Miranda's Big Mistake - Jill Mansell [148]
`So you want the afternoon off? For crying out loud,
Chloe, you certainly pick your moments! I told you I had a vital meeting lined up-'
`Bruce, please, I need some help here.' Don't be a selfish bastard all your life, Chloe longed to yell, but didn't. `I really hate to ask, but you couldn't come and pick me up, could you?'
`What, miss my meeting and wreck my leather car seats? I do hope you're joking, Chloe.'
`I'm not joking.'
`And who's going to look after the shop?' demanded Bruce. `I'm sorry, but somebody has to stay here. Dial 999, get yourself an ambulance.' He paused and tut-tutted indignantly. `You have no idea how inconvenient this is.'
`But I can't call an ambulance if I'm not even in labour!' Chloe was desperate to make him understand.
`So? Just pretend you are,' Bruce snapped back. `Clutch your stomach and scream for pethidine, that's all Verity did the whole time she was in bloody labour with Jason. Then when you get to the hospital, tell them the contractions have stopped. They'll clean you up and give you the bus fare home.'
But-'
`Have to go, customer wants serving, 'bye.'
Bum went the dialling tone in Chloe's ear. She shifted her balance from one foot to the other and felt another warm trickle of amniotic fluid slide down the inside of her leg.
A cramping pain in the depths of her stomach increased in intensity, making her gasp. Was that one? Was that an actual contraction or just another of those Braxton Hicks practice ones she'd been experiencing for weeks?
It was all very well draping yourself across the sofareading the books, thought Chloe, perplexed, but when it came to the real thing, how were you supposed to tell? She waited. The cramping pain receded.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
If I stay in here for just a few more hours, Chloe thought, my trousers might dry out.
It all depended how much water had already leaked out and how much was left.
Oh, hang on…
Another cramp was on its way, building up in strength like a giant fist being squeezed gradually tighter and tighter…
Yes, yes, this must be labour. Hooray, that meant she could now phone for an ambulance and they wouldn't sue her for calling them out under false pretences.
Weak with relief, and panting a bit as the fist tightened its grip still further, Chloe snatched up the phone. She stood, index finger poised over the 9 button, and pictured the scene. An ambulance, blue lights flashing and siren blaring, screeching to a halt outside the phone box. Paramedics leaping out, ready for anything and clutching those cases they use to jump-start dead bodies back to life
Oh crikey, not really an emergency, thought Chloe, chickening out. Two contractions and a puddle, that's all I am.
Hardly the same as a multiple pile-up on the M25. Relieved, Chloe thought of something else she could do. Phone Miranda.
Yes, that was definitely a sensible idea. Miranda, as her designated birth partner, needed to be warned that things could be about to happen. She may have to finish work at
six and make her way straight to the hospital. Chloe felt better instantly. She was glad she'd have Miranda there. Not for the technical advice, admittedly - `Lawdie, Miss Scarlett, I don' know nothin' 'bout birthin' babies!' - but for sheer moral support. Because let's face it, if the going got rough and you wanted someone around to take your mind off things and make you laugh, well, Miranda was definitely your man.
When you worked in the Fenn Lomax salon you became accustomed to seeing celebrities, but even by Fenn's standards, cutting and styling the hair of Magdalena Rosetti was something of a coup.
Currently one of the world's most prized actresses, garlanded with Oscars at this year's ceremony and fкted as much for her beauty as for her stupendous talent, she was over in London to appear at a televised awards bash being broadcast live that evening from the Grosvenor Hotel.
`My hairdresser was scheduled to fly over with me,' Magdalena explained to Fenn.