Page 113 of Carry Me Home

‘What? Why?’

‘Baby’s coming. Spread the word. And move your van – they’ll need the road clear.’

‘Baby’s—’ His eyes widen. ‘Right. On it.’

He disappears, already shouting down the harbour. Within seconds, the village is mobilising. Tilly emerges from The Ship, eyes wide with excitement as I follow Kit along the harbour road and up the curving path to the rows of cottages.

Through it all, impossibly, absurdly, the ice-cream van at the top of the harbour starts playing ‘Greensleeves’.

Kit stares at it. ‘What the hell?’

‘It’s Tuesday. He always comes on Tuesday.’

‘My wife is having a baby and there’s an ice-cream van playing bloody “Greensleeves”.’

‘Welcome to Sea Salt Bay.’

‘This is insane.’

‘Yes. Now let’s go.’

The cottage is chaos.

Isla’s in the living room, bent over the back of the sofa, gripping the cushions hard enough to tear the fabric. She’s wearing one of Kit’s jumpers – enormous on her – and nothing else from the waist down. Her hair’s escaping from its bun. Her face is flushed and sheeted with sweat.

‘Nina.’ She looks up, relief flooding her features. ‘Thank God. Someone who isn’t going to stand there like a useless lemon.’

Kit hovers in the doorway. ‘I’m not⁠—’

‘You asked me four times if I wanted a cup of tea.’ Isla’s voice pitches upward as another contraction hits. ‘I don’t want tea. I want – oh God – I want drugs. Hospital drugs. All of them.’

‘Right.’ Kit nods. Doesn’t move. ‘Hospital.’

‘Yes, Kit. Hospital. Where they have the drugs.’

‘I’ll get the car.’

‘You do that.’

He disappears. Isla grabs my hand, squeezing hard enough to grind the bones together.

‘He’s going to be useless,’ she gasps. ‘Absolutely useless. I love him but he’s got that look – you know the look? The one where his brain has completely left his body?’

‘He’ll be fine.’

‘He won’t. He’ll go silent and weird and I’ll want to kill him.’ She breaks off, face contorting. ‘Oh God. Oh God oh God oh⁠—’

‘Breathe. Just breathe.’

‘I am breathing. Breathing is the only thing—’ A groan, low and animal. ‘How did women do this before epidurals? How did the human species survive?’

‘Stubbornness. Spite.’

‘Sounds about right.’ The contraction passes. She sags against the sofa. ‘Don’t leave me. Promise you won’t leave me.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’

‘Even when I say horrible things. Because I’m going to say horrible things. I can feel them building.’