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‘I don’t know. I was watchingOne Born Every Minutea few months ago and all the babies were covered in this white yucky stuff when they were born.’
‘That’s the vernix. It helps protect their skin in the womb,’ she tells me. ‘Anyway, much as I love you, I’m not going to promise anything. I want this thing out as soon as possible. But I will get Ed to text you the moment anything happens, OK?’
‘Well, if you’re going to be all selfish about it, and just pop it out whenever it suits you,’ I say, jokingly, ‘I guess that’ll just have to do.’
* * *
A few days later, I’m sheltering from the January rain in one of the bus shelters in the long-term car park at Gatwick when my phone pings with a WhatsApp message. It’s very early in the morning, and still dark, so I’m fairly certain I know what it is. Sure enough, it’s Ed telling me that Charley has gone into labour.
I keep checking my phone every few minutes while I’m queueing to check in, and then in the departure lounge, but there are no further messages. Just before I board the plane, I send a message to Ed, asking for an update. He replies that the contractions are regular, but not close enough together yet to make it worthwhile leaving for the hospital. I reply, wishing them luck and sending love, and then turn my phone off in preparation for the flight.
As soon as the plane lands, I grab my phone and turn it back on, cursing the age it takes to connect to the Turkish network. There’s a message from Ed, and I open it eagerly, but all it says is that they’re about to leave for the hospital. I don’t reply, as I know he’ll ping me as soon as there are any more developments.
Istanbul is one of my favourite cities. I’ve been here many times over the years, and I love the chaotic vibrancy of it. On the taxi ride from the airport to the Hilton, where I’m staying this time, the traffic is horrendous and vehicles of all shapes and sizes just seem to pile in from every direction, with no recognisable priority system. I make a note to advise against car hire in my write-up. Thankfully, taxis are cheap and plentiful, and I know the public transport system generally works well.
The Hilton is a haven of peace after the mayhem on the roads. It’s not a hotel I’ve stayed in before, but it seems well situated and my room is a decent size, with a view out towards the Bosphorus Straits. Crucially, there’s a desk that I can work at, so I quickly set up my laptop. The airline has provided a list of ‘must see’ attractions that have to be included in my review, but they have also left some leeway for me to use my own experience, so I set about creating an itinerary. I’m only here for two full days, so I can’t afford to waste time. Night has fallen by the time I’ve made my plan, so I freshen up and head out in search of something to eat. I get a taxi to Taksim Square, where I enjoy a selection of excellentmezeand a glass of Efes beerin a small restaurant. As I’m eating, my phone pings with another update from Ed. Apparently the labour is still progressing slowly, and Charley has been given an epidural to help with the pain.
Back at the hotel, I write up my notes so far. Once I feel my eyelids starting to droop, I get ready for bed and am soon fast asleep.
I check my phone as soon as I wake up in the morning, and there are a number of messages from Ed. I open them excitedly, and I’m greeted with a series of pictures of a tiny baby being cradled either by an exhausted-looking Charley, or an ecstatic-looking Ed. The final message reads:
Meet Amelia Wells, 8 lb 4 oz. Mother and baby both doing well. Ed x
I write back straight away to congratulate them both, and say that I’m looking forward to meeting her as soon as I get back from Courchevel. Ed sends back a thumbs up, along with a message to say that they’re going to keep Charley and Amelia in hospital for the first night as it was such a long labour, but that they should be able to go home tomorrow.
After a fairly standard hotel breakfast, I set off for the Kabatas tram station, stopping on the way to buy and top up the card that you need to use any public transport in this city. It’s a ten-minute ride to the Sultanahmet district, where many of the top tourist attractions are. I never really have time to take attractions in fully, so I usually have a quick wander round, taking photos where I’m allowed to, then buy the cheapest guidebook I can on the way out to help me fill in anything I may have missed. I also make time to stop after each one and write down my impressions in shorthand in my notebook.
It’s a full-on day, but I manage to visit both the sixth-century Hagia Sophia and the Blue Mosque, named after its stunning, blue-tiled interior, in the morning. For lunch, I head into a busy café in one of the many narrow cobbled streets for Balik ekmek (an unappealing sounding but surprisingly delicious grilled fish sandwich), before tackling the Grand Bazaar, an intricate maze of small shops, stalls and restaurants. I’ve been here before, but I’m always blown away by the vast array of jewellery, beautifully intricate Turkish carpets and brightly coloured fabrics that assault your eyes as you wander through. There are shops selling pretty much everything you could want, and I pick up a couple of gifts for Ed, Charley and baby Amelia. I enjoy the good-natured haggling even though I know that, as a tourist, I’m never going to get a particularly good deal. A taxi driver once explained to me that most of the stallholders have three prices. The most expensive, unsurprisingly, is for tourists. Those who are obviously foreign but have enough mastery of Turkish to indicate that they’re probably ex-pat residents fare slightly better, and the lowest price is reserved for Turks, who can haggle fluently in their native tongue.
Despite my comfortable trainers, my feet are starting to ache a little as I head for my final attraction of the day, Topkapi Palace. As I wander through the courtyards the sun is beginning to set so, after buying the obligatory guidebook, I head down to the Metro to catch the train back to Taksim Square. Back in the hotel I lay my spoils out on the bed and run myself a hot bath to soak the grime of the day away. Afterwards, I wrap myself in the fluffy bathrobe that is de rigueur for hotels like this everywhere and sit down at the computer to start writing up. I flick through my phone pictures, and I’m pleased to see that they’ve come out quite well – perhaps Toby transferred some of his talent via osmosis when we were having lunch together. I also send a message to Ed, and he replies to say that Amelia isn’t feeding very well yet, but they’ve been told that it’s nothing to worry about at this stage.
The next morning I’m up early to catch the tram down to the Eminönü Pier. One of the things I’ve never managed to do in my visits to Istanbul is see it from the water, and I’m determined to change that today with a trip on the public ferry. I’m planning to travel up as far as it goes, just short of the Black Sea at Anadolu Kavagi, have lunch there, and then get the ferry back in the afternoon. After the pavement pounding of the previous day this is a much more leisurely affair, and the weather is being kind, so I’m able to sit outside on the ferry and watch the scenery go by. I take pictures and make notes as we go, and I find I’m enjoying the fresh breeze. Crowds of locals pour on and off the ferry at every pier where we stop, and my eye is drawn to a small child at one point. He’s obviously feeling unwell as his parents pick him up and hold him over the side. He immediately starts screaming blue murder, evidently convinced they’re trying to throw him overboard, and that seems to cure his seasickness. As we’re heading back past Rumeli Castle, my phone pings with a message from Ed to say that Charley and Amelia have been discharged, as Amelia seems to be feeding a bit better. I send love and tell them I can’t wait to see them when I’m back.
My final morning sees me back in Eminönü for a quick visit to the spice market, before I visit a few hotels in the Sultanahmet district that the airline features in its holiday brochures. They’re all expecting me, and I stick my head round a bedroom door in each, to get a flavour of the accommodation, before catching a taxi back to the airport for my flight home.
By the time I get back to my flat, it’s after ten o’clock at night and I’m very aware that I have to be back at Gatwick early the next morning to meet Toby. I unpack hurriedly, shoving my dirty clothes in the laundry basket to deal with when I get back from Courchevel, dig out my ski clothes from the back of the wardrobe, and repack, before falling into bed, exhausted.
6
JANUARY
I’m up at four the next morning to drive back to the airport. Things get off to a bad start when there’s no sign of Toby at the easyJet check-in area where we’ve agreed to meet. I try to call him, but his phone goes straight to voicemail, so I text him an angry ‘Where are you?’ message instead. I know he can’t have checked in already, because I’ve got his boarding card, which I printed off just before going to bed. I can feel my stress levels rising. I’m used to travelling alone, and this sudden reliance on another person, over whom I have no control, is making me uncomfortable. By the time he arrives, slightly out of breath, I’m positively annoyed.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he pants. ‘I had to wait ages for a bus. It said there was one every few minutes when I booked the parking, but I must have been there for at least a quarter of an hour.’
Amateur. Everyone knows there are hardly any buses this early in the morning, as they’re still running the night schedule. The bus only comes round every few minutes during peak times. I’m trying not to be cross with him, but I’m failing. If I’m being purely rational, I know there is still plenty of time to check in and get to the gate, but I feel aggrieved that he’s managed to upset my routine before we’ve even got through security.
‘Why didn’t you answer your phone?’ I snap, probably more fiercely than he deserves. I see the surprise flash in his eyes.
‘Sorry. I always turn it off when I’m driving, and I hadn’t got around to turning it back on.’ He reaches into his pocket, fishes out his phone, and makes a display of turning it on.
‘Well, you’re here now,’ I say, forcing myself to be more gentle. ‘Shall we?’
As we’re queueing up to drop our bags off, I feel my phone buzz in my back pocket. Worrying that something might have happened with Charley and Amelia, I fish it out, only to see that Toby has replied to my ‘Where are you?’ message.
‘Don’t look now, but I’m right behind you,’ he’s written. I can’t help but smile. I type, ‘If this were from anyone else, I’d be worried that I was being stalked by a pervert, but I don’t think I’m your type, so I’ll let it go,’ and press send. There’s a brief pause before he sends back a smiley face. My annoyance starts to fade, and I turn and smile at him. He’s looking at me quizzically, as if trying to work something out.
‘Sorry I was grumpy,’ I say to him. ‘I’m used to travelling alone, so this is unfamiliar and a little stressful.’
