The New Samurai (8 page)

“I’ve booked the most divine restaurant,” she said. “It’s been reviewed everywhere; I was lucky to get a reservation.”

She caught the look on his face.

“Don’t worry,” she said, acidly. “I’m paying.”

“Elle, you know that’s not what I meant,” he said, coolly. “But it’s been a bad day today, I…”

She interrupted him, frowning.

“I don’t want to hear it!” She held up her hand like a traffic cop. “This is
so
not the time for bad news. We’re celebrating, remember?”

Sam bit back a reply. He was afraid if he said anything, he might rapidly regret the words. Or she would.

A taxi’s horn honked outside.

In a stony silence they left Elle’s house. He could feel her throwing puzzled looks at him, but he ignored them. As they walked towards the taxi they passed his car. She suddenly pulled on his arm, forcing him to stop.

“Wait!” she said, angrily, “What are those?”

She pointed to the pile of unopened pink and red envelopes on the back seat of his car.

Sam shrugged.

“Valentine cards,” he said, tiredly. “From my pupils. I don’t know; I haven’t opened them.”

Elle’s lips pressed together in a thin line but she didn’t say any more.

The restaurant was a very short distance from Elle’s house. Sam would never have bothered to get a taxi for what was, in effect, a 10 minute stroll. He wished she’d give up those damned high heels sometimes and live like a mortal for a change.

He held open the restaurant door and she stalked in. The maitre d’ took her coat and Sam’s jacket and led them to a table in the middle of the room. Elle was pleased: she liked being the centre of attention.

Already the room was full of happy couples examining the menus and knocking back the champagne and free amuse-bouche that were being served up.

Sam stared sourly at the ridiculous prices displayed on the menu. Why did she always have to choose places that were so pretentious? He hated the fact that he couldn’t really afford to pay his way, especially when she made an issue about it – and especially now. He
would
pay his way, of course, even if it left him short for the rest of the month. And Skinner had promised him a month’s severance pay. What the hell. Why not enjoy it while it lasted.

He forced himself to smile and took Elle’s hand in his, gently kissing her fingers, one by one.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Elle,” he whispered, looking seriously into her eyes.

Her frigid expression melted instantly.

“I’ve got you a present,” she said, giggling in a very un-Elle like way, “but you can’t see it till later.”

He raised one eyebrow.

“How much later?”

“Let’s skip the dessert,” she said.

Just then his phone rang.

“Leave it,” Elle ordered.

“I’ll turn it off,” he agreed.

But the caller ID surprised him. Sam frowned.

“Actually I’d better take this one: it’s Sylvie.”

He answered the phone whilst Elle’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Hey Sylvie, what’s up?”

“Oh, Sam! Thank God!” came a frightened voice.

He was shocked by her tone. “What’s the matter?”

“My… my waters broke!” she cried, her voice cracking, near hysteria. “And Wayne’s on his way to see his mother in Bournemouth and he’s not answering his phone. I’m so scared! It’s a month too soon. Sam, I know you’re with Elle, but will you come… I…”

“Of course I will,” said Sam, quickly. “Phone for an ambulance and I’ll get there as fast as I can. Just try and… be calm, Sylvie.”

“Thank you, Sam. Please hurry!”

Sam flipped the phone shut and stood up quickly.

“What. Was. That?” said Elle, her face dark with fury.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But that was Sylvie. The baby’s coming. We need to go.”

“We?” she said, her voice loud with disbelief.

Several of the other diners looked up in surprise.

“Fine,” said Sam, also more loudly than usual. “Just me, then. But Sylvie needs me and I have to go.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” said Elle, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “What does she need
you
for? You’re not a midwife! Do you know how hard it is to get a booking at this restaurant?”

Sam stared at her in disgust. “Well, enjoy your meal. I’m going.”

He pulled away from her and collected his jacket.

“You walk away now and don’t even think about coming back,” she said, her voice loud again.

Several diners tittered and the maitre d’ hovered nervously.

“Whatever,” said Sam.

“Don’t you dare leave!” she shouted to his back.

He carried on walking.

Her screech of anger carried across the entire room.

“Fuck you, Sam!”

“Not anymore,” he said, as he strode from the restaurant.

Sam ran to his car and accelerated out of Islington at top speed. He fumed at every red light, every pedestrian crossing, and his fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel at every junction.

Twenty minutes later the car screeched to a halt outside Sylvie’s house and Sam crossed the pavement in one stride. She was standing at the door, tears coursing down her face, her hospital bag packed and ready by her side.

“Where’s the ambulance?” said Sam, his throat constricting painfully.

“They said I’m not a priority,” whimpered Sylvie. “They say it’ll be at least an hour, but I mustn’t worry because the baby won’t come that quickly! But it is! I’m sure it is. Sam, what do I do?”

Sam looked around him in a panic. He was way out of his depth. Tearful pregnant women were definitely not in his lesson plan. His sister’s birth had been mounted with military precision – there’d been nothing left for him to do. But Sylvie…

“I’ll… I’ll drive you to the hospital,” said Sam. “Just don’t have the baby until we get there, okay?”

Sylvie whimpered and clutched her stomach.

“What’s happening?” choked Sam, his face ashen.

“Contrac…tions!” gasped Sylvie. “I think you’d better hurry!”

Sam tossed Sylvie’s overnight bag onto the rear seat, scattering his Valentine cards like confetti. Then he opened the passenger door and gingerly helped Sylvie climb in. He leaned across her, doing up her seatbelt as she wheezed and gasped.

He practically vaulted over the bonnet in his desire to get the hell out of there, hands shaking.

His eyes were wide with terror as he raced through the busy London streets. Sylvie’s contractions were coming faster now and it was obvious, even to Sam’s inexperienced eyes, that they didn’t have long.

He overtook a line of cars outside the hospital, ignoring their furious honking, and abandoned the car at a rakish angle in front of A&E.

“I’ll be back!” he shouted at Sylvie, his eyes wild.

He charged through the hospital doors and flung himself at the receptionist.

“My friend’s having a baby!” he yelled, pointing behind him. “I think she’s having it now!”

“Is she booked to have a baby in our maternity unit?” asked the receptionist calmly.

“Yes! It’s not due for another month but she’s having contractions now!”

The fact that the baby was early spurred the receptionist into a rapid and practised routine. Seconds later two nurses ran past with a wheelchair and Sam could hear the receptionist paging the midwife on duty.

Sam sprinted after the nurses and watched anxiously as they helped Sylvie out of the car. He tried to follow them but a severe-looking security guard told him to move his car or it would be clamped.

“I’ll be alright, Sam,” said Sylvie, her voice tight with pain. “Just find me as soon as you can.”

Swearing under his breath, Sam ran back to the car and raced it round to the car park. He fumbled in his pockets for change: he didn’t care about getting a ticket, but he couldn’t afford for it to be clamped or towed – not when he might need it for Sylvie.

He was running back to the hospital when it occurred to him that Wayne might have arrived at Bournemouth by now. He skidded to a halt and dialled his number.

“Hello, mate,” came the calm voice. “I thought you’d be on the big date with Elle by now. Come to your senses, have you?”

“Wayne! Don’t you ever pick up your bloody messages!” shouted Sam. “I’m at the hospital; Sylvie’s gone into labour. You’ve got to come back!”

When Wayne spoke, his voice sounded faint and more than a little confused.

“But she’s not due for another month?”

“Well, the baby doesn’t know that,” yelled Sam, “so get back here now!”

Finally the penny dropped, and Wayne was bellowing down the phone.

“Right. Right! I’m on my way! Sam – stay with her, won’t you? She’ll be terrified if she’s all by herself.”

Sam promised, even though it was the last thing he wanted to do – he’d have been happier running in the other direction, wrestling grizzlies, facing a mob of Millwall fans – anything but being relied on by a scared, pregnant woman.

He sprinted back to the hospital, and even the few seconds it took to find out where the maternity ward was located seemed too long.

Sam heard Sylvie’s screams echoing down the corridor before he saw her. The sounds had a feral, uncontrolled edge to them, and it stopped him in his tracks.

One of the nurses who’d wheeled Sylvie in saw Sam, and marched purposefully towards him. She had a set of surgical scrubs in her arms.

“Put these on, please,” she said.

“What?” said Sam, in shock, his feet still rooted to the spot with no apparent intention of ever moving again.

“Baby’s on the way,” said the nurse, sharply. “We can’t have dad miss the main event, can we?”

Sam’s jaw dropped open.

“What? No! I…”

But the nurse pushed him into a room and ordered him to change. Sam did as he was told then was led like a lamb to the slaughter into Sylvie’s birthing suite.

“Sam! Sam!” screamed Sylvie in between shrieks.

Sylvie was laid across a bed, her stomach huge and pulsating like an overblown jelly on top of a spin-dryer. There was entirely more of her on view than Sam had ever wished to see. He swallowed nervously and looked away.

Then the nurse pushed a horrified Sam further into the room towards Sylvie.

“Take her hand and help her with her breathing,” she instructed.

Thrashing wildly, Sylvie grabbed Sam’s hand and hung on with a vice-like grip that actually made him wince. He was pretty certain he’d have a row of nail marks up his arm the next day.

There was also some pretty colourful language coming out of Sylvie’s mouth. Sam hadn’t heard swearing like that since his rugby days: and Sylvie was also inventing a few he’d never heard before. She had quite an imagination.

“Er… I spoke to Wayne,” said Sam as soothingly as he could manage, with his right hand being mangled, “and he’s on his way.”

“That bastard!” screamed Sylvie. “You think I’m ever going to let him near me again after putting me through this? He’s never touching me again!”

The midwife looked puzzled. So Sam wasn’t the father after all. Even so, the mother had clearly chosen him for her birthing partner. During her years with the NHS the midwife had seen it all. Drawing her own conclusions, she sighed. Why was it that all the good-looking ones were gay?

Sylvie clamped down on Sam’s hand and he nearly let out a yell himself.

“That’s it, mum!” encouraged the midwife. “One more big push; baby’s on the way.”

“Get it out! Get it out!” snarled Sylvie, her eyes rabid.

“Nearly there: one more big push!”

Sylvie screamed and twisted Sam’s arm so hard, she held him in a wrist lock. He made the mistake of looking over his shoulder to see what was happening, and really wished he hadn’t. The walls lurched suddenly and Sam felt his knees start to buckle.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focussing instead on the talons digging into his skin.

Then with a long sigh, Sylvie’s grip relaxed. The midwife smiled and Sam felt the blood returning to his arm. He looked round as a purple, slimy-looking baby was placed wriggling on Sylvie’s belly.

Sam collapsed in a chair, breathing heavily. He stared at Sylvie, stunned by the look of ecstasy on her face. The baby squalled softly.

“Well done, mum,” said the midwife, her voice calm and pleased. “You’ve got a glorious baby girl.”

“A girl!” said Sylvie, more tears pouring down her face, this time for joy. “A girl! Oh, Sam!”

She smiled up at him and he felt tears of his own gathering in his eyes. He kissed her lightly on the cheek and held her hand, gently now.

“Well done, Sylvie. You were amazing!”

“Thank you, Sam!” she wept. “Thank you so much.”

Two health care assistants arrived to clean Sylvie up, and Sam was told to make himself scarce and get a coffee. He wandered off to find a vending machine, his limbs feeling oddly disconnected.

The hot, sweet drink was reviving. By the time he got back, he was feeling more like himself, though still strangely light-headed. Of course, he hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime: that was surely the reason. He wondered abstractedly if Elle had enjoyed her meal.

When he returned, Sylvie was sitting up in the narrow bed, a tiny baby wrapped in white, resting in her arms. The look of astonishment on her face was hilarious and wonderful and amazing. Sam pulled out his phone and took a quick snap while she wasn’t looking: Wayne would really want to see this.

He sat down next to her and she looked up at him with shining, exhausted eyes.

“Wow!” said Sam, gingerly stroking one finger down the baby’s cheek.

“I know,” said Sylvie. “Wow!”

They sat in silence, marvelling at the funny little bundle who had so suddenly arrived in the world.

Sylvie was drifting off to sleep when a grey-faced Wayne came careering through the doors.

“Where… what… is…?” he stuttered.

“She’s fine,” whispered Sam. “They both are. Congratulations – dad!”

Wayne gaped like a goldfish and Sam patted him on the shoulder. He sort of knew how he felt. Sam stepped silently out of the room and let the little family be together for the first time.

As Sam drove home from the hospital, the lightening sky and orangey-pink clouds heralded dawn. There was absolutely no point in going to bed. Instead he stood under the chilly shower as long as he could bear it, hoping the bone-shattering cold would wake him up enough for a day at the chalk face, even if it couldn’t make up for lack of sleep.