The night before dawn
When Poppys contractions start, the clock reads a quarter to three. Her flat is dimly lit; a fine drizzle falls outside, and street lamps paint hazy reflections on the wet pavement. James gets up from the sofa before herhe has been up almost all night, fidgeting on a kitchen stool, checking the bag by the door, glancing out the window. Poppy lies on her side, pressing a hand to her belly and counting the seconds between the waves of pain: seven minutes, then six and a half. She tries to recall the breathing technique from a videoinhale through the nose, exhale through the mouthbut her rhythm is uneven.
Is it already? James asks from the hallway, his voice muffled behind the bedroom door.
It feels like it She carefully sits up on the edge of the bed and feels the cold floor under her bare feet. The contractions are getting more frequent.
They have spent the past month preparing for this moment: they bought a large navy maternity bag, packed everything from the checklist they printed from the NHS websitepassport, NHS maternity card, spare nightdress, phone charger, even a chocolate bar just in case. Now even that order feels fragile. James fumbles around the wardrobe, sorting through folders of paperwork.
My passport is here NHS card here it is wheres the maternity card? Did you grab it yesterday? He speaks quickly and quietly, as if afraid of waking the neighbours through the thin wall.
Poppy rises heavily and heads to the bathroomshe at least needs to wash her face. The room smells of soap and slightly damp towels. In the mirror she sees a woman with dark circles under her eyes and rumpled hair.
Should we call a taxi now? James calls from the hallway.
Lets but doublecheck the bag first
Both are young: Poppy is twentyseven, James just over thirty. James works as a design engineer at a local factory, and Poppy was teaching English at a school before her maternity leave. The flat is small: a combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom overlooking the high street. Everything hints at the coming changethe baby cot in the corner is already assembled, a stack of blankets sits inside, and a box of toys from friends lies nearby.
James orders a black cab through an appthe familiar black icon pops up on his phone almost instantly.
The cab will be here in ten minutes
He tries to sound calm, but his fingers tremble over the screen.
Poppy pulls a hoodie over her nightdress and looks for her phone charger: the battery shows eighteen per cent. She slips the cable into her jacket pocket with a face towelmight come in handy on the way.
The hallway smells of shoes and Jamess slightly damp jacket, still drying after yesterdays walk.
As they finish packing, the contractions become more noticeable and a little more frequent. Poppy avoids looking at the clock; she prefers to count breaths and think about the road ahead.
They leave the flat five minutes before the scheduled time. The hallway light casts a pale patch by the lift, where a draft whirls upward. The stairwell is cool; Poppy tightens her jacket and hugs the folder of documents to her chest.
Outside, the air is fresh and cool even for May; rain drips from the awning over the entrance, and a few hurried pedestrians rush past on the pavement, pulling their collars tighter.
Cars are parked haphazardly in the courtyard; somewhere in the distance a low engine rumbles as someone warms up for a night shift. The taxi is already five minutes late; the arrival dot on the map crawls forward slowlyapparently the driver is looping around the back streets or working around an obstruction.
James checks his phone every halfminute:
Two minutes left, it reads, yet the cab circles an extra block maybe roadworks?
Poppy leans against the railings of the landing and tries to relax her shoulders. She remembers the chocolate bar, digs into the side pocket of the bag, and confirms its still there. A small comfort amid the chaos.
Finally the headlights appear around the corner: a white Renault eases up in front of the building and stops neatly at the bottom of 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 Poppy into the seat with her luggage.
Good evening! Maternity ward? Got it, buckle up, he says cheerfully but not too loudly. His movements are efficient, without unnecessary fuss. James settles beside Poppy behind the driver; the door slams a bit louder than usual, and a mix of fresh air and lingering coffee from a thermos fills the cabin.
They merge onto the road and hit a minor jam: ahead, a road crews warning lights flash as workers repave the lane under dim street lamps. The driver cranks the navigation louder:
Right, they promised to finish by midnight. Well take the side lane now
At that moment Poppy remembers the NHS card:
Wait! I left the card at home! They wont let me in without it!
James turns pale.
Ill run back! Were not far!
The driver glances in the rearview mirror.
Dont worry, take what you need. Ill wait.
James darts out of the cab, splashing through puddles, and races up the stairs. Four minutes later he returns, out of breath, the card clutched in his hand along with the key ringhed forgotten them in the lock and had to climb back down. The driver watches the road in silence. When James slides back into the seat, the driver gives a brief nod.
All good? Lets go.
Poppy presses the documents to her chest; a contraction hits harder than beforeshe bites down and tries to breathe evenly. The car crawls past a construction site, its windows fogged, revealing wet signs for 24hour pharmacies and silhouettes of pedestrians with umbrellas.
Inside, a tense silence hangs, broken only by the navigation announcing new detours and the soft hum of the heater warming the windshield.
After a few minutes the driver breaks the quiet:
Ive got three kids one was born at night, we walked all the way to the hospital in snow waistdeep it turned into an adventure later.
He smiles faintly.
Dont stress too early just keep your papers and hold each others hands tight!
Poppy feels a little relief for the first time in half an hour; the strangers calm tone works better than any online forum or support group. She looks at James, who returns a subtle smile despite the strain in his eyes.
They arrive at the maternity ward just before five in the morning. The rain is still falling, now light and lazy, tapping the roof of the car. James spots a pale glow on the horizonthe city is starting to blush with dawn. The driver turns into the hospitals dropoff lane, stopping where the puddles are shallowest. Two ambulances are parked nearby, but a spot for a quick unload remains.
Here we are! the driver says, turning around. Ill help with the bag, dont worry.
Poppy struggles to straighten, clutching her belly and the folder. James jumps out first, supports her by the elbow, and helps her onto the wet tarmac. A fresh contraction hits Poppy, forcing her to pause and take slow breaths. The driver grabs the navy bag and steps forward.
Careful, its slippery, he calls over his shoulder. His voice sounds as if this is routine, yet still unfamiliarjust another part of city life.
At the entrance, the smell is a mix of damp earth, flowers, and antiseptic. Rain drips from the canopy, sometimes landing on a sleeve or cheek. James looks around: no one else, just a nightshift nurse behind a glass door and a couple of security guards near the back wall.
The driver places the bag next to Poppy, straightens up, and looks a bit embarrassed by his own initiative. He shrugs awkwardly.
Good luck to you both! Remember each other, everything else will sort itself.
James wants to say something, but his throat is dryso much has piled up during the night. He simply shakes the drivers handfirmly, gratefully. Poppy nods, smiles a little sheepishly, and whispers:
Thank you really.
Dont mention it, the driver replies, averting his gaze as he steps 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 in! Have your papers ready men arent allowed inside unless its an emergency. Got the folder?
Poppy nods and hands the folder through the halfopened door, the bag follows. James lingers under the canopy: rain patters on his hood, but he barely notices.
Wait here. If you need anything, well call, the nurse says from inside.
Poppy turns for a moment, eyes meeting Jamess through the door glass. She makes a tiny all good gesturethumb up, a faint smile. Then shes led down the corridor; the door closes softly behind her.
James stays alone under the earlymorning sky. The drizzle eases, the dampness seeps into his collar, but it no longer irritates. He checks his phoneonly a couple of percent leftso hell need to find a socket or borrow a charger later.
The driver doesnt leave immediately; he fiddles with his cars interior lights, then looks out the side window at James. Their eyes lock briefly, wordlessly. In that silence theres more support than any long speech could give.
James raises his thumba simple thankyou. The driver nods, offers a tired but wide smile, and finally drives off.
When the car disappears around the corner, the street feels unusually empty. For a moment the only sounds are the rains taps on the metal awning and the distant murmur of a city waking up.
James waits under the shelter. Through the glass he can see the reception desk: Poppy sits on a chair, filling out forms with the nurse. Her face looks calmer; the tension of the night seems to have dissolved with the rain.
He realizes he feels lighter for the first time all nightlike hes finally surfacing after holding his breath underwater. They made it in time, the documents are there, Poppy is in safe hands, and a new morning lies ahead.
The sky above the city slowly turns a pearly shade of dawn; the moist air smells fresh after the nights rain. James takes a deeper breathjust because.
In that moment everything feels possible.
Time drags slowly for James; he walks the path around the hospital, avoiding his phone screen so it doesnt die completely.
About an hour and a half after Poppy entered, Jamess phone buzzes in his pocket. Its Poppy calling. He answers quickly:
Congratulations, youre a dad now, weve got a little boyhes a proper little trooper, everythings fine!
