Shopaholic and Baby

TWENTY

I’VE NEVER BEEN more itching for a showdown in my life.

It didn’t take long to track down Venetia. I phoned the Holistic Birth Center, pretending to be really desperate to talk to her and asking where she was. After saying she was “unavailable,” the receptionist let slip that she was at the Cavendish Hospital, in a meeting. They offered to page her, as I’m still on the system as a patient, but I hastily said don’t bother, actually I was feeling better all of a sudden. Which they totally swallowed. They’re obviously used to flaky pregnant women phoning up and dithering.

So now I’m standing outside the Cavendish Hospital’s private maternity wing, my heart racing, clutching a carrier bag from The Look. It contains not only the cuff links but also the support stockings, the fanny pack, every single little note she ever sent Luke, the brochures and medical notes from her stupid holistic center…even the freebies from the goodie bag. (It was a bit of a wrench putting in the Crème de la Mer. In fact I scooped out most of it and put it in an old Lancôme pot. But Venetia needn’t know that.)

It’s like a breakup box. I’m going to hand it to her and say, very calmly, “Leave us alone, Venetia. Luke and I and the baby don’t want anything to do with you ever again.” She has to realize she’s lost, after that.

Plus I phoned up my lovely professor on the way here, and he gave me a brilliant Latin insult, which I’ve learned by heart. It goes Utinam barbari provinciam tuam invadant! and it means “May barbarians invade your province.”

Ha. That’ll teach her.

“Hello?” A tinny voice comes through the intercom system.

“Hi!” I say into the grille. “It’s Becky Brandon, a patient.” I won’t say any more. I’ll just get into the place and take it from there.

The door buzzes and I push it open. Normally this place is pretty tranquil, but today it’s full of activity. The seats are filled with women in various stages of pregnancy, chatting with their partners and holding leaflets entitled “Why Choose the Cavendish?” Two midwives are walking quickly down the corridor, saying words like operating and stuck, which I really don’t like the sound of, and I can hear a woman’s screams emanating from a distant room. My stomach curdles at the sound, and I fight the urge to put my hands over my ears.

Anyway. It wasn’t necessarily a scream of agony. She was probably just shouting because she couldn’t see the telly or something.

I approach the reception desk, breathing hard.

“Hi,” I say. “My name’s Rebecca Brandon, and I need to see Venetia Carter straightaway, please.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist demands. I haven’t seen her on duty before. She has graying curly hair, and glasses on silver chains, and a pretty abrupt manner for someone who’s dealing with pregnant women all day long.

“Well…no. But it’s really important.”

“I’m afraid Venetia is busy.”

“I don’t mind waiting. If you could just tell her I’m here…”

“You’ll have to phone for an appointment.” The receptionist taps at her keyboard as though I’m not even there.

This woman is really winding me up the wrong way. Venetia’s only in some stupid meeting. And here I am, practically nine months pregnant….

“Can’t you page her?” I try to stay calm.

“I can only page her if you’re in labor.” The woman shrugs, like it really isn’t her problem.

I stare at her through a fine mist of anger. I’ve come here to have it out with Venetia, and I’m not letting some woman in a mauve cardigan stop me.

“Well…I am in labor!” I hear myself saying.

“You’re in labor?” She eyes me skeptically.

She doesn’t believe me, does she? What a nerve. Why would I lie about a thing like that?

“Yes.” I plant my hands on my hips. “I am.”

“Are you having regular contractions?” she says, challenging me.

“Since yesterday, every three minutes,” I shoot back. “And I’ve got back pain, and I’ve been vacuuming nonstop…and…and my water broke yesterday.”

So there. Now tell me I’m not in labor.

“I see.” The woman looks a little taken aback. “Well…”

“And I want to see only Venetia, no one else,” I add, pressing home my advantage. “So, can you page her immediately, please?”

The woman is regarding me with a narrowed gaze.

“Your contractions are coming every three minutes?”

“Uh-huh.” Suddenly I realize I must have been standing in this reception area for at least three minutes.

“I’m coping with them silently,” I inform her with dignity. “I’m a Scientologist.”

“A Scientologist?” she echoes, putting her pen down and staring at me.

“Yes.” I meet her gaze, unflinching. “And I need to see Venetia urgently. But if you won’t let in a woman whose water broke yesterday and is silently suffering in great pain…” I raise my voice a little so that it carries to all the waiting pregnant women.

“All right!” The receptionist clearly realizes she’s defeated. “You can wait….” She surveys the packed seating area. “Wait in that room,” she says at last, and gestures to a room called Labor Room 3.

“Thank you!” I turn on my heel and head into Labor Room3. It’s a big room, with a scary-looking metal bed and a shower room and even a DVD player. No minibar, though.

I sit on the bed and swiftly get out my makeup case. Everyone knows the first rule of business is “Look good during confrontations.” Or if it isn’t, it should be. I put on some blusher and apply some fresh lipstick — and am practicing my steeliest expression in the mirror, when there’s a knock at the door.

That’s her. With the most enormous lurch of nerves I grab the breakup bag and stand up.

“Come in,” I say as calmly as possible, and a moment later, the door swings open.

“Hello, love!” A jolly-looking Afro-Caribbean midwife comes bustling in. “I’m Esther. How are you getting on? Contractions still coming thick and strong?”

“What?” I stare at her. “Er…no. I mean, yes….” I break off in confusion. “Listen, I really need to see Venetia Carter.”

“She’s on her way,” says the midwife soothingly. “I’ll get you sorted out in the meantime.”

I feel a tweak of suspicion. They haven’t paged Venetia at all, have they? They’re trying to palm me off.

“I don’t need sorting out,” I say politely. “Thanks all the same.”

“Darlin’, you’re having a baby!” The midwife peals with laughter. “You need to get into a gown. Or did you bring a T-shirt? And I’ll need to examine you, see how you’re progressing.”

I need to get rid of this woman, quick. She presses a hand on my abdomen and I shrink away.

“Actually, I’ve already been examined!” I say brightly. “By another midwife. So I’m all set….”

“Another midwife? Who? Sarah?”

“Er…maybe. I don’t remember. She suddenly rushed off, said she had to go to theater or something?” I blink innocently.

“I’ll start you a new chart.” Esther shakes her head, sighing. “I’ll have to examine you again….”

“No!” I squeak before I can stop myself. “I mean…I have a phobia about being examined. They said I could have minimal examination. Venetia understands. I really need to see Venetia, no one else. In fact, could you leave me alone till she comes? I want to focus on my…my inner womanhood.”

Esther rolls her eyes, then heads to the door and leans her head out.

“Pam. We’ve got another one of Venetia’s wacky patients here. Can you page her? All right.” She draws her head back in. “We’re paging Venetia for you. I’ll just fill this in. So, your water broke at home?”

“Uh-huh.” I nod.

“Did the other midwife say how far you’d got?”

“Um…four centimeters,” I say at random.

“And you’re coping with the pain?”

“Fine, so far,” I say bravely.

“Well, now.” The midwife finishes writing. “I really must examine you, so if you pop up on the bed for me….”

“No!” I back away. “Don’t touch me! I only want Venetia!”

There’s a knock at the door and a woman pops her head round it. “Esther? Can you come?”

“We’re busy today.” Esther sighs and hangs the chart on the end of the bed. “I’ll be back. And Venetia should be here soon. Sorry about this.”

“That’s all right,” I say, trying to hide my relief. “Thanks!”

The door closes behind her and I sink back on the bed. For a few minutes nothing happens, and I start to flick through the TV channels. I’m just wondering whether they have any DVDs for hire, when there’s another knock at the door.

It has to be Venetia this time. I grab the breakup bag, struggle to my feet, and take a deep breath to prepare myself.

“Come in!”

The door opens and a girl of about twenty, in a midwife uniform, looks in. She’s got blond wispy hair tied back and looks very apprehensive.

“Um, hi,” she says. “My name’s Paula and I’m a student midwife. Would you mind if I come and observe you in the early stages of labor for a while? I’d be really, really grateful.”

Oh, for God’s sake. I’m about to say “No, go away.” But she looks so shy and nervous, I can’t bring myself to. After all, I can always get rid of her when Venetia arrives.

“Sure.” I wave an arm. “Come on in. My name’s Becky.”

“Hi there.” She smiles shyly as she tiptoes in and sits down on a chair in the corner.

For a minute or two neither of us says anything. I’ve flopped back on the pillows and am staring at the ceiling, trying to hide my frustration. Here I am, all ready for a confrontation, and there’s no one to confront. If Venetia doesn’t show in the next five minutes, I’ll just go.

“You seem very…serene.” Paula looks up from scribbling on her notepad. “Do you have any particular coping mechanisms for the pain?”

Oh, right. I’m supposed to be in labor. I’d better put on a show or she’ll have nothing to write down.

“Absolutely.” I nod. “I’ll just move around a bit, actually. I find that really helps.” I get up and walk around the bed, swinging my arms back and forth in a businesslike way. Then I rock my hips around a few times, and do a stretch I once learned in Yoga-lates.

“Wow,” says Paula, impressed. “You’re very mobile.”

“I’ve done yoga,” I say with a modest little glow. “I think I’ll have a Kit Kat now. Just to keep my energy levels up.”

“Good idea.” Paula nods. As I reach for my bag I can see her writing down “Eats Kit Kat,” on her notes, and underneath, “Using yoga for pain relief.” She riffles back in her file, then looks up sympathetically. “During contractions, where’s most of the pain focused?”

“Er…just…around,” I say vaguely, munching on my Kit Kat. “Kind of here…and here…” I gesture at my body. “It’s hard to explain.”

“You seem amazingly calm, Becky.” Paula is gazing at me as I check my teeth in my hand mirror for Kit Kat crumbs. “I’ve never seen a laboring woman with such self-control!”

“Well, I’m a Scientologist,” I can’t resist saying. “So I’m trying to keep as quiet as possible, obviously.”

“A Scientologist!” Her eyes open wide. “That’s amazing.” Then she frowns in alarm. “Aren’t you supposed to be in total silence?”

“I’m the sort that’s allowed to talk,” I explain. “But not scream or anything.”

“Wow. You know, I’m not sure we’ve ever had a Scientologist in here before!” She looks quite animated. “Do you mind if I just tell a couple of my colleagues?”

“Go ahead!” I nod absently.

As she hurries out, I crumple up my Kit Kat wrapper and throw it in the bin, frustrated. This is stupid. Venetia’s not coming, is she? They’re never going to page her. And I’m not even in the mood for seeing her anymore. I think I’ll go home.

“She’s in here!” The door is flung open and a whole crowd of young midwives floods into the room, led by Paula. “This is Rebecca Brandon,” she addresses the group in an undertone. “She’s four centimeters dilated and is using yoga to help deal with the pain. Because she’s a Scientologist she’s keeping very quiet and calm. You’d barely know she was having contractions!”

They’re all gawping at me as though I’m an extinct animal. I’m almost sorry to let them down.

“Actually, I think it might be a false alarm.” I pick up my bag and shrug on my coat. “I’m going home now. Thanks very much for all your help—”

“You can’t go home!” says Paula with a little laugh. She consults my chart and nods. “I thought so. Rebecca, your water has broken. You’ll run the risk of infection!” She pulls off my coat and takes my bag. “You’re staying here till that baby’s out!”

“Oh,” I say, stymied.

What do I do now? Should I tell them I made up that my water has broken?

No. They’ll think I’m a total loony. What I’ll do is wait till they leave me alone and then sneak out. Yes. Good plan.

“She could be in transition,” one of the student midwives is saying knowledgeably to another. “They often want to go home at that stage. They get quite irrational.”

“Rebecca, you really need to put on a hospital gown.” Paula is surveying me with anxiety. “The baby could be well on the way. How are the contractions feeling? Are they coming quicker? Can I examine you?”

“She’s requested minimal monitoring and examination,” chips in another student midwife, looking at my chart. “She wants everything natural. I think we should get a senior midwife in here, Paula.”

“No, don’t!” I say hurriedly. “I mean…I’d like to be left alone for a while. If that’s OK.”

“You’re very stoic, Rebecca,” says Paula, resting a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “But we can’t leave you alone! You don’t even have a birth partner!”

“I’ll be fine, honestly.” I try to sound casual. “Just for a few minutes. It’s…it’s part of my beliefs. The woman in labor needs to be on her own every hour to say a special chant.”

Go on. I’m willing them silently. Just leave me alone….

“Well, I guess we should respect your beliefs,” Paula says uncertainly. “OK. We’ll pop out for a while, but if you feel anything moving on, just press the buzzer.”

“I will! Thanks!”

The door closes and I subside in relief. Thank God. I’m out of this place as soon as the coast is clear. I grab my bag and coat and open the door a chink — but two midwives are still standing right by the door. Hastily I close it again, trying not to make any noise. I’ll have to wait a few moments more. They’re bound to move away soon, and I’ll make a dash for it.

I can’t believe I’m in this situation. I should never have said I was in labor, I should never have pretended my water had broken. God, it’s a lesson. I am never doing that again, ever.

After a little more time I check my watch. Three minutes have gone by. Maybe I’ll check the corridor again. I pick up my coat, but before I can creep forward, the door bursts open.

“Oh my God, Bex!” Suze bursts in in a flurry of blond hair and Miu Miu embroidered coat. “Are you OK? I came as soon as I heard….”

“Suze?” I stare at her, poleaxed. “What—”

“Your mum’s just coming,” she says breathlessly, throwing off her coat to reveal Danny’s “Yummy Mummy” T-shirt. “We were all together in a taxi when we got the news. Janice is getting some magazines and drinks and Kelly says she’s going to wait down in reception….”

“But how…”

I don’t understand. Is Suze psychic or something?

“I rang your mobile and the woman who answered told me it was the Cavendish ward.” Suze is babbling in excitement. “She said you’d left your phone in reception and you were in labor! We all freaked! So we told the taxi driver to turn round straightaway and I’ve canceled this dinner party we were throwing—” She stops abruptly as she notices my appearance. “Hey, Bex, why are you holding your coat? Is everything OK?”

“Rebecca’s doing great!” says Paula. She comes into the room and gently takes my coat out of my hands. “Four centimeters dilated already and she’s had no pain relief!”

“No pain relief?” Suze looks staggered. “Bex, I thought you were having an epidural!”

“Um…” I swallow hard.

“But she won’t put on a hospital gown for us,” adds Paula in reproof.

“Of course she won’t!” says Suze indignantly. “They’re revolting. Bex, didn’t you bring your bag? Don’t worry, I’ll go and buy you a T-shirt. And we need some music in here, and some candles maybe….” She looks around critically.

“Um…Suze…” My stomach is bunched with nerves. “Actually…”

“Knock, knock!” There’s a fresh voice at the door. “It’s Louisa here! Can we come in?”

Louisa? This can’t be happening. She’s the aromatherapist I hired for the birth. How the hell did she…

“Your mum’s been busy calling all the people on your list, just to make sure they knew!” Suze beams. “She’s so efficient! They’re all on their way.”

I can’t cope. Everything’s moving too quickly. Louisa has already got out some little vials of oils and is rubbing something orangey on the back of my neck. “There!” she says. “Does that feel good?”

“Lovely!” I manage.

“Becky!” Mum’s shrill voice is sounding from outside the room. “My darling!” She comes rushing in, clutching a bunch of flowers and a paper bag full of croissants. “Sit down! Take it easy! Where’s your epidural?”

“She’s managing without one!” says Suze. “Isn’t she amazing?”

“Without one?” Mum looks appalled.

“Becky’s using yoga and breathing techniques to cope with the pain,” says Paula proudly. “Aren’t you, Becky? She’s already four centimeters!”

“Love, don’t put yourself through it.” Mum grabs my arm, looking close to tears. “Accept the pain relief! Take the drugs.”

I feel like my tongue’s glued to the bottom of my mouth.

“Now, this is jasmine oil,” comes Louisa’s gentle voice in my ear. “I’ll rub it into your temples….”

“Becky?” Mum says anxiously. “Can you hear me?”

“Maybe she’s having a contraction!” exclaims Suze, grabbing my hand. “Bex, breathe….”

“You can do it, love!” Mum’s face is screwing up tighter and tighter, as though she’s in labor herself.

“Focus on the baby.” Paula’s eyes are gazing intently into mine. “Focus on that lovely baby of yours coming out into the world….”

“Look.” I finally find my voice. “I…the thing is, I’m not in labor….”

“Becky, you are.” Paula rests her hands on my shoulders.

“Bex, conserve your energy!” Suze shoves a straw into my mouth. “Have some Lucozade. Then you’ll feel better!” Helplessly I suck at the sickly drink, and then stop dead as I hear hurried footsteps approaching. I know those footsteps. The door swings open and this time it’s Luke, his face pale, his eyes dark and tense as he surveys the room.

“Thank God. Thank God I’m not too late….” He seems almost speechless as he comes toward me on the bed. “Becky, I love you so much…. I’m so proud of you….”

“Hi, Luke,” I say feebly.

Now what the fuck do I do?

The thing is, in a lot of ways this is the perfect birth.

It’s twenty minutes later and the room is full of people. Felicity the reflexologist has arrived and is manipulating my toes. Maria the homeopath is measuring out some pills for me to take. Louisa is arranging essential oil burners around the place.

I have Mum and Suze sitting on one side of me, with Luke on the other. I’ve got a flannel on my forehead and a water spray in my hand and I’m wearing a long baggy T-shirt which Suze and Mum basically manhandled me into. I’m relaxed, music is playing, I’m managing without an epidural….

There’s only one tiny hitch. And I still haven’t plucked up the courage to tell anyone.

“Becky, would you like some gas and air?” Paula is approaching me with a face mask attached to a tube. “Just to take the edge off the pain.”

“Er…” I hesitate. “Well, OK. Thanks!”

“Breathe it in just as you feel the contraction beginning,” Paula instructs, handing me the mouthpiece. “Don’t leave it too late!”

“OK!” I put the face mask over my nose and mouth and breathe in deeply. Wow. This is fantastic! I feel like I just downed a bottle of champagne!

“Hey.” I take the mask away and give Luke a beatific smile. “That’s really nice. You should try it.”

“Becky, you’re doing amazingly.” He’s clasping my hand tight, not taking his eyes off me. “Is everything OK? Is everything going according to your birth plan?”

“Er…most things!” I say, avoiding his eyes, and quickly suck in some more gas and air. Oh God. I have to tell him. I have to.

“Luke…” I lean forward, feeling a bit tipsy from the gas and air. “Listen,” I whisper in his ear. “I’m not having the baby.”

“Darling, don’t worry.” Luke strokes my forehead. “No one’s in any hurry. It takes as long as it takes.”

Actually…there’s a thought. I mean, the baby’s going to come out sometime, isn’t it? I could just stay here and not say anything and drink Lucozade and watch the telly. And eventually something will happen and they’ll just say, “Becky was in labor for two weeks, poor thing!”

“I spoke to Dr. Braine, by the way,” Luke adds. “He’s on his way over from the Portland.”

“Oh.” I try to hide my dismay. “Great!”

In desperation I breathe in the gas and air again, trying to come up with a plan. Maybe the bathroom has a window I could climb out of. Or I could say I want to walk down the corridor, and then find a newborn baby and just quickly borrow it for a moment….

“I thought you were with Venetia Carter?” Paula stops writing on my notes. “Isn’t she on her way?” She glances at her watch. “If not, one of the senior midwives will need to examine you soon. Are you feeling any pressure, Becky?”

“Um…a bit, yes!”

She has no idea.

“Here.” Louisa gives me a pot of oil to sniff. “Clary sage for stress.”

“So, Paula, does labor ever go…backward?” I ask the question casually, trying to hide my sudden spark of hope.

“No.” Paula laughs. “Though it feels like it sometimes!”

“Ha-ha!” I join in her laughter and flop back on my pillows, inhaling the clary sage for stress. What I need is an essential oil for telling people you’re not in labor and they’ve all got to go home.

There’s a knock at the door and Suze looks up. “Ooh. That might be Jess. She said she was on her way….”

“Come in!” calls Paula. The door opens. And I freeze.

It’s Venetia. She’s wearing operating scrubs with her hair all bundled into a green cap, and she looks totally glamorous and important, like she’s been saving lives all day.

Bitch.

For an instant Venetia looks pretty shocked too, but then almost at once she comes over to the bed, a professional smile at her lips.

“Becky! I had no idea the patient they paged me about was you. Let’s have a look and see how you’re getting on….” Shetakes off her green cap and her hair tumbles radiantly down her back. “Luke, how long has she been in? Fill me in on what’s been happening.”

She’s doing it again. She’s cutting me out. She’s trying to bewitch Luke.

“Leave me alone!” I exclaim in fury. “I’m not your patient anymore and you’re not having a look at anything, thank you very much.”

Suddenly I don’t care about being in labor. Or pretend-labor. Or whatever I’m in. It’s not too late; I can still have my big confrontation. As everyone gapes, I cast away the gas and air mask and heave myself off the bed.

“Suze, can you give me that bag please?” I say in a trembling voice. “The carrier under the bed.”

“Yes! Here.” Suze hands me the carrier bag. “Is that her?” she adds in my ear.

“Uh-huh.” I nod.

“Cow.”

“That’s a good idea, Becky!” Paula’s saying in bright, uncertain tones. “Keeping upright will help the baby descend….”

“Venetia, I have something to return to you.” My voice is very slightly slurred, which is the fault of that stupid gas and air. And I keep breaking into a smile, which is a bit annoying. But anyway, she’ll get the message.

“Luke doesn’t want these.” I reach into the bag and throw the support stockings at her. They land on the floor and everyone looks at them.

Oh. I’ve got a bit confused.

“I mean…these.” I chuck the cuff link box, hard, and it hits Venetia on the forehead.

“Ow! Shit!” She clasps her head.

“Becky!” Luke remonstrates.

“She’s still after you, Luke! She sent you a Christmas present!” Suddenly I remember my Latin. “Uti…barberi…” My tongue keeps tripping up. “Nam… I mean …tui…”

Fuck.

Latin’s a stupid language.

“Love, are you delirious?” Mum looks anxious.

“Becky, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Venetia looks as though she wants to laugh.

“Just leave us alone.” I’m quivering with anger. “Leave me and Luke alone.”

“You paged me,” Venetia reminds me, and takes the chart from a nervous Paula. “Now, where are we at with this baby?”

“Don’t change the subject!” I yell. “You told me that you and Luke were having an affair. You tried to freak me out.”

“An affair?” Venetia opens her eyes wide. “Becky, Luke and I are just old friends!” She gives her silvery laugh. “I’m sorry, Luke. I realize Becky has a problem with me. But I had no idea she was quite so possessive….”

She looks totally reasonable, standing there in her green medical-authority uniform. And I’m the deranged, drugged pregnant woman in a baggy T-shirt.

“Ven, it’s fine,” says Luke, looking uncomfortable. “Listen, we’ve got Charles Braine coming to supervise. Maybe you should…leave.”

“Maybe I should.” Venetia nods conspiratorially at Luke, and I feel a stab of white-hot rage.

“Luke, don’t just let her get away with it! She said you were lovers! She said you were leaving me for her!”

“Becky…”

“It’s true.” Angry tears are running down my face. “No one believes me, but it’s true! She said the minute you saw each other again it was just a question of when and where. She said you were intoxicated with each other, and it was like Penelope and…someone. Othello.”

“Penelope and Odysseus?” Luke stares at me.

“Yes! That’s it. And you were meant to be together. And that I didn’t have a marriage anymore….” I wipe my runny nose with my T-shirt sleeve. “And now she’s pretending I’m a completely deluded psycho….”

Something has changed in Luke’s eyes. “Penelope and Odysseus?” he says, an edge to his voice. “Ven?”

There’s a prickling silence.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Venetia says smoothly.

“Who are Penelope and Odysseus?” Suze whispers in my ear, and I shrug helplessly.

“Venetia…” Luke looks at her directly. “We were never Penelope and Odysseus.”

For the first time ever, I see Venetia falter. She doesn’t say anything, but just stares at Luke with a kind of defiance. Like she wants to say, Yes, we were.

OK, I have to know. “Luke, who are Penelope and Odysseus?” I ask.

I’m really hoping they’re not a PR guy and an obstetrician who get together after the wife is pushed out of the picture.

“Odysseus left Penelope to go on a long journey,” says Luke, his eyes still pinioning Venetia’s. “The Odyssey. And Penelope waited faithfully for him. For twenty years.”

“Well, she hasn’t waited faithfully for you!” Suze says, pointing an indignant finger at Venetia. “She’s had affairs all over the place!”

“Venetia, did you tell Becky we were having an affair?” Luke’s stentorian voice makes us all jump. “Did you say I was leaving her for you? Did you try to break her confidence?”

“Of course I didn’t,” says Venetia coldly. Her eyes are hard but her jaw is trembling slightly, I notice.

“Good.” Luke’s tone is still scathing. “Well, let’s make it crystal clear once and for all. I would never have an affair with you, Venetia. I would never have an affair with anyone.” He turns to me and takes both my hands. “Becky, there is nothing whatsoever between me and Venetia, whatever she might have said. We dated for a year. As teenagers. That’s it. OK?”

“OK,” I whisper.

“How did you break up?” Suze says with interest, then flushes as everyone turns to look at her. “It’s relevant!” she says defensively. “You should be open about past relationships! Tarkie and I know everything about each other’s old flings. If you’d told Bex, instead of…” She trails off.

“Maybe you’re right.” Luke nods. “Becky…maybe I should have explained what happened between us. How it ended.” His face twists fleetingly. “Venetia had a pregnancy scare.”

“She was pregnant?” I feel sick at the thought.

“No. No!” Luke shakes his head vigorously. “She thought she might be, briefly. But anyway, it…clarified things. And we ended it.”

“You panicked.” Venetia’s voice is suddenly throbbing, as though she can’t control a long-buried anger. “You panicked, Luke, and we lost the best relationship I’ve ever had. Everyone was jealous of us at Cambridge, everyone. We were perfect together.”

“We weren’t perfect!” He looks at her incredulously. “And I didn’t panic—”

“You did! You couldn’t cope with commitment! It frightened you!”

“It did not frighten me!” Luke shouts, exasperated. “It made me realize you weren’t the person I wanted to have children with. Or spend the rest of my life with. Ever. And that’s why I ended it!”

Venetia looks as though he hit her. For a few seconds she appears speechless — then her eyes focus on me with such aggression that I shrink away.

“And she is?” she demands with a savage gesture. “This mindless consumer little…girlie is who you’re going to spend the rest of your days with? Luke, she has no depth! She has no brain! All she cares about is her shopping, and her clothes…and her girlfriends….”

The blood has drained from my face and I feel a bit shaky. I’ve never heard such vitriol.

I glance over at Luke. His nostrils are flared and a vein is beating in his head.

“Don’t you dare talk about Becky like that.” His voice is so steely, even I’m a bit scared. “Don’t you dare.”

“Come on, Luke.” Venetia gives a mocking little laugh. “I grant you she’s pretty….”

“Venetia, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Luke says evenly.

“She’s beyond frivolous!” cries Venetia. “She’s nothing! Why the hell did you marry her?”

There’s a tiny intake of breath around the room. No one moves for about thirty seconds. Luke looks a bit stunned to have been asked such a blatant question.

God, I wonder what he’s going to say. Maybe he’ll say for my brilliant cooking and repartee.

No. Unlikely.

Maybe he’ll say…

I’m a bit stumped, to be honest. And if I’m stumped, Luke must be too.

“Why did I marry Becky?” he echoes at last, in such a strange voice that I think maybe he’s suddenly wondering himself, and realizing he made a terrible mistake.

All of a sudden I feel a bit cold and a bit scared.

And still Luke hasn’t said anything.

He walks over to the sink and pours himself a cup of water as everyone watches nervously. At last he turns. “Have you spent time with Becky?”

“I have!” says Suze, as though she’s going to win the Jackpot prize. Everyone turns to look at her, and she colors. “Sorry,” she mutters.

“The first time I ever saw Becky Bloomwood…” He pauses, a tiny smile at his lips. “She was asking a bank marketing department why they didn’t produce checkbook covers in different colors.”

“You see?” Venetia tosses a hand impatiently, but Luke doesn’t even flicker.

“The next year they did produce checkbook covers in different colors. Becky’s instincts match no one else’s. Becky has ideas no one else has. Her mind goes to places no one else’s does. And sometimes I’m lucky enough to go along with her.” Luke’s eyes meet mine, soft and warm. “Yes, she shops. Yes, she does crazy things. But she makes me laugh. She makes me enjoy life. And I love her more than anything else in the world.”

“I love you too,” I mumble, a lump in my throat.

“Fine,” says Venetia, her face pale. “Fine, Luke! If you want a shallow little airhead—”

“You have no idea, so shut the fuck up.” Luke’s voice is suddenly like a machine gun.

Mum opens her mouth to protest Luke’s language — but he looks so livid, she closes it again, looking nervous.

“Becky’s a lot more principled than you ever were.” He’s regarding Venetia with contempt. “She’s brave. She puts other people before herself. I couldn’t have got through the last few days without her. You guys probably know what trouble my company is in at the moment….” He glances at Suze and Mum.

“Trouble?” Mum looks alarmed. “What kind of trouble? Becky never told us!”

Luke turns to me, incredulous. “Becky, haven’t you said anything?”

“I knew something was up,” Suze gasps. “I knew it. All those phone calls. But she wouldn’t say what it was….”

“I didn’t want to spoil the party.” I flush as everyone turns toward me. “Everyone was having such a lovely time….” I break off, realizing I still haven’t told him. “Luke…there’s something else. We’ve lost the house.”

As I say the words I feel a wave of crushing disappointment again. Our beautiful family house, gone.

“You’re kidding.” Luke’s face darkens in shock.

“They’re selling it to someone else. But…it’ll be fine!” Somehow I force a bright smile. “We can rent a flat somewhere…. I’ve been looking on the Net — we’ll easily find somewhere….”

“Becky…” I can see it in his eyes too. Our dreams, destroyed.

“I know.” I blink back the tears. “It’ll be fine, Luke.”

“Oh, Becky.” I look over, and Suze is practically in tears too. “Have our castle in Scotland. We never use it!”

“Suze.” I can’t help a half-giggle. “Don’t be silly.”

“You’ll come and live with us, love!” Mum chimes in. “You won’t rent any nasty flat! And as for you, young lady…” She turns on Venetia, her face pink with outrage. “How dare you upset my daughter when she’s in labor!”

Shit.

I’d forgotten about being in labor.

“God, of course!” Suze claps a hand over her mouth. “Bex, you haven’t made a peep! You’re amazing!”

“My darling, you are such a star.” Luke looks absolutely awestruck. “All this, and you’re in labor….”

“Oh…er…it’s nothing!” I try to sound modest. “You know….”

“It’s not nothing — it’s incredible. Isn’t it?” Luke appeals to the student midwives.

“She is pretty special,” agrees Paula, who has been following the exchange with Venetia with a wide-open mouth. “That’s why we’re all observing her.”

“Special, huh?” Venetia suddenly says. She comes over and looks me up and down, her eyes narrowed. “Becky, when exactly was your last contraction?”

“Er…” I clear my throat. “It was…er…just now.”

“She’s a Scientologist,” puts in Paula eagerly. “She’s managing the pain silently. It’s wonderful to watch.”

“A Scientologist?” echoes Luke.

“It’s my new hobby!” I say brightly. “Didn’t I tell you?”

“I never knew you were a Scientologist, Bex!” says Suze in surprise.

“Is that the Moonies?” Mum demands of Luke in alarm. “Has Becky joined the Moonies?”

“Well, now.” Venetia’s eyes gleam. “Let’s have a look at you, Becky. Maybe this baby’s ready to be delivered!”

I edge away. If she gets to examine me, I’m basically dead.

“Don’t be shy!” Venetia is advancing on me, and in panic I hurry round to the other side of the bed.

“Look at that mobility!” one of the student midwives is saying admiringly.

“Come on, Becky….”

“Go away! Leave me alone!” I grab the gas and air mask and start gulping it in. That’s better. God, we should have a tank of this stuff at home.

“We’re here!” The door is thrust open and everyone looks up to see Danny bursting in, followed by Jess. “We’re here! Did we miss it?”

Jess is wearing her She’s a Yummy Mummy and We Love Her T-shirt, to match Suze’s. Danny is wearing a blue cashmere tank with She’s a RedHaired Bitch and I Hate Her printed in khaki on the front.

“Where’s the baby?” Danny looks around the room with bright eyes, taking in the tense scene. His eyes alight on Venetia. “Hey, who invited Cruella de Venetia?”

Luke is staring at the slogan on Danny’s tank top. He gives a sudden snort of comprehending laughter.

“You’re so juvenile,” spits Venetia, who has also clocked the tank top. “All of you. And if Little Miss Becky is really in labor, then I’m—”

“Oh,” I shriek. “Oh! I’m leaking!”

God, that’s the weirdest feeling. Something somewhere has just burst, and a pool of water is gathering at my feet. I can’t stop it.

“Jesus!” says Danny, shielding his eyes. “OK…way too much info.” He takes Jess’s elbow. “C’mon, Jess, let’s go get a drink.”

“Your water has gone,” says Paula, looking puzzled. “I thought that happened yesterday.”

“That could have been her forewater,” another student pipes up, looking all girly-swotty and pleased with herself. “This could be her hindwater.”

I’m in a state of shock. My water has broken.

That means…I’m in labor.

I really, genuinely, truly am in labor.

Aaaargh. Oh my God. We’re going to have a baby!

“Luke.” I grab him in total panic. “It’s happening!”

“I know, my darling.” Luke smooths my brow. “And you’re doing amazingly….”

“No!” I wail. “You don’t understand—” I stop, suddenly breathless. What was that?

It felt like someone squeezed my abdomen and then squeezed it some more and then squeezed it even tighter, even though I was begging them to stop.

Is that what a contraction’s like?

“Luke…” My breath is suddenly rather snatched. “I’m not sure I can do this….”

It’s even tighter now, and I’m almost panting, my hands gripping Luke’s forearm.

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be wonderful.” He’s stroking my back rhythmically. “Dr. Braine’s on his way. The redhaired bitch is just leaving. Aren’t you, Venetia?” He doesn’t take his eyes off mine.

The contraction seems to have finished. The clenching sensation has died away. But I know it’ll be back, like that scary guy on Elm Street.

“I think I’d like an epidural after all,” I gulp. “Quite soon.”

“Of course!” says Paula, hurrying over. “I’ll page the anesthetist. You’ve done so well to last this long, Becky….”

“…ridiculous.” I hear the last word of some muttered epithet of Venetia’s before she bangs the door closed.

“What a cow!” says Suze. “I’m telling all my pregnant friends what a cow she is.”

“She’s gone.” Luke kisses me on the forehead. “It’s over. I’m sorry, Becky. I’m so sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I say automatically.

And actually…I mean it.

Already I feel like Venetia’s irrelevant, drifting away from us like smoke. It’s Luke and me that matters. And the baby.

Oh God, another contraction’s starting already. This whole labor malarkey is a complete pain. I grab the gas and air mask and all the student midwives gather round, encouraging me as I start to inhale.

“You can do it, Becky…stay relaxed…breathe….”

Come on, baby. I want to meet you.

“You’re doing great…keep breathing, Becky….”

Of course you can do it. Come on. We both can.