The night before dawn
When Poppy’s contractions began, the clock read threetoquarter past two. Their flat was dim and damp: a fine rain fell outside, streetlamps smeared the pavement with blurry halos. James was already up, having spent most of the night perched on a kitchen stool, checking the bag by the door and glancing out the window. Poppy lay on her side, hand pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between each wave of painseven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to remember the breathing pattern from a YouTube videoinhale through the nose, exhale through the mouthbut her rhythm was all over the place.
Is it happening yet? James called from the hallway, his voice muffled by the bedroom door.
Seems like it, Poppy replied, gingerly sitting up and feeling the cold floor under her bare feet. The contractions are getting more frequent.
Theyd spent the past month preparing for this moment: a large navyblue maternity bag, packed according to a checklist theyd printed from a parenting forum. Passport, NHS maternity card, a spare nightgown, phone charger and even a chocolate bar just in case. Now even that order felt shaky. James fussed near the wardrobe, shuffling through folders of paperwork.
Passports here NHS card wheres the maternity card? Did you grab it yesterday? he muttered, low enough not to wake the neighbours through the thin walls.
Poppy swung her legs over the side of the bed and shuffled to the bathroom for a quick splash. The room smelled of soap and damp towels. In the mirror she saw a woman with dark circles and hair in a wild tumble.
Should we call a cab now? James shouted from the hallway.
Yeah but doublecheck the bag first.
Both were in their twenties: Poppy, twentyseven, a school English teacher on maternity leave; James, just over thirty, a design engineer at a local factory. Their flat was tinya combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom overlooking the High Street. Everywhere hinted at the upcoming change: a crib already assembled in the corner, a stack of diapers beside it; a box of friends handmedowns tucked nearby.
James booked an Uber; the familiar teal icon popped up on his phone almost instantly.
The driver should be here in ten minutes, he said, trying to sound calm while his fingers trembled over the screen.
Poppy threw a hoodie over her nightdress and fished for her charger: the battery indicator hovered at eighteen percent. She slipped the cable into her jacket pocket with a face toweljust in case it came in handy on the way.
The entryway smelled of wet shoes and Jamess jacket, still damp from their walk the night before.
As they gathered their things, the contractions grew stronger and a little more regular. Poppy tried not to watch the clock, preferring to count breaths and picture the road ahead.
They stepped out into the hallway five minutes before the scheduled pickup. A flickering lantern lit a pale patch by the lift, a draft whistling up from the stairwell. The corridor was cool; Poppy pulled her jacket tighter and clutched the folder of documents to her chest.
Outside, the air was crisp and wet even for May: rain beads raced down the awning, a few hurried pedestrians scurried past, hooded up against the drizzle. Cars were haphazardly parked in the courtyard; somewhere in the distance a muffled engine revved, as if someone were warming up for a night shift. The Uber was already five minutes late; the map showed the driver circling slowly, perhaps dodging a traffic jam or a roadwork detour.
James checked his phone every halfminute.
Text says Two minutes, but hes looping around another block maybe construction? he muttered.
Poppy leaned on the balcony railing, trying to relax her shoulders. She remembered the chocolate bar, slipped her hand into the side pocket of the bag and felt the familiar wrappersmall comfort amid the chaos.
At last a white Toyota Prius eased around the corner, slowing before the entrance and stopping neatly at the foot of the stairs. The drivera wearylooking man in his midforties with a neat beardhopped out, opened the rear door and helped Poppy settle in with all the luggage.
Good evening! Maternity ward? Got it, buckle up, he said cheerfully but not too loudly, his movements efficient yet unhurried. James settled beside Poppy, behind the driver; the door slammed a touch louder than usual, and a fresh scent of air mingled with the lingering coffee aroma from a thermos in the passenger footwell.
As soon as they left the courtyard, they hit a small jam: flashing lights ahead as road crews repaved the lane under a few dim streetlamps. The driver cranked the navigation louder.
Right, they promised to finish by midnight. Well duck through the side alley, he announced.
At that moment Poppys eyes widened.
Wait! I left my NHS card at home! They wont let me in without it! she panicked.
James went pale.
Ill run back! Its not far! he shouted.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.
Take your time, Ill wait. No rush, he replied kindly.
James bolted out, splashing through puddles as he raced down the stairs. Four minutes later he returned, breathless but clutching the card and a bunch of keyshed forgotten them in the lock and had to climb back up to retrieve them. The driver gave a short nod.
All set? Lets go, he said.
Poppy pressed the documents to her chest as another contraction hit harder than before; she forced herself to breathe slowly through clenched teeth. The car limped along the halffinished road, the fogged windows revealing wet signs for 24hour pharmacies and the occasional umbrellaclad passerby.
Silence hung in the cabin, broken only by the navigations periodic instructions and the gentle hiss of the heater warming the windshield.
After a few minutes the driver finally spoke.
Ive got three kids myself. My first was born at night too; we walked to the hospital in kneedeep snow. Its a story we still laugh about, he said, a twinkle in his eye.
Dont worry about the timing. Keep your paperwork handy and hold each others hands tight! he added with a grin.
Poppy felt a surprising ease settle over her; the drivers calm tone worked better than any online forum or support group. She glanced at James, who managed a faint smile despite the tension in his eyes.
They arrived at the maternity unit just before five in the morning. The rain had softened, now tapping lazily on the car roof as if it too were sleepy. James was the first to notice a pale glow on the horizonthe city beginning to blanch with the first light of dawn. The driver steered them to a spot with the fewest puddles. Two ambulances were parked nearby, but there was still room for a quick unload.
Here we are! the driver called, turning around. Ill help with the bag, dont worry.
Poppy, clutching her belly, struggled to straighten up. James was out first, catching her by the elbow and helping her onto the slick pavement. A fresh contraction hit, forcing her to pause and take a couple of slow breaths. The driver snatched the blue maternity bag and set it down just ahead of the entrance.
Watch your step, its slippery, he warned, his voice sounding as if hed seen this scene a hundred times without it ever getting boring.
The doorway smelled of fresh earth, flowerbeds, and a hint of antiseptic mixed with rain. Drops gathered on the awning, occasionally splashing onto a sleeve or cheek. James looked around: no one else in sight, just a nightshift nurse behind a glass door and a couple of orderlies by the far wall.
The driver placed the bag next to Poppy, stood upright and, a little embarrassed by his own initiative, shrugged.
Good luck! Remember each other, everything else will sort itself out, he said.
James wanted to say more, but words stuck in his throat; the night had packed enough emotions into his chest. He simply shook the drivers hand firmly, genuinely grateful. Poppy gave a small, slightly bewildered smile and whispered, Thank you really.
No problem, the driver replied, avoiding eye contact as he turned back to his car. Everythingll be fine!
The maternity ward doors opened with a soft creak. A night nurse peeked out, assessed the situation in a flash and waved them in.
Come on in! Have your papers ready men cant go in unless its an emergency. Got your folder? she asked.
Poppy nodded, handing over the folder through the partially opened door. James lingered under the awning, rain pattering on his hood, barely noticing it.
Wait here. If you need anything, well call you, the nurse called from inside.
Poppy glanced briefly back at James through the glass, gave a tiny thumbsup and a weak grin. Then she was led down the corridor, the door sighing shut behind her.
James stood alone under the pale morning sky. The drizzle eased, the dampness soaking his collar but no longer irritating. He checked his phone: the battery was down to a couple of percenthed have to find a socket later.
The driver lingered a moment longer, fiddling with the cars lights before looking out the side window at James. Their eyes met briefly, wordless, a small exchange of gratitude. James gave a thumbsup; the driver returned the gesture, smiled a tired but genuine smile, and finally drove off.
The street seemed oddly empty as the car disappeared around the corner. For a second, the only sounds were the rain on the metal awning and the distant hum of a city still waking up.
James waited beneath the shelter, watching the nurse inside as Poppy filled out paperwork. Her expression had steadied, the tension of the night melting away with the rain.
He realized, for the first time that night, a lightness in his chestas if hed been holding his breath underwater and could finally surface. Theyd made it in time, the documents were with them, Poppy was in good hands, and the day ahead promised something new.
The sky above the city slowly turned a pearly dawn hue; the air smelled fresh after the nights rain. James inhaled deeply, just because, without any particular purpose.
In that moment, anything felt possible.
Time seemed to crawl for James as he paced the path by the hospital, avoiding his phone screen so it wouldnt die completely.
About an hour and a half after Poppy checked in, his phone buzzed. It was her.
Congratulations, youre a dad! Weve got a little champion, baby Oliver, everythings fine! she said, her voice a mixture of exhaustion and joy.
