Night before dawn 24May
It was a damp, halfdark night in our flat on the outskirts of Manchester when Poppys contractions began. The clock read 2:45am. Outside, a fine drizzle fell, and the streetlamps smeared soft halos on the wet pavement. I had been up for most of the night, perched on a kitchen chair, glancing at the bag by the door and peeking out the window.
Poppy lay on her side, one hand pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between waves of pain seven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to follow the breathing technique from the online video in through the nose, out through the mouth but her rhythm was uneven.
Is it already? I called from the hallway, my voice muffled by the bedroom door.
It feels like it, she whispered, sliding up onto the edge of the bed and feeling the cold floor under her bare feet. The contractions are getting more frequent.
We had spent the past month preparing for this moment: a large navy baby bag packed with everything the NHS checklist demanded passport, National Insurance card, NHS number slip, an extra nightgown, phone charger and even a bar of chocolate just in case. Now, even that neat order seemed fragile. I fussed around the wardrobe, shuffling through the folders of documents.
Passports here insurance here it is Wheres the NHS card? Did you grab it yesterday? I muttered quickly, as if I might wake the neighbours through the thin walls.
Poppy pushed herself up and shuffled to the bathroom for a quick wash. The room smelled of soap and damp towels. In the mirror she saw a woman with dark circles and dishevelled hair.
Should we call a cab now? I asked from the corridor.
Yeah but doublecheck the bag first.
Were both young: Poppy is twentyseven, Im just over thirty. I work as a design engineer at the local factory; shes been a schoolteacher of English until her maternity leave. Our flat is tiny a combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom that looks out onto the main road. Everything hinted at the change: a crib in the corner, already assembled, a stack of swaddles, and a box of toys from friends.
I ordered a taxi through the AddisonLee app the familiar yellow icon popped up almost instantly.
The driver will be there in ten minutes, the screen read.
I tried to keep my voice steady, though my fingers trembled over the screen.
Poppy pulled a hoodie over her nightdress and fumbled for the charger; the battery indicator showed only eighteen percent. She slipped the cable into her jacket pocket along with a face towel, just in case.
The entryway smelled of shoes and the faint dampness of my jacket, still drying from our walk yesterday.
As we packed, the contractions grew stronger and a little more frequent. Poppy tried not to stare at the clock, focusing instead on her breathing and the road ahead.
We left the building five minutes before the estimated pickup time. The hall light threw a pale patch by the lift, where a draft slipped up from the basement. The stairwell was chilly; Poppy pulled her jacket tighter and clutched the folder of papers to her chest.
Outside, the air was cool and damp even for May. Rain droplets ran down the awning above the door, and a few hurried pedestrians scurried past, hurrying into their coats and pulling their hoods lower.
Cars were parked haphazardly in the courtyard; somewhere distant a muffled engine rumbled as someone warmed it up for a night shift. The taxi was already five minutes late; the dot on the map crawled slowly as the driver seemed to circle the block or avoid an obstruction.
I checked my phone every halfminute.
Two minutes, the driver texted, but he was still looping around another street. Roadworks, perhaps?
Poppy leaned against the railing of the entrance and tried to relax her shoulders. She remembered the chocolate, reached into the side pocket of the bag and felt the familiar wrapper a small comfort amid the chaos.
At last a white London black cab emerged from the corner, slowing as it approached the entrance and pulling up neatly at the foot of the stairs. The driver a wearylooking man in his midforties with a short beard opened the rear door and helped Poppy into the back seat, luggage and all.
Good evening! Hospital? Got it! Buckle up, please, he said cheerfully but not too loudly, his movements efficient yet unhurried. I settled in behind the driver; the door slammed a bit louder than usual. Inside the cab smelled of fresh air mixed with the lingering scent of coffee from a thermos on the footwell.
We were thrown into a minor jam as soon as we left the courtyard; flashing amber lights marked a crew of roadworkers repairing the tarmac under dim floodlights. The driver cranked the navigation speaker up:
Right, they promised to finish by midnight. Well go via the side lane
At that moment Poppy gasped, Stop! Ive left my NHS card at home! They wont let me in without it!
My heart dropped. Ill run back! Were not far!
The driver glanced at his rearview mirror. Take your time. Ill wait. We still have time.
I sprinted out, splashing through puddles, up the stairs, and back down with the card clutched in my hand, along with the keys Id forgotten on the landing. The driver watched silently as I huffed back into the cab.
All set? he asked, nodding briefly.
Lets go, I replied.
Poppy pressed the folder to her chest as another contraction hit harder than before. She tried to breathe evenly, teeth clenched. The cab inched forward along the construction site; wet shop signs for 24hour pharmacies flickered past, and the occasional pedestrian hurried under umbrellas.
The silence inside was only broken by the navigations calm voice announcing detours and the soft hiss of the heater warming the windshield.
After a few minutes the driver spoke, I have three kids myself one was born at night, we walked to the hospital in kneedeep snow we still laugh about it now.
He smiled faintly. Dont worry about the pain now. Keep the papers handy and hold each others hand tight.
For the first time in the last half hour, Poppys breathing steadied a little, soothed by the drivers calm tone more effective than any online forum or support group Id read. I caught his eye; he gave me a small, encouraging smile.
We arrived just before five in the morning. The rain was still falling, but more like a lazy patter on the roof of the car. The driver pointed out a pale band of light on the horizon the city beginning to blush with dawn.
He turned into the hospitals driveway, choosing a spot with the fewest puddles. Two ambulances were parked nearby, but the entrance was still clear.
Here we are, he announced, stepping out to help with the bag. Ill carry it for you, dont worry.
Poppy, clutching her belly, managed to stand, gripping the folder tightly. I was the first to dash forward, supporting her by the elbow and ushering her onto the wet tarmac. A fresh contraction hit, forcing her to pause and take slow breaths. The driver lifted the blue baby bag and placed it by the doorway.
Watch your step, its slippery, he called over his shoulder, his voice seasoned by countless similar nights.
The hospital entrance smelled of damp earth and antiseptic, a mix of rain and cleaning chemicals. Drops gathered on the canopy, sometimes landing on my jacket sleeve. I looked around nobody else in sight, just a duty nurse behind a glass door and a couple of men in scrubs near the far wall.
The driver set the bag down next to Poppy, straightened up, and seemed a bit embarrassed by his own initiative.
Well good luck to you both! Keep looking after each other. Everything else will fall into place, he said.
I wanted to say more, but words stuck in my throat after a night packed with so much. I simply shook his hand, firmly, with genuine gratitude. Poppy nodded, offered a shy smile and whispered, Thank you really.
No trouble at all, he replied, looking away as he walked back to his cab. Everything will be fine.
The hospital doors opened with a soft creak; the duty nurse peeked out, assessed the situation with a quick glance and waved us in.
Come through! Have your documents ready Men arent allowed in unless its an emergency. Got the folder?
Poppy nodded, extending the folder through the halfopened door, the bag following. I lingered under the canopy, rain tapping the hood of my jacket, barely noticing it.
Stay here. If you need anything well call you, the nurse called from inside.
I gave Poppy a quick thumbsup through the glass, a tiny smile on my face, and turned back toward the street. The drizzle faded slowly; the dampness soaked my collar, but it no longer bothered me. My phone showed just a couple of percent left Id have to hunt for a charger later.
The driver lingered a moment, turning the lights on and looking out the side window. Our eyes met again, brief, wordless more support than any speech could offer. I gave him a thumbsup, a simple thankyou, and he returned it with a weary grin before pulling away.
When the cab disappeared around the corner, the street seemed unusually empty. For a heartbeat there was only the sound of rain on the metal awning and the distant hum of a city waking up.
I stayed under the shelter, watching the nurses inside. Poppy sat at the registration desk, filling out forms with a nurse. Her face looked calmer now, as if the tension of the night had dissolved with the rain.
I realised, for the first time that night, a lightness I hadnt felt since before the contractions began. Wed made it in time, the paperwork was with us, Poppy was in safe hands, and a new day lay ahead.
The sky brightened with a pearly pink hue; the fresh, postrain air smelled clean. I took a deep breath, just for the sake of breathing, with no agenda.
In that moment everything seemed possible.
Time stretched slowly as I paced the path beside the hospital, avoiding my phone to keep its battery from dying completely.
About an hour and a half later, my phone buzzed. It was Poppy.
Congratulations, youre a dad now. We have a boy Henry, born at 4:20am. All good! she texted.
Looking back on the night, I learned that preparation is key, but flexibility and a calm spirit are what truly carry you through the storm.
