No Going Back by Casey Kelleher (black male authors TXT) 📗

of the mothers she’d watched on the birthing programs, who played on every tiny bit of pain, so melodramatic and exaggerated, demanding every bit of pain relief that was going.

That made Imelda’s blood boil. Because giving birth was a privilege. It was an exceptional experience and she wanted to feel it all. Every wave of agony, every rip of pain. Magnified. She was feeling clammy now. Angsty. Annoyed that so many women didn’t make the most of the gift that had been bestowed upon them.

Staring up at the board behind the nurses’ desk, she eyed the names and times of admissions, scanning the names of the babies born recently, the dates and times of birth scrawled underneath the names of the mothers, as she searched for Shelby’s name.

‘Can I help you?’ a voice called from behind her, breaking Imelda’s train of thought and making her jump with fright. As if she’d been caught out doing something wrong.

‘Sorry. I was miles away,’ Imelda said, making excuses as she desperately tried to compose herself.

‘Are you all right?’ the midwife said, looking Imelda up and down, noting her huge, swollen bump and guessing that Imelda might be in the wrong place.

‘I was going to call, but I live nearby. So, I thought I’d just come in,’ Imelda started. Wondering if she should just come clean and admit that she was a friend of Shelby’s.

If she could confess that she hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d been so worried thinking about what had happened to Shelby and Riley. Part of her had just wanted to see for herself that they were all right.

She was dying to see little Riley. Imaging his jet-black hair and dark brown eyes like his father. Or perhaps he’d be blonde like Shelby.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about Ashley leading that woman into his flat. How he’d been acting so shifty, as if he was up to no good.

Because Shelby deserved to know, didn’t she? After everything she’d been through. That Ashley wasn’t the man she thought he was. He wasn’t the man that Imelda had thought he was. Shelby deserved to know what he was doing behind her back.

But now she was here, Imelda wasn’t sure that it was the right thing to do at all.

Shelby might find it weird that she’d come here, seeing as they’d only spoken a few times. And she might not even believe her.

She might think that Imelda was making it all up. And chances were the fact that she wasn’t family would mean that the nurse would say it wasn’t possible to see her anyway.

Imelda panicked.

‘I’ve been having twinges. I thought maybe I was in labour, but they’ve stopped now. Sorry to waste your time.’

‘Oh, well now. This is the postnatal ward, for women who have already had their babies. And it’s still very early, so most of them are still fast sleep,’ the midwife said, making a point to keep her voice low. ‘If you were in labour, you should be down on the maternity ward.’ She was used to new mothers being paranoid and neurotic and thinking that every twinge and ache in the later stages of their pregnancy meant that they were about to give birth.

Only this woman seemed so poised and composed, almost robotic-like when she spoke. As if she was making a point not to show how anxious she was. The fact that she’d come to the hospital this early in the morning, on her own, showed that she must be very worried, even if she was playing her concern down now that she was here.

‘How long ago was the last “twinge”?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe about fifteen minutes ago? Maybe longer,’ Imelda said, backtracking now and deciding to leave as she stared at the doors behind the nurse. She shouldn’t have come here. She realised that now. ‘It’s probably nothing, knowing me, it’s probably just wind.’

‘How far along are you?’ The midwife eyed Imelda’s stomach.

‘Thirty-seven weeks. I mean, thirty-eight; I’ve still got two weeks to go…’ Imelda said. The midwife’s intense stare was making her fumble her words. It felt as if the nurse could see straight through her and her lies and knew why Imelda was really here. Pretending that she was going into labour, this midwife wasn’t stupid. She’d been naive to think that she could just stroll in here, and that somehow, she’d be able just to walk in and say hello to Shelby. Or if they were sleeping, she could just stand and look.

‘Honestly, it’s probably nothing. In fact, I feel silly now for bothering you… I’m sure you have better things to do with your time. I’ll go.’

‘Look, seeing as you’re here anyway, why don’t we just get you checked over first? I can do that here for you. It’s no bother,’ the midwife insisted, convinced that something about the woman didn’t seem right. Her eyes were darting up and down the corridor anxiously. Her body language was all wrong. And as much as she seemed adamant she would be wasting the midwife’s time, a quick check-up might just put the woman at ease.

‘Honestly, I’m sure you’ve got more important things to be doing,’ Imelda said, though she stopped protesting as the midwife gently took her arm and guided her over towards the private room opposite them.

‘It’s no trouble. I’m Katie Farmer, the midwife on duty this morning. What’s your name?’

‘Lizzie,’ Imelda said, the word slipping from her mouth before she’d even had time to process it. Unsure where that manufactured name had come from. She didn’t even know a Lizzie.

‘And is this your first baby, Lizzie?’ Sensing the woman’s unease, she nodded towards the bed, indicating that Imelda sit down, before closing the door behind them.

‘Yes. My first.’ Imelda nodded.

‘I know it can be daunting. But you’re in safe hands. I’ll give you an examination and take your blood pressure. You’ve probably had a bout of Braxton Hicks. Have you heard of that? It’s when the womb repeatedly contracts and relaxes, but