Connie watched as the other woman dabbed her forehead with a lacy cream handkerchief. Connie’s hair and hospital gown were soaked with sweat; using a handkerchief would be like trying to dry off the decks of the Titanic with a kitchen roll. The other woman’s shiny blonde hair was tied back with a delicate yellow ribbon – a ribbon! Who even owned ribbon? Connie’s own dark wiry nest was pulled back with one of the elastic bands Bill used to keep his tools together. There was one feature that Connie did have in common with the woman in the bed next to her – they both had enormous round bellies protruding beneath their hospital gowns.

‘It’s like the overflow car park or something in here; the whole of north London must be giving birth tonight,’ said Connie. The other woman didn’t respond. She looked pained and exhausted. ‘Are you crossing your legs till midnight then?’

‘No,’ said the woman wearily. ‘I want this baby out, I’ve been in labour for two days but the contractions keep stopping and starting.’

‘I thought you might be holding out for the prize money,’ said Connie. ‘I’m Connie, by the way.’

‘Tara,’ said the blonde woman, but it came out ‘Ta … raaa … ’ as another contraction took hold. She started puffing out short little bleats of breath.

Connie was about to say something else but then had to pause to focus on a contraction of her own. She stood up and walked across the ward in her hospital gown, bending over one of the empty beds opposite until the pain had receded. Then she turned back to Tara and said, ‘You’re doing it all wrong. Your breathing’s too shallow, you sound like a little sheep.’

‘A sheep?’ said Tara. She looked mortified.

‘Yeah, you want to breathe from your gut, sound like a cow, or better yet a hippo. Try and make a hippo noise.’

‘I’m not going to make a hippo noise.’ Tara gave a sharp headshake. ‘Ridiculous.’

Connie shrugged. She started lunging back and forth on her front leg, while holding onto the end of the hospital bed.

‘You really never heard about the prize money for this nineties baby then? You must be the only one.’

‘Oh right, that,’ Tara nodded. ‘I think someone mentioned it at one of my prenatal appointments. I didn’t know there was a prize involved.’

‘It could be one of us,’ Connie grunted. Then she gave a low, guttural moan. ‘You’ll have to get on your feet, though; babies don’t come if you lie on your back.’

‘I’m just so tired. I can’t walk any more,’ Tara said quietly.

‘There’s no getting round it,’ said Connie. ‘You gotta get up, get walking, let gravity do her job.’

Tara reluctantly sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed. Every movement looked to be a monumental effort.