Cath Staincliffe - Witness

She always thought of Danny Macateer when she drove past the recreation ground but these days there was no splintering of confidence or shortness of breath, just sadness, an ache that the boy had died. Sorrow soft inside.

‘How’s she doing?’ Fiona asked Vinia.

‘Fine but they’re speeding up. She’s upstairs now, needed the loo.’

They went up to Cheryl’s room. Milo was lying on the floor, flying a toy plane around with one hand.

‘Okay, mister,’ Vinia said. ‘Bedtime.’

Milo got to his feet, stared at Fiona.

‘Hello,’ she said, ‘remember me? That’s a lovely plane. You flying off to bed now?’

He nodded and Vinia took him out. Fiona put her bag down and Cheryl came in.

‘How are you?’ Fiona asked.

‘Okay.’

‘Any show?’

‘Yes. And the pains are getting closer.’

‘Okay,’ said Fiona. ‘You pop on the bed and I’ll do your temp and BP, then if that’s all right with you I’ll do an exam, see where you’re up to.’

‘Thanks. Ooh!’ Cheryl’s face changed, shutting down as she focused on a fresh contraction.

Fiona placed her hand on the top of Cheryl’s bump and timed the contraction. Cheryl grasped her other hand, squeezing it tight. The girl was breathing well, steadily, moaning softly.

‘That’s it,’ said Fiona, ‘that’s good. Eighty seconds.’ Substantial. ‘How long since the last one?’

‘Not long. Three minutes?’ Cheryl said.

Fiona handed her a thermometer and asked her to place it under her arm, then she checked her blood pressure. Both were fine.

‘We’ll have a listen to the baby.’ She got out her sonic aid and placed it low on Cheryl’s abdomen. The baby had been fully engaged for the last three weeks so Fiona was pretty sure where she’d find the heartbeat. The whooshing of the womb and the galloping sound of the heartbeat echoed in the room.

Cheryl smiled. ‘So fast,’ she said.

Fiona nodded. ‘Your waters haven’t gone?’

‘No.’

‘Great. Can you lie back for me?’ Fiona put on her apron and snapped on the thin gloves. She used some gel to lubricate her fingers then bent to examine Cheryl. With a little spike of surprise she realized that the rim of the cervix was thin, almost fully effaced, and as she gently spread her fingers she estimated it was about nine centimetres dilated. It wouldn’t be long till second stage. ‘Nine centimetres,’ she told Cheryl. ‘We should take you in straight away. Is Vinia staying here with Milo?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Jeri?’

‘He should be here any time, he got the train.’

‘You might want to tell him to go straight to St Mary’s.’

‘Ooh!’ Cheryl bent over, another contraction sweeping through her, her fist balled on her knees, face contorted.

‘Breathe through it, that’s good.’

When the pain left Cheryl said she needed to wee again and Fiona gave her a stick to use so she could check her urine. Fiona texted Owen telling him she would be late home and asking him to make sure Ziggy got a walk.

She was about to ring Despatch for the ambulance car when Cheryl called out from the bathroom. Fiona went to her. Cheryl was standing clinging to the wash basin, the spatter of liquid pooling at her feet. ‘It’s my waters,’ she said. ‘I think the baby’s coming. Aah!’ She gasped and her legs trembled.

‘Okay, darling,’ Fiona said, ‘just breathe, that’s lovely. You’re doing really well. I’m just going to have a look.’

Fiona got to her knees and lifted Cheryl’s nightdress: what she saw confirmed every instinct. ‘Okay, the baby’s in a hurry so we’ll stay here. I’ve some things in the car, I’ll bring those. We’ll be fine.’

Vinia came out on to the landing. ‘Cheryl?’

‘Can you find some spare sheets and towels, the older the better,’ Fiona asked her.

‘She having the baby here?’ Vinia looked appalled.

‘Yep. Just wait with her while I fetch my things.’

Fiona called one of the other midwives on the rota and asked her to come, then set about preparing for the delivery. Vinia helped her cover the floor and the bed with plastic sheeting then old sheets and covers. She checked the room temperature and Vinia organized the baby things, pulling them out of the bag Cheryl had packed for the hospital.

Cheryl stood swaying, holding on to the footboard of the bed. ‘I want to push,’ she said. She began to moan: long, deep sounds.

‘Just let it come, Cheryl, try and open up, try and relax, good girl.’

Fiona turned to Vinia. ‘Rub her back, low down.’

Three more contractions and the head was crowning. Cheryl was crying, tears dripping down her face. ‘Good girl,’ Fiona reassured her, ‘you’re doing brilliantly, really good. Won’t be long now and the baby’ll be here. Have you got any names?’

Cheryl sniffed. ‘Dora for a girl, after my nana. I think it’s a girl.’ Then she wailed again. ‘It’s coming,’ she screamed. ‘It hurts!’

Fiona stroked her shoulders; let her settle instinctively on all fours on the floor. It was a great position for delivery but awkward for the midwife who had to hunker down behind and monitor what was going on. The room was cramped with the three of them there but she’d just have to deal with it.

‘That’s it, push now, Cheryl, long and steady, keep going, keep going, that’s great, that’s lovely.’ Fiona could see the cap of dark hair, the ball of the baby’s skull, see it straining to emerge. She asked Cheryl to wait, telling her to pant. This would allow the perineum to stretch and she’d be less likely to tear. When the next contraction came she let her push again, urging her on, and saw, with pleasure and relief, the head crown.

‘The head’s out, Cheryl. Well done.’ Fiona watched the head rotate, the natural preparation for the birth of the shoulders.

The door bell rang, it would be the second midwife, and Vinia went to let her in. It was customary to have two of them at the birth. If there were any problems one could tend to the mother and the other to the child.

Cheryl began to groan again and Fiona instructed her, ‘Push nice and steady, that’s good. You’re doing really well. Keep going.’

Cheryl yelled and bore down. She felt the pressure between her legs, the shocking sensation of the baby, bone and muscle, forcing her way out. The tearing pain that made her scream and then Jeri was there, coming in with Vinia, his face wide with apprehension and fear flashing his eyes.

‘Aw, Cheryl baby.’ He knelt before her.

‘She’s coming,’ Cheryl panted. ‘Oh, Nana, help me.’

‘Aw, man,’ said Jeri.

Cheryl rocked back slightly, grunting, and put her arms around Jeri’s neck. ‘It hurts,’ she cried.

‘Okay, babe,’ he whispered to her, ‘it’s cool, all cool. You’re good.’

Cheryl yelped. Another rippling pain.

‘Push this time,’ Fiona said, ‘good and strong, hard as you can.’

Cheryl locked her arms tight round Jeri’s neck and burrowed her face into his shoulder, strained and keened, the solid weight of the baby splitting her open. She would tear apart, she would die from this.

‘Good girl, keep going, baby’s coming, keep pushing, good girl,’ Fiona said.

Then with a shocking rush the baby came, slithered out in a stream of fluid and blood and mucus.

‘Baby’s here, well done, good girl.’ Fiona helped Cheryl turn, undid the buttons on her nightdress and placed the baby on her chest. Covered the baby with a thick towel.

Cheryl looked down at the fine sweet face, the damp, black hair, looked into the dark eyes, pools of ink, shining bright. ‘Hello, my little one, hiya. Hiya.’ She kissed the baby’s head and each eye, its nose, breathed in the strange smell: like toast and brine.