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‘I frigging love it when he’s off. What are you reading?’
‘The Auntie Marian’s Bread company profile.’ She sighed unconsciously. She couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm for it.
‘It doesn’t sound a very nice place to work,’ said Sheridan. ‘I thought as much when I was typing up Jeremy’s notes.’
‘Hmm,’ replied Polly with a nod. Some firms were easier to help than others. Some cut unnecessary corners and wouldn’t listen to advice they’d paid for, which made her job so much harder. It was usually these sorts of companies that treated their staff like rubbish. Auntie Marian’s Bread wouldn’t be her favourite challenge; she could tell that already because the owner Arthur Peach wanted big changes but, at the same time, he’d be resistant to them. Some firms just gave off a rotten vibe, like this one and the Italian restaurant chain she’d read about by mistake.
‘I have heartburn like you couldn’t believe today but I don’t care,’ confessed Sheridan over the desk divide. ‘I was craving spicy food last night and I was craving spicy sex. I was unfillable, Pol. I hope that doesn’t go away when I give birth. I’m sure we must have dented the baby’s skull.’
Polly threw her head back and laughed aloud, then realised she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that. It was almost certainly at work with Sheridan and not at home.
‘I’m surprised I can walk…’
‘Sheridan, please. Too much detail.’
‘I’m suffering for my excesses though.’ Sheridan bent forward with a longooohand rubbed her stomach.
‘You all right?’ Polly asked her.
Sheridan half-chuckled, half-winced. ‘Braxton Hicks again. I’ve been having them for a full hour off and on,’ she said, on a deep breath. ‘They’re really starting to throb a bit.’
‘Sheridan, love, I hate to tell you this but Braxton Hicks aren’t painful.’
Sheridan’s face segued into an expression of horror then.
‘Oh god, I think I’ve wet myself.’
She stood up and there was a stain the size of the Isle of Wight on her trousers, still spreading.
‘Sit back down and ring Dmitri,’ said Polly, putting on her best calm voice. ‘I’ll ring an ambulance. I think you’re in labour, love.’
Polly got her phone out of her bag and Sheridan got hers and they both made their calls.
‘Dmitri’s going to meet me at the hospital. He’s only five minutes away,’ said Sheridan. Then she started loading her bag with things from her desk drawers: including her giant bar of fruit and nut, her notepad, her foldaway emergency poncho and matching umbrella.
‘Leave all that,’ said Polly.
‘Pol, I’m taking my things with me. You and I both know that if I come back after my maternity leave, I’m not going to be sitting at this desk. They’ll transfer me somewhere else and Brock the cock is not having my best pens and chocolate.’ She carried on shoving her possessions into her bag until she was done. ‘Now if you wouldn’t mind, help me get downstairs to reception will you. God, I’m wet through.’
Holding on to Polly’s arm, Sheridan set off for the lift at a comfortable speed.
‘I can feel everyone gawping at me,’ she said, chuckling. ‘The poor incontinent lady.’
‘I think they can work out what’s happening,’ replied Polly. ‘Anyway, never mind about anyone else, you just concentrate on yourself.’
‘Good luck, Sheridan,’ someone shouted, followed by someone else and more of the same.
‘Thank you, thank you, everyone.’
They made their way to reception and sat in one of the quiet corners on the faux-leather seats. Sheridan geared up for another contraction and Polly rubbed her back, hoping ithelped. She’d been left to it in the hospital. There had been no one with her, at least in the early stages of labour when she was merely given a dose of paracetamol and a woman’s magazine to take her mind off things.
‘Brutal,’ said Sheridan, coming through it. ‘How bad will I feel if I get to hospital and it’s just bad wind after that vindaloo?’
‘I’ve never heard of wind so bad that it breaks your waters,’ said Polly, pushing Sheridan’s long dark curls back over her shoulders.
‘Don’t, I’ll fart,’ Sheridan said, trying not to laugh.
They sat quietly, waiting for the ambulance or another contraction, whichever came first.
