone else. If people were posting on Instagram, Patrick would too—but with more exclamation marks.
The pains were definitely coming harder and faster now. Poppy paused and leaned against a wall, gritting her teeth as she breathed through the latest back spasm. Around her, people scurried past on their own missions, oblivious to the labouring woman in their midst.These are the easy ones, Poppyreminded herself miserably. It was going to get a lot worse before it got better.
When she reached her room, she found James there. His hair was still shining wet but he’d found a new pair of scrubs. Shame. The sight of his wet uniform could have really lifted her spirits.
‘They’re getting worse,’ Poppy announced, pointing to her belly.
James continued pressing buttons on the CTG machine. ‘That happens.’
This man was horrible. Empathy level: zero. Annoyance factor: through the roof.
‘I need to put the monitor on now,’ he said, unlooping a canvas belt attached to the CTG machine. ‘This will go around your stomach so we can track your contractions.’ He pointed to the bed. ‘Lie down and lift up your top.’
‘Gosh, what a bedside manner,’ Poppy muttered, heaving herself up. Uninvited, an image popped into her mind: James curved above her in bed, his shoulders bare and his dark eyes glittering.Argh!These were not helpful visuals at all.
Poppy lifted her t-shirt and James leaned over to fasten the CTG belt around her. Poppy shifted her body towards him and tried to breathe normally. He smelled of soap and fresh cotton and the slightest trace of aftershave. Unbidden, the vision of shirtless James reappeared in her mind and she scrunched her eyes closed in disgust. God, she hadn’t been near a guy for so long; she was pathetic.
‘Done,’ he announced, straightening up and returning to the monitor.
‘Great,’ she grunted, tilting her head so he wouldn’t notice the heat creeping up her neck. This was routine work for him and she was having erotic daydreams like a sex-starved hermit.
‘Have you thought about drugs?’ asked James.
‘Recreationally?’
‘Pain relief,’ he clarified dryly.
Poppy rolled her eyes.It was a joke. ‘I am open to anything so long as no-one’s forcing me into it.’ Another contraction gripped her torso like a vice. She flinched as it rippled up her spine like broken glass. As the pain receded, she gasped, ‘And I am open to starting now.’
