Rachaela sat in comfortable misery before her electric fire, her back wedged with cushions, sipping a glass of her own wine. Her back was excruciating and she had also taken three paracetamol. Despite the pain she began to go to sleep.

She was woken by bright little squirrel knocks on the door: Emma Watt.

‘Damn her.’

Best go to the door and tell her she was not feeling well, could not come down, an early night and so on. Left unanswered, Emma Watt grew anxious and knocked and called; it had happened before.

As Rachaela got up something seemed to tear inside her all the way down, between her spine and stomach. In puzzlement she stood there, waiting for some sequel, but nothing happened.

She reached the door and opened it.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Emma Watt. ‘Oh my dear, you look dreadful.’

‘Yes. I’d better not come down,’ said Rachaela.

A pain like the worst toothache clutched her vitals. She felt herself wither.

‘What is it?’ said Emma.

‘Just a pain.’

‘What sort of a pain?’

Dazed, Rachaela told her. She had to hold the frame of the door. For the first time in months she felt very sick again.

‘Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.’

She made it. Her body emptied itself in all its chambers. She came out shaking, and Emma Watt was still there of course, standing in the middle of the room.

‘My dear,’ she said, ‘I think you’ve started.’

‘Started what?’

‘Your baby’s coming. Oh don’t be frightened. This will soon be over, and then the marvellous part begins.’

Rachaela sat down. The pain came again, griping her hollow guts, twisting her body like a cloth.

‘Must you be so stupid?’ she said.

Emma brushed this aside.

‘Say anything you like,’ she said, ‘call me names. I know this bit isn’t particularly nice. I’ll phone for you. The hospital—is it St Mary’s? What’s your doctor’s name?’

‘Oh, that,’ said Rachaela. ‘No doctor, no hospital.’

‘What?’

‘I haven’t been seeing anyone. That was just your happy little fantasy, Emma. Nobody knows.’

‘But my God, my God,’ said Emma. Panic took her all apart, and then she gripped herself together again. ‘Never mind. I’ll get an ambulance.’

Rachaela watched her, smiling. She took a mouthful of wine, but it came straight back up. This time she did not make the bathroom.

‘Don’t drink that,’ said Emma through a white blur. ‘Take my hand. That’s it. They won’t be long.‘The pain came and crushed her away. ‘My God,’ said Emma, ‘they’d better be quick. Just hold on. Hold on, darling. It’s going to be all right.’

‘Now push,’ said someone, some mad woman. ‘That’s it. Push. Good girl.’

Were they speaking to her, these lunatics?