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Did he just sayhurry up?“You could’ve driven me.”
“No way. You’re not having a baby in my car. I’m not a fucking midwife.” I turn to retort, but he bites back a smile. “Safer this way, summer Sky.”
With relief, I close the bathroom door and lean against it. My stomach hardens as the spasm hits again. Is this Lily’s fault? Did the panic set in more discomfort? I rub my side where she kicked me. As the tightening subsides, the results of my studying everything pregnancy and birth related doesn’t help as words likeplacental abruptiondrift into my mind.
A warmth seeps along my leg and my heart leaps in alarm. Did I just wet myself? The stain grows.
My waters.
No. No.No.
Stay calm.
“Jem! Can you grab me some more clothes. And the bag by the bedroom door,” I call.
Keep it together. Keep it together.
I peel my damp jeans off and stagger towards the toilet. Why can’t Dylan be the man outside the door?
Sitting, I hold my head in my hands, caught by another wave of throbbing pressure. Labour is stomach pains, right? Not backache or this pressure? Is it?Shit.I grip my hair, giving into the fearful truth. Why did I deny labour might’ve started, as if in some weird way denial would stop everything until Dylan returned?
Something inside me shifts, and my evening takes a turn into a weird parallel world; one I won’t come back from in a hurry.
“Jem!” I scream. “The baby.”
The door flings open with Jem holding a pair of my jeans in his hand. “What?”
The pressure seizes my body. I can’t do this. This hurts too much.It’s too soon. “What do I do? I have to push. I can’t!”
Jem stares at me, and I stare back, time halting. I’m having my baby in the bathroom? With Jem Jones as my emergency birthing partner?
“I suggest stepping away from the toilet,” he says brown eyes wide.
“Very fucking funny, Jem,” I say and pant.
“Can you wait for the ambulance?”
If I wasn’t attemptingnotto push this baby out, I’d be shouting at him for asking another stupid question.As if I can bloody stop this.I shift onto my hands and knees, scared to stand. “No! She’s early, Jem. I have four weeks to go.”
“Shit, Sky.” Jem runs his hands through his hair and grips, elbows out at right angles. “What do I do?”
“Just fucking help, Jem!” I yell. “I can’t do this on my own.”
How did he cope with Ruby’s labour? What if he’s one of those guys who pass out at the first sight of a baby being born?
“I want Dylan,” I say through a sob. “I’m scared.”
I drop downwards where my back rests against the marble of the bath, and I stare at the downlight above, wishing I was anywhere but here, with anyone but Jem. But Jem is here, and if he hadn’t been, this would be happening in front of Lily and her impeccable timing.
