Anyone other than Clemmie and Nell, I might have found their pregnancies hard to watch, but no one deserves a happy family more than those two. From Clemmie’s screwed-up face, it’s clear she’s still not ready to get back into the car, so I put my urgency to see my new home to one side, and carry on with our catch-up.
‘Did Bud enjoy her first birthday?’
Clemmie opens her eyes and blows again. ‘You bet!’
When I look again, she’s turned and is holding onto the edge of the car roof. ‘Everything okay there, Clems?’
She waves away my concern. ‘I’ve rung Charlie, he’s on his way to drive us home.’ She tenses again, then smiles. ‘Enough about babies. Tell me about this beach house you’ve bought. Sophie pointed it out from across the bay when we were at theirs.’
What I haven’t said yet, is that Sophie is ‘Sophie May’,themulti-national cosmetics magnate who began her business on her kitchen table as a single mum in her twenties and now advertises inGood Housekeepingand dresses in pale aqua to match her products. She’s as tiny, blonde and polished as I am sprawling, dark and messy. She also has a gorgeous husband, Nate, four kids and a clifftop castle called Siren House. It’s good that I never make comparisons; the only thing I ever did better than her was being a teenage goth.
I’m not sure how much Clemmie’s taking in, but I say it anyway. ‘It’s more a shed than a house, but I’ll be over the moon if it’s half as pretty in real life as it looks on Google Satellite.’
Clemmie stops and stares at me. ‘You haven’tseenit yet?’
‘It was fully checked out by Mum.’ What’s not to like about a beach hut? – especially one at the tired, deserted end of town I prefer. ‘I fast-tracked the sale because of the dog-friendly garden. It’ll be Shadow and me, and seclusion by the sea.’
Clemmie frowns at me. ‘You do know St Aidan won’t bethatpeaceful with us lot here…?’ She clamps her hand to her stomach again. ‘Fuck! Sorry, Bud!’
As students in a flat-share in my early twenties, we watched every episode ofOne Born Every Minute, so I know the signs. I don’t want to panic, but if she’s swearing like that this baby could be here a lot sooner than next month.
‘Would you like to sit down, Clemmie?’ I reach into my car for a rug and as I shake it out on the verge another car’s drawing up.
By the time the driver gets out, Clemmie’s on all fours in the field gateway.
‘Everything okay here? Do you need any help?’
I’m staring up into slate-grey eyes under dark curly hair, breathing in the kind of sophisticated aftershave that makes my knees go weak.Add gin and kiss thoroughly … is not any thought I should be having when my bestie is doubled up in agony on the grass and I’m starting my new single life.
I pull myself together. ‘I’m Florence. My pregnant friend Clemmie is having contractions. Could you possibly phone 999 and say the words “rapid labour” while I check she’s okay?’
Clemmie lets out a wail. ‘No one needs an ambulance, Floss! A few minutes down here and I’ll be… Arrrggghhh!’
As the guy gets straight through and starts giving the details of our location, the echo in my head tells me it’s not the first time I’ve seen those dark curls and that half smile. Then it hits me that I’m not in Stoke Newington anymore with nine million strangers – in St Aidan everyone local looks familiar because they all are.
He catches my eye. ‘The nearest ambulance is fifteen minutes away, they’re doing their best to get someone here.’
As he returns to his phone Clemmie grabs my hand. ‘I’m so sorry, Floss, you’re thelastperson who should be helping me through this.’
I kneel down beside her and dab the sweat off her forehead. We both know she’s right. Before I was ill, having kids had never crossed my mind, but when the chemo snatched that possibility away from me, it changed my mindset in ways I couldn’t have predicted. I try not to make a big thing of it, but when I know I won’t ever be pregnant or give birth to a child of my own, keeping babies at a safe distance is a self-preservation instinct.
But Clemmie didn’t plan for this – I have to dig deep, and get on with it. ‘I might bethe bestperson to help! A woman at The Circus went into labour once, so it’s not my first time!’
That puts a stop to her contractions, and she turns to look at me. ‘Don’t leave me hanging – tell me what happened?’
I shouldn’t have started this. ‘An off-duty paramedic leaped into action and caught the baby in his T-shirt.’ I call up to the guy on his phone. ‘You’re not a doctor by any chance?’
He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I’m a metallurgist.’
Damn. It was worth a try.
Clemmie’s eyes are level with my boobs as she pants. As she reads the logo on my chest, her face clears with the recognition. ‘The Libertines at Reading, 2010 …I was there, with Sophie!’
I grin. ‘This used to be her T-shirt.’ It felt like an auspicious choice to wear for coming back. When I dressed the part and slung it over my spangly bikini top this morning I didn’t intend being out in a force ten gale blowing off the sea.
Clemmie’s gasp turns to a wail. ‘Sophie will have kittens if you catch Arniein that!’ Her calling the baby by name makes him sound alarmingly like a living, breathing person rather than a bump.
I laugh because what people forget is, if you stand up to Sophie she’ll usually back down. ‘It’s my top now, she shouldn’t have given it away.’ Then the full weight of what Clemmie said sinks in. ‘How closeisthis baby?’
