The night before dawn
When Poppys contractions started, the clock read threefifteen. The flat was bathed in a damp halflight: a thin drizzle fell outside, and the street lamps smeared soft halos on the slick pavement. James had risen from the sofa before her hed barely slept at all, huddled on a kitchen stool, halfchecking the bag by the door and halfpeering out the window. Poppy lay on her side, hand pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between the waves of pain: seven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to remember the breathing technique from the YouTube video inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth but her rhythm was all over the place.
Is it happening yet? James called from the hallway, his voice muffled by the bedroom door.
Looks like it, she whispered, edging onto the edge of the bed and feeling the cold floor under her bare feet. The contractions are getting more frequent.
Theyd been prepping for this whole month: buying a big blue maternity bag, stuffing it with everything the NHS checklist demanded. Passport, NHS card, a spare nightgown, phone charger and even a chocolate bar just in case. Now even that neat order felt precarious. James was fussing by the wardrobe, riffling through folders of documents.
My passport heres the NHS card wheres the hospital card? Did you grab it yesterday? he muttered quickly, as if afraid he might wake the neighbours through the thin walls.
Poppy pushed herself up and shuffled to the bathroom she needed to splash some water on her face. The room smelled of soap and slightly damp towels. In the mirror she saw a woman with dark circles under her eyes and hair in a wild tumble.
Should we call a taxi now? James shouted from the hallway.
Yeah just doublecheck the bag first.
Both were in their late twenties: Poppy was twentyseven, James just over thirty. He worked as a design engineer at a local factory, shed been teaching English at a primary school until maternity leave. Their flat was tiny a combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom with a view onto the high street. Everything hinted at the impending change: a tiny crib already assembled in the corner, a stack of nappy blankets beside it, and a box of toys from friends.
James ordered a cab through an app the familiar yellow icon appeared on his screen almost instantly.
The driver will be there in ten minutes
He tried to sound calm, but his fingers trembled over the screen.
Poppy pulled a hoodie over her nightdress and rummaged for the charger: the battery indicator read eighteen percent. She slipped the cable into her jacket pocket along with a face towel might come in handy on the road.
The hallway reeked of shoes and Jamess slightly damp coat, still drying from yesterdays walk.
As they got ready, the contractions grew stronger and a touch more regular. Poppy tried not to stare at the clock; counting breaths seemed a better way to distract herself from the road ahead.
They left the building five minutes before the estimated pickup time. A pale wash of light glowed under the lift, a draft sneaking up from the stairwell. The corridor was cool; Poppy pulled her coat tighter and clutched the folder of documents to her chest.
Outside, the air was crisp and damp even for May. Rain beads ran down the awning above the entrance, and a few hurried pedestrians scurried past, huddling in coats or pulling their hoods lower.
Cars were parked haphazardly in the courtyard; in the distance a low engine throbbed, as if someone was warming up for a night shift. The taxi was already five minutes late; the dot on the map inched forward sluggishly, the driver apparently looping around the back streets or navigating some obstruction.
James checked his phone every halfminute.
It says Two minutes, but hes circling another block roadworks?
Poppy leaned against the railing and tried to relax her shoulders. She remembered the chocolate bar, slipped her hand into the side pocket of the bag and felt the familiar wrapper a tiny comfort amid the chaos.
Finally, headlights emerged around the corner: a white Renault slowed before the entrance and stopped neatly at the foot of the stairs. The driver a fortyfiveyearold man with a tired face and a short beard hopped out, opened the rear door and helped Poppy into the seat with her luggage.
Good evening! Hospital? Got it! Buckle up, please, he said cheerfully, not too loud, his movements efficient but unhurried. James settled next to Poppy behind the driver; the door shut with a slightly louder thump than usual, and a fresh breeze mixed with the lingering scent of coffee from a thermos by the handbrake filled the cabin.
As they pulled out, they hit a small traffic jam: flashing lights ahead marked roadwork crews repaving the road under sparse streetlamps. The driver cranked the navigation volume up.
Right, they promised to finish by midnight. Well have to cut through the side lane
At that moment Poppys eyes widened.
Wait! Ive left my NHS card at home! They wont let me in without it!
James went pale.
Ill run back! Its just down the hall!
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.
Dont worry, take your time. Ill wait, he said, keeping his eyes on the road.
James bolted out, splashing through puddles as he sprinted up the stairwell. Four minutes later he returned, breathless but clutching the card and a bunch of keys hed forgotten them in the lock and had to climb back up again. The driver gave a brief nod.
All set? Lets go, he said.
Poppy pressed the documents to her chest as another contraction hit harder than before. She tried to breathe evenly, teeth clenched. The car inched forward along the construction zone; through the fogged windows she could see wet signs for 24hour pharmacies and the occasional silhouette of a commuter under an umbrella.
The cabin was quiet except for the navigations occasional voice and the soft crackle of the heater warming the front windshield.
After a few minutes the driver broke the silence.
Three kids myself My first was born at night too, we had to walk to the hospital in kneedeep snow but we always laugh about it now, he said, a smile tugging at his lips. Dont worry about the timing. Just keep your documents handy and hold each others hands tight.
Poppy felt a strange calm settle over her; the drivers steady tone worked better than any online forum or mumsgroup advice. She glanced at James, who returned a faint smile despite the tension in his eyes.
They arrived at the maternity unit just before five in the morning. The rain was still falling, though now it drummed lazily on the car roof. James was the first to notice a pale band of light on the horizon the city beginning to blush with dawn. The driver turned into the hospitals dropoff area, parking where the puddles were shallowest. Two ambulances were idling nearby, but there was still room for a quick exit.
Alright, were here, the driver said, swivelling to face them. Ill help with the bag, no worries.
Poppy struggled to straighten, clutching her belly and the folder of papers. James leapt out first, caught her elbow and helped her onto the wet pavement. A fresh contraction hit Poppy with such force she had to pause and take a couple of slow breaths. The driver snatched the blue bag and set it down just ahead of the entrance.
Watch your step, its slippery, he called over his shoulder, his voice seasoned with the sort of practiced calm that comes from seeing plenty of latenight arrivals.
The scent of damp earth from the hospitals flowerbeds mixed with antiseptic and rain. Droplets gathered on the canopy, then fell onto coats and cheeks. James looked around: no one in sight except a nightshift nurse behind a glass door and a couple of men in scrubs near the far wall.
The driver placed the bag beside Poppy, straightened up and, looking a little embarrassed by his own enthusiasm, shrugged.
Well good luck! Remember each other, and everything else will sort itself out.
James wanted to say more, but words stuck in his throat too much had happened in one night. He simply shook the drivers hand firmly, genuinely grateful. Poppy gave a hesitant smile and whispered, Thank you really.
Dont mention it, the driver replied, averting his gaze as he walked back to his car. Everything will be fine.
The hospital doors creaked open; the night nurse stuck her head out, assessed the scene with a quick glance and waved them in.
Come on in! Have your papers ready men cant go inside unless its an emergency. Got your folder?
Poppy nodded, thrusting the folder through the partially opened door. James lingered under the canopy, rain pattering on his hood, barely noticing it.
Hold tight here. If you need anything, just shout, the nurse called from inside.
Poppy turned for a split second, catching Jamess eye through the glass. She raised a tiny all good hand, a faint grin on her lips, before being whisked down the corridor. The door shut softly behind her.
James stood alone under the earlymorning sky. The drizzle softened, the damp seeped into his collar but no longer bothered him. He checked his phone the battery clung to a few percent, meaning hed need to hunt for a socket later.
The driver didnt pull away right away; he fiddled with the cars interior lights, then looked out the side window at James. Their eyes met briefly, wordlessly. In that silent exchange there was more support than any lengthy pep talk could have offered.
James gave a thumbsup, a simple thankyou. The driver returned the gesture, smiled a tired but genuine grin and finally rolled away.
When the car disappeared around the corner, the street seemed unusually empty. For a moment everything was so quiet you could hear only the rain clicking off the awning and a distant hum of a city waking up.
James lingered under the shelter. Through the glass he could see the reception desk where Poppy sat, filling out forms with the nurse. Her face looked calmer now, as if the tension of the night had dissolved with the rain.
He realized he felt a lightness he hadnt known all night as if hed been holding his breath underwater and finally resurfaced. Everything had worked out: theyd arrived on time, the paperwork was in order, Poppy was in good hands, and a new morning lay ahead.
Above the city, the sky turned a pearly shade of sunrise; the damp air smelled fresh after the nights downpour. James inhaled deeply, just because.
In that moment, anything seemed possible.
Time stretched slowly 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 entered, Jamess phone vibrated. It was her.
Congratulations, youre a dad now. Our sons name is Arthur, weighing a solid 3.5kg. All good!
