The night before dawn
When Harriets contractions begin, the clock reads a quarter to three. The flat is dim and damp: a light rain falls outside, streetlamps smear blurred reflections on the pavement. James gets up from the sofa before herhe has been up almost all night, perched on the kitchen chair, checking the bag by the door, then glancing out the window. Harriet lies on her side, hand pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between waves of pain: seven minutes, then six and a half. She tries to recall the breathing technique from the videoinhale through the nose, exhale through the mouthbut it comes in uneven bursts.
Is it already? James asks from the hallway, his voice muffled behind the bedroom door.
It looks like it she says, gingerly sitting up on the edge of the bed and feeling the cold floor under her bare feet. The contractions are getting more frequent.
All month they have been preparing for this: they bought a large blue hospital bag, packed everything from the checklist they printed off a NHS websitepassport, NHS number card, spare nightgown, phone charger and even a chocolate bar just in case. Now even that order feels fragile. James fidgets near the wardrobe, shuffling through the folders of documents.
My passport is here the NHS card wheres the extra card? Did you grab it yesterday? he mutters quickly and quietly, as if afraid of waking the neighbours through the thin walls.
Harriet pushes herself up and heads to the bathroomshe needs to wash her face at least. The room smells of soap and damp towels. In the mirror she sees a woman with dark circles under her eyes and hair in disarray.
Should we call a taxi now? James calls from the hallway.
Lets but doublecheck the bag first.
They are both young: Harriet is twentyseven, James just over thirty. He works as a design engineer at a local factory, she has been teaching English at a primary school before maternity leave. Their flat is smalla combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom overlooking the main road. Everything hints at change: a baby cot is already assembled in the corner, a stack of nappies sits inside, and a box of toys from friends lies nearby.
James orders a taxi via an appthe familiar yellow icon pops up on his screen almost instantly.
The car will be there in ten minutes
He tries to keep his voice steady, but his fingers tremble over the screen.
Harriet throws on a hoodie over her nightshirt and fumbles for the phone charger: the battery reads eighteen percent. She stuffs the cable into her jacket pocket together with a facial toweljust in case its needed on the way.
The hallway smells of shoes and Jamess slightly damp jacket, dried after yesterdays walk.
As they keep gathering their things, the contractions grow stronger and a little more frequent. Harriet avoids looking at the clock; she focuses on counting breaths and thinking about the road ahead.
They step out of the building five minutes before the expected arrival time. A pale wash of light pools at the lift, a draft drifting up from the stairwell below. The stairwell is cool; Harriet pulls her jacket tighter and clutches the folder of documents to her chest.
Outside, the air is crisp and damp even for May: rain droplets stream down the awning, a few hurried pedestrians scurry past, pulling their collars up or tucking hoods deeper.
Cars are haphazardly parked in the courtyard; in the distance a muffled engine thrum suggests someone warming up for a night shift. The taxi is already five minutes late; the pin on the map crawls forward slowly, the driver apparently looping around back streets or navigating an obstruction.
James checks his phone every halfminute.
It says two minutes, but hes still taking the long way roadworks?
Harriet leans on the balcony railing, trying to relax her shoulders. She remembers the chocolate bar, reaches into the side pocket of the bag, and confirms its there. Its a small comfort amid the chaos.
Finally a pair of headlights turn the corner: a white Renault eases up to the entrance and stops beside the stairs. The driver, a man in his midforties with a tired face and a short beard, steps out, opens the rear door and helps Harriet settle onto the seat with her luggage.
Good evening! Hospital? Got it. Fasten your seatbelts, please
He speaks cheerfully, not too loudly; his movements are efficient but unhurried. James slides into the seat behind the driver; the door slams a little louder than usual, and a rush of fresh air mixes with the lingering scent of coffee from a thermos on the passenger side.
As they pull out of the courtyard they hit a minor jam: flashing amber lights ahead as road crews repave the street under the dim glow of work lamps. The driver cranks up the navigation voice.
Right, they promised to finish by midnight. Well take the side lane
At that moment Harriet remembers the NHS card.
Stop! I left my card at home! They wont admit me without it!
James goes pale.
Ill run back! Its just down the hall!
The driver glances in the mirror.
No rush, take your time. Ill wait here, weve still got time.
James darts out, splashing through puddles as he rushes back up the stairs. Four minutes later he returns, breathless, the card clutched with his keyshed forgotten them in the lock and had to climb back up again. The driver gives a brief nod.
All good? Then lets go.
Harriet presses the documents to her chest as a fresh contraction hits harder than before; she forces a steady breath through clenched teeth. The car crawls along the construction zone, wet shop signs for 24hour chemists and occasional silhouettes of umbrellatoting pedestrians flicker through the fogged windows.
Inside the cab, silence hangs heavy, broken only by the navigations occasional reroute prompts and the soft crackle of the heater warming the windshield.
After a few minutes the driver breaks the quiet.
I have three kids my first was born at night too, we walked all the way to the hospital in kneedeep snow but we still look back on it as an adventure!
He smiles faintly.
Dont worry about the timing just keep your papers handy and hold each others hands tight!
Harriet feels a slight easing in her chest; the drivers calm tone works better than any online forum or support group. She glances at James, who returns a barely noticeable smile through the tension in his eyes.
They pull up to the maternity unit just before five in the morning. The rain is still falling, now more like a lazy patter on the roof. James spots a pale band of light on the horizon as the city begins to blush with dawn. The driver steers into a spot with the fewest puddles. Two ambulances sit nearby, but theres still room for a quick unload.
Here we are, the driver says, turning around. Ill help carry the bag, dont worry.
Harriet struggles to straighten, hand pressed to her belly, clutching the folder tightly. James is the first out, catching her elbow and helping her onto the wet pavement. A fresh contraction hits, forcing her to pause and take slow, deliberate breaths. The driver deftly grabs the blue bag and steps ahead of the entrance.
Watch your step, its slippery, he calls over his shoulder. His voice sounds seasoned, as if this is routine yet never ordinary.
At the hospital doorway, the scent of damp earth mingles with antiseptic and rain. Droplets collect on the awning, occasionally splashing onto sleeves. James looks around: no one else in sight, just a nightshift nurse behind a glass door and a couple of men in scrubs near the far wall.
The driver places the bag beside Harriet, straightens up and hesitates, then shrugs awkwardly.
Good luck to you both. Keep looking after each other. Everything else will fall into place.
James wants to say more, but words stick in his throat after a night of endless events. He simply shakes the drivers handfirm, genuinely grateful. Harriet nods, offering a shy smile and a quiet, Thank you truly.
No trouble at all, the driver replies, turning back to his car. Everything will be fine.
The hospital doors swing open with a soft creak; the night nurse peers out, assesses the scene with a quick glance and waves them in.
Come on in! Have your papers ready men arent allowed beyond this point unless its an emergency. Got the folder?
Harriet nods and hands the folder through the halfopened door, the bag following. James lingers under the awning, rain drumming on his hood, barely noticing it.
Wait here. If you need anything, well call for it, the nurse says from inside.
Harriet turns for a split second, her gaze meeting Jamess through the glass. She raises a hand, palm up, a faint smile on her lipseverything is okay. Then shes led down the corridor; the door closes gently behind her.
James stands alone under the earlymorning sky. The drizzle eases, the dampness soaking his collar no longer irks him. He checks his phone; the battery hovers at a couple of percenthell need to find a socket or borrow a charger later.
The driver hasnt left yet; he fiddles with the cabin lights, looks out the side window, and their eyes meet brieflyno words, just a shared moment of quiet support.
James gives a thumbsup, a simple thankyou. The driver nods, offers a tired but wide grin, and finally pulls away.
As the car disappears around the corner, the street looks unusually empty. For a beat the only sound is the rain tapping the awning and the distant rumble of a city waking up.
James waits under the shelter. Through the glass he can see the reception desk where Harriet sits, filling out forms with the nurse. Her face seems calmer now; the tension of the night has begun to dissolve with the rain.
He catches himself feeling a lightness he hasnt known since the contractions starteda sense of finally surfacing after holding his breath underwater. They have arrived on time, the paperwork is in hand, Harriet is in safe care, and a new morning lies ahead.
The sky above the city slowly fills with a pearly dawn; the moist air smells fresh after the nights rain. James takes a deeper breathjust because, without any agenda.
In that instant everything feels possible.
Time stretches slowly for James; he paces the path around the hospital, avoiding his phone screen so it doesnt run out completely.
About an hour and a half after Harriet entered, Jamess phone buzzes. Its Harriet calling.
Congratulations, youre a dad now, weve got a little boyrich in spirit, all good!
