‘I am so sorry.’ Ali heaved herself and the belly into his eyeline. ‘Liv was having a crisis and I was trying to extract myself. How come you’re not in there?’
‘Well, the midwife man-shamed me out!’ Sam’s neck and ears were flushed, which definitely confirmed he’d had some kind of public altercation. The man could not maintain his chill – it was very cute.
‘What do you mean she “man-shamed” you?’ Ali hissed, looking over at the door behind which presumably the cosy little chat about parenthood was well underway by now.
‘She didn’t believe me when I said you were late. She said I was clearly some creepy pregnancy enthusiast here for, and I quote, “your sick kicks”.’
‘Oh no, sorry.’ Ali stifled a giggle with her hand.
‘Laugh away,’ Sam said dryly. ‘But it’s not a good look for a man to be flying solo in antenatal class.’ He paused and glanced down at the immense bump between them. ‘This thing is really something now, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I guess it’s been like two months since you’ve seen me.’ Ali smiled shyly.
‘Well, I’m watching you on the ’gram a bit.’ He shifted awkwardly, kicked one scuffed trainer against the other. ‘You’re good on there,’ he allowed. ‘Much more like, well, you.’
‘Yeah,’ Ali replied. ‘Being myself is way easier.’ She laughed a little and ducked her head. ‘It’s good I still have some followers on there. Ticket sales for the show are going really well. Just over a week to go! And then that might lead to who knows what?’ She shrugged. ‘Fleabag started as a one-woman show at the Edinburgh Festival. Maybe I could wind up getting back on Durty Aul’ Town in the writers’ room this time? Dream big, Ali!’ She grinned ruefully. ‘I don’t mind either way. I’ve loved writing it. It’s really helped with everything that’s happened …’ She trailed off awkwardly.
‘It’ll be really good, Ali.’ Sam sounded so certain. Ali wished she could siphon off a bit of his confidence. ‘I’ll be there,’ he added softly. The words took immediate effect, giving her a whoosh of excitement in her tummy.
‘I’m really glad to hear that,’ she said solemnly.
‘OK.’ Sam clapped his hands and started towards the lecture hall. ‘Time to show this bitch I’ve got me a legit pregnant woman and am not some creep who gets boners from hearing about episiotomies.’
‘Wait, about what?’ Ali stopped just short of the door.
‘Episiotomies, Ali. You know, snip-snip?’ He made a scissors motion with his hand.
‘Snip what exactly?’
‘Your lady area.’ Sam looked highly amused at being the one to explain episiotomies to her. ‘If the baby’s trying to get out but your vadge is … ya know … then the doctor just …’ He made to do the cutting action again and Ali instinctively blocked her ears and clamped her legs shut.
‘Shhhhh, stop,’ she squealed.
‘What’s the matter? What did you think this class was for? It’s all about how to get that thing out of you.’
‘I thought it’d be nice little chats about how to be a parent,’ Ali wailed. ‘I thought we’d talk about how to give it a bath and what to do if it cries.’
‘Haha, God no.’ Sam laughed. ‘This is the whole blood and guts shitshow. As far as I know, they don’t tell you how to raise the thing until … never, like. Or you might get a lecture after you’ve already cocked it all up completely. They’ll probably be dying to tell us then. Nah, nah, my sister gave me the rundown on this class.’
‘And? What did she say?’
‘Well, she told me to bring a sick bag.’ Sam pulled a small neatly folded paper sack from his pocket.
‘Fucking great. Well, lead the way, Episiotomy Enthusiast.’ Ali gestured at the door huffily.
So much for reminding him of how much he liked her vagina at this thing. This was like bringing someone to an abattoir before treating them to a lovely steak dinner.
Sam pushed open the door and the room inside abruptly fell silent. A woman at the head of the class looked up from the squat she was assuming.
‘I told you, a lone man in the room is not appropriate—’ She paused, peering past him to Ali.
‘Look, I found a woman,’ Sam announced triumphantly. ‘I even impregnated her thirty-one weeks ago. Handy.’ He cocked a snarky eyebrow at the squatting woman.
‘All right, all right.’ Ali shoved him forward. ‘I’m supposed to be the hormonal one. Sorry for being late.’ She waved awkwardly at the room and mouthed ‘hello’ at Shelly, who was sitting front and centre beside Dan Devine.
Shelly had recommended the course to Ali. She’d barely seen Shelly since shooting the W Y N D promo and she didn’t look her usual radiant self. She was wan and it looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. Still, she mustered up a warm smile for Ali as she and Sam found seats at the back.
‘As I was saying before I was interrupted’ – the midwife glared up at them before resuming her squat – ‘in an ideal world this is how the baby would come out. Gravity is on your side. Mum is bearing down while Dad is supporting her in any way he can. Remember, the baby’s head is about the circumference of a large coconut and the cervix can only dilate to ten centimetres, which is – and I’m not supposed to tell you this – well, it’s not big enough, ladies.’ She pulled a face that seemed to say ‘Glad it’s you, not me’ and Ali instinctively crossed her legs.
‘I’m supposed to pump you all full of the party line, which is all “Oh, your bodies are built for this” and “It’ll be fiiiiiiiiine”. Well, let me tell you, I have seen women ripped in half by these things.’ She indicated the pile of dolls sitting off to one side. ‘It’s barbaric that in this, the year of our Lord two thousand and nineteen, we’re still insisting on growing human young inside – INSIDE – women. People don’t fit in people. That’s just basic maths.’
‘Is it?’ Ali whispered to Sam.
‘We’re in the right room but I feel like we’ve stumbled on some very specific Reddit obstetric conspiracy thread,’ he muttered back.
‘We have put a man on the moon and invented actual flying machines, but still women have to give birth. I wouldn’t mind but if it were men, sorting out this whole birth issue would’ve been straight at the top of the technological advancement to-do list.’ She paused in front of a man in the front row. ‘Well? Am I right?’
‘Ehhhh …’ The man shifted uncomfortably.
‘Have you apologised yet to this woman for what you are putting her through? For what you are about to do to her?’
‘I … em … I love my wife,’ he blurted in a panicked voice.
‘Indeed,’ the midwife sneered at him and resumed her rant. ‘Anyway, they’ve done nothing about this dire state of affairs so here we are, ladies. So, you all chose to come to my class, which means you’re not interested in the systemic rose-tinting of childbirth that has taken place in the medical establishment over the last century.’