It Shouldn't Happen to a Midwife! by Jane Yeadon Page A

chair and sat down, saying in a smug way, ‘Thanks for waiting. I can’t wait to start on my deliveries, and if you’d like me to do yours, Denise, I’m sure Nurse Macpherson here’ll get plenty opportunity for others.’ He sat back, crossed his arms and legs and admired shoes so highly polished they competed with Miss Harvey’s.
    Even though things were beginning to settle down, Denise’s labour seemed so fraught with danger that if Oliver was determined to get this delivery he could have it. Then I could cancel my stroke, deal with the burnt pan and at least get one problem off the premises.
    â€˜Tell you what, Mr Allan.’ I shoved Denise’s paperwork into a bundle and thrust it at him. ‘Why don’t you take these readings as well? Then you’ll be finely placed to ensure she has a perfect delivery.’
    Denise’s fairly benign state transformed into Sisters Unite as she put her paper down and squawked, ‘An’ what about me? I notice you’re not even asking me. You’re not thinking of leaving me with him now! I want you here.’ An imperious, if swollen, finger waggled. ‘Just hearing you speak makes me laugh – you’ve such a quair oulde way of talking.’ A traitorous tear rolled down that alabaster cheek whilst she moved into weenie voice. ‘The boys are alright but a girl needs another she can talk to.’
    Maybe having a baby on the move gets a mother’s brain back. Denise was certainly picking up steam. The finger moved to Oliver. ‘I’ve been sick all my pregnancy and now I’m sick of being asked the same thing all the time. You said you’d be taking my history. Well, that’s history.’ She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
    Oh Lord! These were classic eclamptic symptoms. Surely she wasn’t having a fit! Had I left things too long? Time froze, but just as I reached for the bell she added, ‘I don’t think you listen anyway and,’ her pout was one of her finest, her timing immaculate, ‘you’re just a student.’
    Oliver, looking abashed, shot up and held up both hands. ‘Of course, Denise, whatever you say. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m not here to do that and of course I’ll not ask any questions.’ He brushed back his hair, patting it down at the back as if scared it might take off. ‘Look! It’s probably best that I just go.’ He headed for the door, his brow furrowed anxiously. ‘Look, that’s me away now, OK?’
    â€˜That’s another feckin’ question,’ she replied, picking at an imagin- ary thread off the bedclothes then lifting her paper.
    â€˜I’ll be around if you need me, Janet,’ Oliver mouthed and walked off in a bus-losing sort of way.
    Denise slid down in her bed, looking pleased. ‘Now you can tell me how thing’s are really doin’? That fella made me nervous, so he did, and he was looking so worried, it was making me even worse.’
    I pinned on a smile. ‘Everything’s fine but you’re like a wee clucking hen and I’ll be thinking you’re sitting on a China egg if we don’t see that chick of yours soon.’ I hoped to sound encouraging.
    A glimmer of humour showed in Denise’s pale face. ‘Well, it’s a pity it’s not one. I like hens.’
    â€˜Better than babies?’
    She smoothed the sheet and gave it close attention. ‘Probably. I haven’t had any experience of them. We haven’t been married that long. I’m only just getting used to a change of name and now my shape’s so different.’ She spread her fingers, nodding at them. ‘Even they don’t look as if they belong.’
    â€˜I wouldn’t have put you as a hen wife,’ I mused, ‘but you sure are clocking up the contractions. Just feel that.’ I put her hand on her bump, but she didn’t seem