40 Things I Want to Tell You (19 page)

I shut down the website. I didn’t have time to think about it anymore—I had to get ready for my first prenatal class. Pete promised to be there for the next one, but Kitty had told him she didn’t want him to go with me this time. I longed for someone to be there by my side, and that made me miss Cleo. I texted her—not that she ever replied.

I’m still sorry. And I miss you. Wish you were around today.

Life without you in it isn’t as good. Amy xxx

I decided to walk to the hospital rather than get the bus. I’d been walking every day to relax. I wandered along, stopping to look up at the bushy trees. Birds scattered in flight from the
branches, calling to one another. Pink clouds floated above, tinged with the warm morning light. The baby was wiggling inside me, his movements less pronounced than they used to be as he slowly ran out of room. I felt that summer had slipped into my veins. Soon all this would be over and I could get on with my life.

A car horn beeped, making me jump.

Cleo waved from the open window. She said, “What are you grinning about?”

“It must just be hormones. And the fact it’s so sunny.”

“Your dad said you’d walked this way. Apparently you’ve got a class today, for … you know.”

I nodded.

“I passed my test.”

“You passed! Congratulations!”

“Get in. I’ll drive you.”

I looked at her smiling up at me. I said, “I’m really sorry I was so self-absorbed. You were right about—”

“We are
absolutely
not ever mentioning that again. Okay?”

“Why today? It’s not like I haven’t been calling you and texting you forever.”

“I dunno. That text was different—I just realized I didn’t want to fight with you anymore. Plus I saw your website. It made me feel very sorry for you.”

“I am really sorry. I meant every word.”

“Stop. No more. Promise you won’t bring it up again.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “If that’s what you want. Deal.”

“Now get in the car. We’ve got a class to get to. Are you going to invite me to come or what?”

“You want to?”

“Sure,” she said. “We can’t have you looking all lonely and teenage and pathetic all by yourself. You’ll give other teenagers a bad name.”

“I’m not pathetic,” I said.

“Now you’ve got me, you’re not,” she said. “Now get in.”

THE CLASS COMPLETELY FREAKED ME OUT. EVERYONE WAS THERE
with a boyfriend or a birthing partner or their mum, and when I glanced over at Cleo as all the pregnant women huffed and puffed and practised breathing, I could see she was just as freaked out as me. Then they showed a horrifying video and I would have started crying if Cleo hadn’t gripped my hand and given me this look that made me burst into laughter.

The woman running the class raised her eyebrows and said, “Birth is a beautiful experience. No need to be afraid.”

I looked briefly back at the screen. What I was seeing was
not
in any way beautiful. Cleo had her face dipped down, so I couldn’t see her expression, but I could tell from her shuddering shoulders that she had the giggles.

By the time we were eventually released from the room, the pair of us were in hysterics. “Oh God, Cleo,” I said, trying to control myself, “there’s no way I could ever do that.”

She took a breath and looked at me seriously. “I could be there, you know. As a birthing partner or whatever it’s called.”

“I—” I paused. I suddenly wanted my mum and I wished I’d answered one of her calls or replied to one of her texts
over the last few months. “I just don’t know, Cleo. I can’t even think about that right now. But thank you.” I reached out and squeezed her hand. “So how’s Xavier?”

“You would be very proud. I told him I never wanted to see him again.”

“Really? That’s great.”

She tucked her arm in mine. “You and me, we’re going for coffee, or whatever it is you’re drinking—camomile?” She giggled. “We have a lot to catch up on. Then, after that, we’re going to your house to pack the bag that woman told us you need for the hospital. I can’t believe she didn’t put makeup at the top of the list of
essential
items for a girl in labour.”

AFTER ANOTHER ONE OF OUR RELENTLESS EXAMS A FEW DAYS
later, Cleo and I walked back to my house together. Since the prenatal class, we were back to hanging out all the time. She was carrying my bag over her shoulder, and as we swung into my street, she said, “I can’t believe school’s nearly finished for the year.”

“I know. Great. What are you doing this summer, besides Jamaica?”

“Um, writing a little. I figured I’d try to do some travel stuff and see if I could pitch it somewhere.”

“You already sound like a pro.”

“And I’m thinking about which university I’m going to apply to,” she added. “Hey,” she said, “what’s up?”

“Nothing. You know.”

She came to a stop and put her hands on her skinny hips. “You’re thinking about Pete Loewen again.”

“No.” I swiped at her. “No, it’s not him. Although what he sees in that stupid Kitty Moss is totally beyond me.”

“All right, all right, don’t start that. I mean, sure, she’s blonde and pretty, not pregnant, willing to follow him round like an adoring pet.”

“She is not pretty. She’s gross,” I cried. “But the not-pregnant thing is probably attractive.”

“So what is it?”

“It’s stupid. I just think a lot about the baby. I still want to, you know, keep it.”

She slapped a hand against her forehead. “How will you do anything you want to do if you do that? What about Oxford?”

“Yeah, you know, I’m just not so sure about that anymore. I feel like my big plan might not have been such a great plan for me—”

I was cut off by a terrifying scream coming from Griffin’s house. We both gasped as the front door was yanked open and his mum hurtled along the path yelling, “No, no, I won’t. You can’t make me.”

Her hair was wild and tangled and she wore her dressing gown. I put my hand to my mouth in shock as she fell to her knees at the gate and began to rattle it. “Let me go-o-o,” she screamed.

Cleo pushed past me and hurried over to Griffin’s mum, just as Griffin came out the house. His hair stuck up and his eyes were circled with purple exhaustion. He didn’t even see me. He called to Cleo, “I’m phoning the hospital.”

She nodded and crouched down in front of Griffin’s mum, murmuring softly. I watched them stay like that, Cleo soothing Griffin’s mum, Griffin speaking into the phone.

When the ambulance arrived, I quietly slipped into my house. Thank God Griffin was finally getting some help. I suddenly wanted to call my own mum, but I went into the living room and sat for a while looking out the window, watching Cleo hold Griffin as he leaned against her, sagging like a fallen tree, then watching the two of them head into his house and close the door. The baby performed a slow somersault, oblivious to the complicated, scary, beautiful world outside.

I flipped through the comments on my website, a slight smile playing on my face, then I shut the computer down. I was huge and uncomfortable as I got into bed, and I tossed and turned for ages. In the end I wedged a small pillow under my belly and finally fell asleep.

At one in the morning, a rush of water broke from my body. I sat up, half awake, not sure what was happening. I clambered as quickly as I could out of bed. “Dad,” I yelled. “Dad. Something’s wrong.”

He found me hunched over the bed, my head on my hands, my pyjamas soaked. “What should I do?” I wept. “I think the baby’s coming. It’s early. Oh God. I’m only, like, thirty-six weeks.” I was crying. “I’m frightened, Dad. I’m really scared.”

“You’ll be fine. Just … fine.” His eyes were as wide as an owl’s. “I’m calling your mother.”

I didn’t argue.

He helped me downstairs, and I sat on the front step, with the warm night full upon me, crying and leaking water, while Dad got the car out of the garage.

The baby kicked.

As I got into the car, Dad slammed the passenger door onto my head.

“I’m sorry,” he yelped.

I started laughing.

WE DROVE, THE NIGHT PASSING US BY. HE SWERVED TO A STOP. “WE
forgot the bag,” he said, panic transforming his features so I hardly recognized him.

“You didn’t forget. It’s here at my feet,” I said.

AS WE ARRIVED AT THE HOSPITAL, DAD USHERED ME FROM THE CAR.
“I’ll park. Go inside.”

More water spilled from me as I stepped out. Two ambulances sat to my left. Big looming vehicles, empty, for the moment, of any drama. My own drama filled the space. This is really happening, I thought. I shuffled inside the hospital.

BRIGHT LIGHTS AND A SYMPHONY OF VOICES. A NURSE USHERED ME
from Casualty to a small room surrounded by green curtains.

“Where’re your charts?” the nurse asked.

I pulled them out of the bag, grateful to Cleo for packing everything so well after the prenatal class.

“Your waters have broken. We’re getting you up to Maternity. You’re thirty-six weeks, three days, right? You’re early, but not too early. Happens often with younger mothers.”

“Thirty-six weeks. Will the baby be okay?”

She filled in some forms. “Any pain yet?” she asked.

I shook my head.

MUM PUSHED BACK THE CURTAIN. WE SIZED EACH OTHER UP, THEN SHE
rushed over and pushed my hair back from my face, kissing my forehead.

“How’s it going, sweetheart?” she asked.

I was nearly crying. “We need to call Pete and Cleo. Tell them.”

The nurse interrupted. “You need to take her to Maternity.”

I lowered myself into a wheelchair while Mum got directions.

Two fingers of pain crept from the small of my back and pinched suddenly deep in my belly.

“Now it hurts,” I gasped.

The nurse said, “You’ll do fine.”

MUM WHEELED ME SILENTLY ALONG THE CORRIDOR. HOSPITALS WERE
all corridors, it seemed. Mum said, “Please let me stay with you.”

I didn’t speak.

She said, “We can talk after.”

I reached my hand back to squeeze hers.

THE PAIN WAS WORSE. DEEP AND LOW. I COULD HEAR MYSELF MOANING
but I didn’t feel connected to my own voice.

Between contractions, ten minutes apart, I walked round the room I’d been given. I would stay here until
active labour.
I vaguely remembered the phrase from the class, but I wasn’t sure what it meant. We waited. And waited. Until the contractions got closer together. Mum sat on a plastic chair, flipping through yesterday’s paper. I could tell she wasn’t reading it.

Dad arrived. He was sweaty and wild looking. “It took me ages to find you. Hospital has terrible signs. Is the baby here? Did I miss everything?”

Mum and I both laughed. “Not yet,” she said.

Dad looked at me. “You okay? That boy and Cleo are in the hall—do you want them in here?”

I shook my head. “Pete and I decided he wouldn’t be in the room. He’s not as tough as he makes out. Oh God. Another contraction’s starting,” I moaned.

I leaned against the wall and grunted. Oh God. The pain. The pain. The pain. I had a sudden vision of myself holding a baby, the moonlight falling through the window, the baby crying, me
shifting my weight from foot to foot. It scared me, but it seemed worse to let the baby go. How could I give my child to strangers?

MY PARENTS LEFT WHILE A NURSE CHECKED ME. “ONLY TWO CENTIMETRES
dilated,” she said.

I lay on my side and noticed my pillow was damp with tears.

“Do you want to try the tub?” she said. “It’ll help with the pain.”

I followed her down a hallway into a large room with a bath. She turned the taps and I dropped off my robe, realizing with a flush of embarrassment that the nurse was still in the room. But then another contraction started and I didn’t care that I was naked and she was helping me into the water.

She smiled at me. “Call when you want to get out.”

SOMETIME LATER I WAS BACK IN THE ROOM. ALONE. I COULDN’T LOOK
after a baby alone. No way.

Mum came in and said, “How are you doing? I remember all this when I gave birth to you.”

“How long did it take?” I asked during a pause in contractions.

“I’ll tell you later.” She smiled.

“God, that long?”

“Look, Bird, have you decided if you want me to be here?”

“For the birth?”

She said, “I want to. You’re my daughter.”

“I didn’t mean it when I told you I’d be a better mother than you. I’m giving the baby away—” My voice broke. “You’d never have done that. Never.”

“It’s okay. Don’t think about it now.”

“I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. Giving the baby away.”

“Don’t think about it.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please be here with me through this.”

SOMETIME LATER AGAIN, I WAS FOUR CENTIMETRES DILATED AND THE
nurse got Mum to wheel me through to the active labour ward. It was a bigger room. They wanted to strap me with monitors to watch the baby’s heartbeat, and so I had to lie down. Somehow lying down made the pain worse.

The nurse asked if I wanted an epidural.

I agreed. “I can’t take any more.”

THE ANAESTHESIOLOGIST SAT BEHIND ME AND TOLD ME TO STAY PER
FECTLY still. Fear shuddered through me and then I held my breath. The needle was in and the drug slid into my veins.

“The pain will stop in about twenty minutes,” he said. “Okay, you can move now.”

I turned to him. “I think I love you,” I said.

He said, with a smile, “I hear that all the time.”

I LOOKED AT THE CLOCK. THE TIME MADE NO SENSE. I PUZZLED OVER
where the hours had gone. Then I slept.

I AWOKE TO MUM STROKING MY HAIR. A NURSE CAME IN. SHE CHECKED
the monitors and then rushed back out. When she came back, a doctor and another nurse came with her. The doctor asked me to lift up my robe.

“What’s wrong?”

“The baby’s heartbeat is dropping. Get onto all fours. It might help.”

I did as I was told while they all gawped at the monitor. The baby’s heartbeat came back up.

And

then

began

slow

again.

Another doctor came in. “I’m doing an ultrasound. I’m not sure what’s wrong.”

THE BABY WAS ON THE ULTRASOUND SCREEN AND THEN HE WAS GONE.
Everything was happening too quickly.

“Is the baby okay?” I begged. “Is he okay?”

Mum had gone white. Her eyes were big and childlike. She held my hand. “You’re doing great,” she kept saying.

A doctor leaned over me, her breath sweet and warm, as if she’d been drinking hot chocolate. “The baby needs to come out now.”

“Now?” I said.

“He’s too far up and you’ve started to bleed.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “The placenta may be separating.” She said, “I recommend a Caesarean. Now.”

I was crying. “Just make sure the baby’s okay.”

THEY WHEELED ME ON MY BACK TO ANOTHER ROOM. MUM HURRIED
along next to me. I could hear her panting. I saw Dad as we flashed along the corridor. His mouth was wide open.

He yelled, “
It is easy to be brave from a safe distance.
Aesop said that.” He punched the air. Then I was wheeled away.

THE ROOM WAS VERY BRIGHT. WHITE. THERE WERE MANY PEOPLE IN
there. I could hear voices and someone had put on classical music.

Everything was out of my control.

The same anaesthesiologist came back. He explained the drug he was going to use. It would be stronger, he told me, and I would
feel only pressure but no pain as they performed the operation.

“Is the baby okay?” I begged.

“Just breathe,” he said.

I WAS LYING DOWN. SOMEONE WAS TOUCHING MY ARM LIGHTLY.
“Can you feel this?”

A CURTAIN WAS RIGGED UP THAT STOPPED AT MY NECK. IT MEANT I
couldn’t see my body. The ceiling was so white.

MUM STOOD NEXT TO MY HEAD. I COULD HEAR THE DOCTORS TALKING.
I gazed up at Mum, my tears falling fast and salty.

I COULD SMELL BLOOD AND I COULD FEEL THEM TUGGING AT ME.

Wait.

Breathe.

Hope.

Wait.

Hope.

Breathe.

Then I hear you cry.