Christmas at Little Beach Street Bakery
Page 47

‘Stop it,’ said Polly. ‘There’s nothing to be done about it now. Nothing. The baby is coming. Will I get Reuben?’
Kerensa blinked. Then suddenly her breathing hitched, and she bent over quickly.
‘Ohhhhh!’ she said, and her entire body tensed for what felt like a very long time to both of them. She was silent for a moment, then straightened up a little. She looked at Polly. ‘I think… I think that might have been one,’ she said.
‘I agree,’ said Polly. ‘I’d better get Reuben.’
‘As soon as he arrives, everything’s going to go bananas,’ said Kerensa, her breathing slowing gradually.
In the quiet unlit kitchen, surrounded by the scent of Polly’s bread that she’d put in so it would be fresh for breakfast, it was oddly peaceful and timeless. Both of them briefly wished they could just stay there for a little while longer. The Christmas tree glimmered and glistened in the hallway. The world stopped; breathed, waiting for Christmas morning. Waiting, Polly supposed, for a baby…
Kerensa reached out her hand and Polly squeezed it.
‘You know,’ said Polly, ‘everything is going to be all right.’
‘Is it?’ said Kerensa. Her face was full of fear.
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘I’m here. It will be fine. Things end up fine.’
‘Do they?’ said Kerensa.
‘Yes,’ said Polly. ‘That’s the promise of Christmas. Believe it.’
They squeezed hands again. Then Kerensa lurched over once more.
‘Okay,’ said Polly. ‘You’re going to have to time your contractions.’
‘How come you know this stuff?’ grumbled Kerensa.
‘I watch Call the Midwife,’ said Polly. ‘Your husband is going to come back from t’pit and not want to see it.’
‘Yes, well, I wish,’ said Kerensa.
Polly made sure she was sitting comfortably.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’m going. I’m going to get him, okay?’
They shared a look.
‘Everything changes now,’ said Kerensa.
‘Everything always does,’ said Polly.
She kissed Kerensa lightly on the head, then turned and left the silent, fragrant kitchen, as the great boat out on the horizon finally disappeared.
Chapter Thirty-One
Privately Polly couldn’t believe it was in the least bit good for a new baby to be surrounded by so much fuss and fluster. Reuben had to be instantly persuaded out of calling for a helicopter, on the grounds that the baby was still probably a day or so away and that it would be the single most dangerous part of the entire birth.
Rhonda was running around – after emerging with a suspiciously full face of make-up for the time of day – trying to make everything about her and announcing what it had been like when Reuben was born (a feat of extraordinary pain and endurance that nearly killed her; she had lost eleven pints of blood, not something that anyone felt was particularly useful to say at the time). Reuben had of course instantly ignored/forgotten the fact that he’d been annoyed with Kerensa at the party.. Normally this was the most infuriating thing about him. But that night Kerensa was profoundly grateful for it as he stood in the middle of the kitchen barking orders and waking up his incredibly expensive gynaecologist, who tried to explain that he probably wouldn’t be needed for quite a while, seeing as Kerensa’s contractions were still a good fifteen minutes apart and, so far, not terribly debilitating, so perhaps they should call him in the…
Reuben gave this extremely short shrift, and sent the helicopter for him instead.
In an instant, a fleet of black cars had arrived at the door. Kerensa had at least packed a bag, but Reuben had packed two suitcases, and the entire boot of the car was soon filled.
‘Come,’ said Kerensa to Polly.
‘Are you sure?’ said Polly. Kerensa looked around at the others. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Will you get my mum first?’
It was agreed that Polly would pick up Kerensa’s mum and meet them at the hospital.
‘Wait!’ shouted Reuben as she left. ‘Don’t take that deathtrap van, you’ll kill everyone.’
And he hurled her the keys to Kerensa’s Range Rover.
Polly drove like the wind down completely deserted roads, revelling in the smooth automatic car that didn’t let in draughts. She had to phone Huckle. It was her first instinct in everything: phone him, tell him.
But she hadn’t told him everything, had she? And if she told him about this, well, it would hurl them straight back into that incredibly knotty problem.
Reuben would call him. Of course he would. Reuben would call him and then… well. Then they’d see.
Kerensa’s mum Jackie was standing on the kerb, her own suitcase completely packed, the joy and nerves and excitement plain to see on her face, all mixed in together.
‘Baby Express?’ said Polly cheerfully, leaning out of the window.
‘This is totally the best Christmas present ever,’ said Jackie, and Polly was suddenly so pleased and relieved to be with someone who was a hundred per cent straightforwardly delighted about everything that was going on that she too relaxed and enjoyed the drive to the hospital, through little towns with jolly pubs where revellers had celebrated Christmas Eve; where old school friends, long scattered, came back together just for the night; students came home; everyone was at home to be with their families for Christmas, just as it should be, even though tomorrow there would be disappointments: batteries that didn’t work, unsuitable gifts, arguments about politics, dry turkey and too much drink taken, who’s looking after Granny, ancient unearthed sibling rivalries replayed around the table and overexcited children vomiting and crying.
But all of those were for tomorrow. Tonight there was a lovely sense of anticipation, almost nicer, as lights on in houses and cottages showed children bouncing up and down on beds and mothers trying to get them settled; people pulling mysterious shapes out of garages, marching with holly and wrapping paper; fairy lights flickering; the cars they passed piled high with bundles.
Polly remembered the old story about how at midnight on Christmas Eve all the animals fell silent in memory of the waiting baby and the creatures in the stall at Bethlehem and the sheep on the hillsides. When she’d been little, she’d always wanted to stay up till midnight to see if next door’s Pomeranian would stop its usual yapping.