Anne opened her midwife’s bag, prepared the injection and then gave Emma the shot in her thigh. Normally she wouldn’t have offered pethidine this close to the birth unless the mother really wasn’t coping with the pain. It could cause the mother to become unresponsive and affect the baby’s breathing and first feed, but that wasn’t an issue here. Emma could have whatever she needed just to get through the ordeal.

Now Emma was more comfortable, Anne took her pulse, blood pressure and temperature. They were all normal for a woman in the active stage of labour. Ian was standing passively to one side, not knowing what to do for the best.

‘Come and hold your wife’s hand while I examine her,’ Anne told him.

With over twenty years’ experience as a midwife, Anne knew that the men often needed more support than the woman giving birth, even when the birth went to plan and was straightforward, which this wasn’t.

Taking a pair of sterile gloves from her bag, Anne went to the end of the bed and raised the sheet. She examined Emma internally and then covered her again. ‘It will be at least another two hours, if not longer,’ she said, peeling off her gloves.

Ian sighed and rubbed his forehead in anguish. He wasn’t doing Emma any favours, Anne thought. His nervousness was contagious.

‘Perhaps you could make me a cup of coffee?’ she suggested. ‘I didn’t have time for one before I left.’

He crossed the room towards the door and on his way out dimmed the lights.

‘It’s better if he’s occupied,’ Anne told Emma, and sat in the chair by her bed.

Emma grimaced as another contraction took hold. Anne guided her hand to the mask, and Emma breathed in the gas and air.

‘You’re doing well,’ Anne said reassuringly, rubbing her patient’s arm. ‘The pethidine will take effect soon.’

‘I just want it over with,’ Emma cried, a tear slipping down her cheek. ‘We won’t try again for another child.’

‘I know, love. Just stay calm and take deep breaths. I’m here with you.’

‘You won’t leave, will you?’ Emma asked anxiously.

‘No, not until it’s all over.’

Ian returned with the cup of coffee, then hovered, unsure of what to do next. ‘Have we got everything we need for the birth?’ Anne asked him.

‘I think so,’ he replied, glancing around.

Anne knew they had. While the light had been raised she’d seen the pile of towels, blanket, Moses basket, maternity pads, bags for rubbish and a plastic bucket. Compared to the equipment that filled some home-birthing rooms, this was the absolute minimum. No candles, soft music, TENS machine, birthing pool or piles of first-size baby clothes. They just had what was needed to get the baby out and gone.