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easier,’ she replied and pulled the duvet over her.
    ‘I suppose the bro is on a razz.’ Raine had also seen the evening news.
    ‘Celebrations are well underway,’ Carla replied. ‘I’ve plumped the pillows in the spare room.’
    ‘Wise move.’ Raine laughed. ‘Although his powers of recovery are amazing.’
    ‘So I’ve discovered. How’s business?’
    ‘Brilliant, thanks to you. How are you?’
    ‘Solid as the Rock of Gibraltar. That’s if I discount kicks, jabs, twinges, aches, and the occasional rugby tackle.’
    ‘Do you want me to come over and keep you company?’
    ‘Not tonight, thanks. I’m already in bed.’
    ‘Sleep tight, kiddo. Enjoy it while you can.’
    Carla arched her back to ease a deep cramping pain. Filled with restless energy, she arose and pulled clothes from the wardrobe, folded them into a black plastic sack. Tomorrow she would bring her Anticipation collection to Oxfam and wish good luck to those who wished to wear it.
    Midnight came and went without any sign of Robert. She drifted asleep. Her dreams were jagged with pain. Awakening suddenly, she was unable to remember the details, only the discomfort. A moist warm trickle eased between her legs. She hurled the duvet aside, gasped as a spasm rippled across her stomach. Her waters were not supposed to break until later in labour. Her baby was not ready. Another spasm gripped her and she understood that it was she, not her baby, who was unprepared.
    Gingerly, she left the bed. Her nightdress clung to her skin. She shivered as she pulled it from her and reached in the wardrobe for a skirt and top. Her bag was packed. All she needed was her husband, drunk or sober, by her side. She was angry with him, then amused, then panicked, her emotions all over the place.
    Robert had given her a number to ring in emergencies. Sharon answered, her clipped authoritative voice slurred, too loud. Music blasted in the background. Heavy rock. Sharon shouted at someone to lower the stereo then returned her attention to Carla.
    ‘He’s not exactly in the best of health.’ She laughed apologetically. ‘Actually he’s just passed out on the sofa.’
    ‘Then throw a bucket of cold water over him,’ Carla shouted. ‘And tell him to get his arse over to the Valley View because his child is not waiting around for his health to recover.’
    ‘Message understood.’ Sharon snapped to attention. ‘I’ll call the ambulance. Do you need a Garda escort?’
    Carla forced herself to breathe slowly until the cramp subsided. ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ she gasped. ‘But you’d better do it fast.’
    She debated ringing her parents then decided against it. Her father would cope but she did not want to watch her mother’s lips trembling, her hands flailing, her mind ticking off everything that could possibly go wrong.
    The ambulance crew arrived. They joked about delivering roadside babies. Carla panted and wondered if they would be laughing on the other side of their faces before the journey was over. The blue lights of a Garda car scattered the darkness as the ambulance driver followed, breaking through traffic lights and heading straight for the Valley View Maternity Clinic.
    The pain gained momentum, the spasms coming faster. Robert arrived in a taxi at the same time as the ambulance reached the clinic. He rushed towards her, looking, as she had expected, utterly disreputable, unshaven, his voice excruciatingly precise as he attempted to convince her he was sober. She laughed and allowed him to help her into a wheelchair. Their baby was coming. She sensed its determination, the driving force of its head seeking the light.
    ‘I love you…love you…love you,’ Robert babbled as she was wheeled into the clinic.
    She tightened her grip on his hand and breathed into the rhythm of another spasm.
    The midwife said, ‘This one’s not going to hang around. Come with me, Mother. We’re heading straight to the labour ward.’

Chapter Six
Carla
     
GARDNER