‘I don’t fucking know,’ she yelled, doubling over in pain and groaning through clenched teeth. It seemed to last for ever, but according to my watch it was only about twenty seconds. After it passed, she visibly relaxed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up at me, piteous as a frightened child. ‘It fucking hurts, Steph.’
‘How long has this been going on?’ I asked.
‘When we were at the hotel, my tummy started to feel a bit crampy. Like when you’ve got trapped wind, you know? I thought it was because I’d eaten too much crap. I’ve had indigestion for about six weeks. I thought it was the same kind of thing. But this isn’t wind, Steph.’ She breathed heavily.
‘Are you booked in at a local hospital?’ I asked.
‘Course not. I’m booked into St Mary’s, Paddington. Where Princess Diana had her boys.’
I couldn’t help giggling. ‘You are such a pro, Scarlett. Always an eye on the headlines.’
‘What? You think I did this because it’s what brainless bimbos do? Think again.’ She groaned. ‘I figure they wouldn’t have let Diana go anywhere except the best. That’s why I chose it. Because if anything goes wrong, that’s where I want to be.’
‘So who do I call?’
‘There’s a Louis Vuitton holdall in the bottom of the walk-in wardrobe in my bedroom. Bring it down, would you? There’s a folder in it with all the details. Arrgh!’ This time she yelled like a wounded pirate. According to my watch, it had been a fraction under three minutes since the previous contraction. That didn’t sound good to me.
Fifteen minutes later, I was reversing out of the garage in Joshu’s ridiculous Golf. When I’d explained the situation to the duty midwife, she’d told me to bring Scarlett in straight away. I tried to get a limo, but the company Scarlett used had nobody available for at least an hour. I didn’t want to call a cab because that would have been like direct-dialling the red-tops. I tried Joshu, but his phone went straight to voicemail. So it was down to me. Three in the morning, there wouldn’t be much traffic. And I’d stopped drinking around six hours earlier. I’d probably be OK. But there was no way Scarlett would be OK in the little bucket seat of her car.
I wasn’t paying much attention to the speed limit, which was pretty dim, given what I was driving. I’d barely hit the A13 when my rearview mirror lit up with flashing blue lights. To tell you the truth, I was actually quite relieved. Scarlett’s contractions seemed to be coming closer together and with more intensity. I was starting to feel a bit worried.
The traffic cop who swaggered up to my driver’s window looked visibly shaken at the sight of a woman in her thirties behind the wheel of the pimpmobile. He was even more disconcerted when Scarlett started shouting from the back seat.
‘Give us a fucking escort,’ she yelled.
‘She’s in labour,’ I said. Pretty needlessly, I thought.
‘Is that—’
‘Yes,’ I said impatiently. ‘And if we don’t get her to hospital soon, you might find yourself in the headlines for making a roadside delivery.’
I could see the cogs turning. ‘OK. Follow me.’ He turned and headed back for his car.
‘Wait,’ I yelled. ‘You don’t know where we’re going.’
He turned, laughing. ‘You’re going to the nearest hospital. She’s in no condition to wait.’
He’d get no argument from me, though Scarlett was swearing like it was an Olympic sport. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain or because her carefully orchestrated plans had all gone tits-up.
By the time we got to the hospital, Scarlett was mostly howling like a wolf or whimpering like a chained-up puppy. Sod compassion. All I wanted was for it to stop. I got my wish soon enough. The moment we arrived, Scarlett was whisked away on a trolley and I was directed to the reception desk to book her in. I thanked the cop, who was already preening himself at the desk. ‘I called ahead,’ he said. ‘That’s why they were waiting for her.’
‘I know she’ll appreciate it when she comes out the other side of this,’ I said.
‘Are you her PA, then?’
‘No, I’m her friend.’ I caught his sceptical look and checked myself out. A pair of Scarlett’s joggers, about four inches too short for my longer legs. A sagging T-shirt sized for her bosom rather than mine. It had been that or my best frock, which didn’t seem quite the thing for a hospital dash in the middle of the night. I looked more like a cleaner than any PA I’d ever met, apart from the fuck-me party shoes. But I wasn’t about to explain myself to a cop. Instead, I made a point of getting a piece of paper from the receptionist and taking down his details. George could send him a bottle of Scotch later.
When it came to booking Scarlett in, I was impressed by how much detail I had at my fingertips. Date of birth, full name, address. I even knew where her GP’s surgery was because I’d picked up a prescription one afternoon on my way out to her place. At least it made me look credible in the eyes of the receptionist. I really knew her. I wasn’t just some passing stalker.
Up on the ward, I felt like I’d stepped into a no man’s land between two irreconcilable states. On the one hand, the calm and capable midwives. On the other, the women crazed with pain, fear and discomfort. I found Scarlett in a small side room, squatting on the floor in a hospital gown. ‘Are you OK?’ I said. ‘Sorry, that’s a really stupid question. What have they said?’
‘Nothing much.’ She groaned. ‘Somebody’s coming to examine me properly in a minute.’
‘I’m going to go and try to get hold of Joshu again,’ I said.
‘No,’ she yelled, reaching out and grabbing my wrist like a vice. ‘Stay here with me. I don’t want that useless twat. It’s our wedding night and where is he?’ Another contraction gripped her and she subsided on to the floor, holding her bump and rocking from side to side. I was pretty sure this wasn’t the best idea.
I didn’t have to make the call, luckily. A strapping Scottish midwife strode in and got Scarlett on to the bed apparently by magic. ‘Doctor will be along in a minute,’ she said. ‘Are you the birth partner?’ I said no, Scarlett said yes. The midwife gave a prim little smile. ‘That’ll be a yes, then. Now we’ve got her on her side, you can rub her back.’ Then she was gone.
‘This is not a good idea,’ I said. ‘I’ve no bloody idea what to expect.’
‘A baby. That’s what I’m expecting.’ Scarlett gave a feeble chuckle. ‘I’m the one doing all the work, Steph. You just have to be here.’
And so I was. Because I hadn’t a clue what was going on, it’s hard to describe what happened over the next four hours. I know they gave her an epidural almost as soon as the doctor examined her. Between that and the gas and air she was sucking on, Scarlett wasn’t making much sense about anything. ‘They zone out in the second stage,’ the midwife said, as if that was an explanation. She might as well have said, ‘Cabbages dance on the moons of Jupiter,’ for all the sense it made to me. I kept stroking her back and her head and her hands and mumbling platitudes. And trying not to pay too close attention to the business end of things.
The professionals didn’t appear worried. It all seemed to be going calmly and smoothly. Until it wasn’t. The medical team didn’t flap or raise their voices. But all of a sudden there was a flurry of activity. There were more people in the room and they looked more serious, as if something had happened to make them stop coasting and pay particular attention. Scarlett seemed oblivious; she was sweating and swearing and panting and proving remarkably obedient to the midwife’s instructions.
‘What’s happening?’ I chose my words carefully. I wanted to ask what was wrong but I didn’t want to frighten Scarlett.