The second sentence, its plangent note, spark-plugged James’s brain into life. He could do this. He could get her an ambulance. No: a taxi. There was a cab just across the road. James moved as fast as a man of his burgeoning size could at this sort of notice. The driver was making a gesture to ward him off; he wasn’t even keen to wind the window down and talk to James, but James persisted, tapping on the glass.

‘It’s advance only,’ the driver began. He sounded like he had to say this a lot in life. ‘You’ve got to—’

‘It’s an emergency,’ James blurted out. ‘There’s a woman who needs to get to the hospital, straight away.’

In the back of the car he wasn’t sure what to say. The woman seemed calmer now; she took deep breaths, occasionally letting out a little stifled sob or muttering something to herself. James realized that he didn’t have the slightest idea about labour, childbirth, any of it; nor did he have a clue what to say to somebody in her position. He asked if he could call anyone, or do anything else, but the woman hardly seemed to hear. The driver stepped into the silence, commenting on the whole business with a clumsy but welcome cheeriness. ‘I’ve seen this sort of thing before and it all worked out,’ he said; James wondered how he could possibly know that, but it was better not to ask. ‘I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe. We’ve had all sorts. I’ve had people crying, people bleeding, all sorts. You’ll be all right, love. I’ve had someone with half their leg hanging off.’ This seemed to be the driver’s idea of lightening the mood; he gave a brief barking laugh after it. ‘You wouldn’t believe the things you see, doing this. The people you meet.’ On he went in this vein, jinking expertly into gaps in the traffic, almost knocking down two pedestrians like skittles in a 50/50 situation at a zebra crossing, continuing to describe the ‘all sorts’ he had witnessed, until James and – he hoped – the patient began to believe that this was all quite everyday and manageable after all.