Page 61 of One Day at a Time

It was like a rehearsed speech, and maybe once upon a time she’d have believed him.

She’d thought back to what her mum had said. Set your boundaries. Stick to them.

‘Our marriage is over, Kyle. I don’t want to hear it. You can be involved in the baby’s life as much as is fair – 50/50 where possible. I want to stay in this house?—’

‘No. No way. Is this because of that prick next door? Are you seeing him?’

That’s when she’d lost it. ‘Seeing him?’ she’d shouted, before remembering that she was heavily pregnant and stress wasn’t good for the baby. A memo he’d clearly missed. ‘Of course I’m not seeing him. I’m nine months pregnant with your baby.’ She had taken another breath, regained her composure and made a note not to tell Yvie, Keli or Emmy about this, or his tyres wouldget slashed every night for a month. ‘Like I said, we’re done. There’s no coming back from this. You’ve broken my trust too many times…’

‘It wasonetime, and you already knew about it.’

‘No, it was many times. Months.’

‘Yeah, but only one woman,’ he’d said, as if that made it ok. ‘I’ve never been unfaithful to you before that or since, Orla. Like I said, I only went back to tell her to stop harassing me. She’s deranged.’

‘One woman is one too many,’ she’d said sadly, feeling deep in her soul that he was lying even now. Was his affair really over? Every fibre of her being doubted it. ‘Look, Kyle, the details don’t matter. I thought I could get over it. Turns out I can’t. Let’s try to keep this peaceful, though. For the baby’s sake. I’ll let you know when I’m in labour…’

‘I want to be there. I want to see my child born.’

‘I won’t stop you. But don’t contact me before then, Kyle. Like I said, we’re done.’

He’d got up, shook his head. ‘You’ll change your mind.’

‘I won’t,’ she’d said calmly. Quietly. The days of him dictating her behaviour, gaslighting her, swaying her from her instincts were gone.

That had been at four o’clock this afternoon. Now it was nine o’clock, and Orla was counting down the hours to the new year. To her new life. The one where she and her baby were together and she’d figure out everything else. If her antenatal pal, Maddie, could face solo parenting with determination and confidence that it would be okay, then Orla could too. Kimi being there on Christmas Day had actually done her a favour. Now she knew the truth, her fate was in no-one’s hands but her own.

‘You okay there, sweetheart?’ her mum asked her, as she sat down on the sofa beside her.

‘I think I am, Mum.’ Orla pushed over the edge of her white furry blanket so that it covered her mum’s legs too.

‘Thanks, sweetheart. You know, I’m so proud of you and…’ Her mum stopped and Orla knew that it was because her face had twisted, and she’d gasped as she doubled over, trying to breathe through a pain that had just ripped through her side.

‘Mam, can you go grab my hospital bag and call a taxi please,’ she stuttered, through repetitive breaths. ‘I think your granddaughter is about to make an appearance.’

BACK WHERE WE STARTED

LET’S RECAP FIRST…

31

HOGMANAY

The Maternity Ward at Glasgow Central Hospital

‘There’s just something so optimistic about giving birth after midnight tonight, isn’t there?’ Midwife Sharon Byrne popped another Wotsit in her mouth, aware that cheesy puffs and Vimto weren’t exactly the basis of a balanced diet, but hey… It was almost 10p.m. on Hogmanay, the last day of the year, she was two hours into a twelve-hour shift that would take her to 8a.m. tomorrow morning, they were two midwives down and given that there were several ladies in the birthing suites, it was unlikely that she’d get another break until morning.

Not to mention there had already been plenty of drama on the ward tonight. They’d had two deliveries in the last two hours and one of the new mums was miffed because she’d been determined to hang on until after midnight, while the other had asked her inebriated husband to leave the hospital because he broke into the celebration Scotch four hours before his baby was born.

Sharon had a feeling the drama wasn’t over. Right now, there was a race against time for another dad to get here before his child madeits entrance into the world. There was an aspiring social media influencer who, according to fellow midwife, Candy McLeish, had taken approximately 2,324 pictures and eight live videos since her waters broke in Tesco’s three hours ago. And there were a couple of unconventional birthing partner scenarios, including one that appeared to require Abba’s Greatest Hits as a motivational soundtrack.

Candy put her mug down on the staffroom table. It was a small room off the main ward, with just a Formica table and six white fold-up chairs, a kettle, a fridge, a sink and a small, sad Christmas tree that had been dragged out of the ward store cupboard every year since the nineties. It was now flashing in the corner, as if begging for the last remnants of festive attention. ‘Optimistic in what way?’

Sharon shrugged, determined to be a force of positivity. ‘It’s just the newness of it all. It’s like starting all over again. Welcoming in a new year, a new baby, a whole new chapter of life in so many ways.’

If ever there was a pal whose sceptical disposition was in direct contradiction of her sweet name, it was the one sitting across from Sharon, pursing her lips before saying, ‘Or maybe it’s just the hope that if they have the first baby in Scotland after midnight, they’ll get mass-media coverage and a lorry full of Pampers if they land a brand deal.’

‘Okay, well maybe that too,’ she agreed, chuckling. ‘But I’m rejecting your cynicism and sticking with the spiritual goodness of it all.’