To take his mind off the conundrum, Albert went to help Maria clear up in the kitchen.
Maria was grumbling as usual about her never-ending workload and her lazy husband. Albert dried up pots and pans with the odd nod of understanding, which he hoped would soothe her sometimes savage breast.
He had seen Maria blow her Latin temper a number of times, and had learned that the best option was to sympathise and keep quiet.
Job done, he made his way to the dry cleaners to pick up his one suit. He wanted to look smart for the big weigh-in next week. Next stop, Harry the barber.
The fashion for the time was for longer hair, but that was strictly for the young, or “the beatniks” as Albert called them. For Albert, the customary short back and sides was the way to go.
With suit in hand and a tidy haircut, Albert made for home.
“Who’s a pretty boy?” Rocky squawked in greeting.
This was more or less the extent of Rocky’s vocabulary. Seeing how Rocky was a girl, she was obviously addressing her owner. So Albert took it as a compliment, thanked his bird, and filled her tray with some fresh bird seed before sitting down in his favourite armchair. Rocky settled on her favourite lampshade and Albert took a nap.
With the baby’s birth due any day, Wendy and Mrs Bristow were packing her hospital bag in readiness for the big event. Danny was as involved as he could be, but his mind was on the fight and the face-to-face meeting with Davies at the weigh-in the following week. His hands went cold and his stomach turned as he carried the thought of what was to come, and as much as he wanted to concentrate on Wendy’s apprehension, it wasn’t easy.
As Danny prowled the back yard, deep in thought, he heard a cry from Wendy that brought him rushing inside.
Mrs Bristow was semi-hysterical. “Danny! Her waters have broken! We’ve got to get her to the hospital. Call a taxi, quick!”
Danny found a number as quickly as he could and called with shaking fingers.
“Ten to fifteen minutes,” he told Mrs Bristow a little breathlessly, trying not to look at the way Wendy was writhing and moaning in pain. “Get her ready to go, all right?”
His mind now was in overload. The fight, the baby, Wendy’s welfare. There was still the prospect of a new and exciting life ahead, but all of a sudden it seemed a long way off.
As he prowled up and down the street waiting for the promised cab, Danny forced himself to prioritise Wendy and the baby. The weigh-in and fight would have to wait.
At that moment a fairly clean, but rather battered taxi turned into the street. He waved to the driver and went inside to fetch the girls.
On the way to Howards Road Hospital, Wendy gripped Danny’s hand tightly, her face grey with pain.
“It’ll be all right, won’t it?” she said in a scared voice.
Danny reassured her the best he could. Looking at her, he wished he could take the pain away. She looked so vulnerable and child-like.
At the maternity ward, Wendy was led away by a friendly Irish nurse, who told Danny and Mrs Bristow to wait in reception.
“I’ll come and fetch you when Wendy is settled,” she said kindly, her gentle accent going some way to calming Danny down.
After a short while, Danny and Mrs Bristow were ushered into the maternity ward. Wendy, now in a robe and in a hospital bed, smiled a weak hello.
“You all right?” said Danny anxiously.
Wendy burst into tears. “They said there’s a complication with the baby,” she sobbed.
Danny’s heart thumped hard in his chest. “What? What complication?”
“Mr Watson?” said a voice.
Danny whirled round to see a doctor and nurse standing behind him.
“Mr Watson,” the doctor repeated. “I explained to your wife that the baby seems fine, but is not engaging in the position it should for a successful natural birth. I’m afraid we need to carry out a Caesarean.”
Wendy looked like the scared little girl Danny had first met in school. He wanted so much to take away the fear and the worry in her face.
“Is there no other way?” Wendy’s mother pleaded.
The doctor shook his head. “We should operate as soon as possible.”
Danny couldn’t believe this was happening. Holding Wendy close, he could feel her sobbing, although she was making no sound.
“This operation, Doctor,” he said, feeling terrified. “It’s safe, ain’t it?”
“As safe as it can be. I’m sorry, Mr Watson, but we have no choice.”
Looking around the ward of ten or twelve expectant mothers, Danny could see that some of the inmates already had their newborns by their side, their ordeal of childbirth over. One of the babies began to cry. It sounded like a mewing kitten, helpless and in need of its mother’s attention. This world felt alien to Danny. His world was a man’s world. He was touched by the sacrifices women make for their children. It was something he had never quite realised.
He lifted Wendy’s face up with his finger and looked into her frightened eyes. “You need to be a brave little soldier, Wend,” he said quietly. “It’ll be all right. Your mum’s here, I’m here, your dad’s on his way, you hear me?”
Wendy slowly nodded her head, like a child reluctantly agreeing to go to bed. The nurse gently took her hand, helped her off the bed and led her away.
Mrs Bristow sat on a chair in the waiting room as Danny paced up and down the corridor, desperate for news and a happy outcome.
A flustered Mr Bristow rushed in.
“What’s happened?” he said. “Where’s Wendy?”
“She’s had to have a Caesarean, Brian,” said Mrs Bristow. “She’s in the operating theatre now.”
Wendy’s parents sat together, motionless. Danny went on pacing the corridor, his heart aching. There was nothing they could do but wait, and wait they did.
As Danny heard cries of pain coming from a nearby delivery room, he began to think of his own mother, Rosie. She may not have been the best mother, but she was his mother. He should remember that.
He decided to telephone her at work to tell her that Wendy was having the baby. He was touched by her reaction.
“You’re not to worry now, Danny,” Rosie said. “Everything will be fine. I’ll come by after work and see how you’re all getting on, all right? Give my love to Wendy and stay strong.”
When Danny returned to the ward, the doctor was in conversation with Wendy’s parents.
“Congratulations, Mr Watson,” he said. “You have a beautiful baby girl. Both mother and baby are fine.”
The emotion was just too much. Danny’s legs went from under him as if he had been hit by a knock-out punch, and he slumped to the floor. The next thing he knew, the lovely Irish nurse from earlier was helping him back on to his feet. The name on her badge said “Nurse O’Malley”.
“It’s all right, Mr Watson,” she soothed in her Cork accent. “It happens more times than you’d think.”
Danny felt embarrassed but elated as he got to his feet. His parents-in-law were both smiling fit to burst.
“So now,” said Nurse O’Malley. “Would you all like to see the mother and baby?”
Mr Bristow looked at Danny with watery eyes. “You go on your own, son. We’ll see them in a minute.”
Nurse O’Malley led the way along the same corridor that Danny had been pacing like a caged tiger barely twenty minutes earlier as he waited. The good news still had not totally sunk in. He needed to see Wendy and the baby with his own eyes.
As he walked into the ward, Danny saw clearly for the first time his beautiful baby, secure and content, lying in her mother’s arms.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Wendy said, her face radiant and happy. Danny thought how beautiful she looked.
“Indeed she is,” said Nurse O’Malley. “A beautiful six pound and five ounce baby girl.”