‘I’ll be back to check your measurements shortly, Mrs Cooper.’

The midwife swept out of the room as briskly as she had arrived, the double doors swinging noisily back and forth in her wake. From behind the plastic partition Connie heard slow, childlike sobbing. She pulled herself off the bed and drew the curtain back so she could see Tara again.

‘No, no. No time for tears. We got work to do,’ said Connie.

‘I can’t do it any more, I haven’t slept for two days.’

‘Where’s your man?’

‘I sent him home. He hasn’t slept either, I thought one of us should.’ And then the pain came and she curled instinctively into a ball. Connie felt her own starting. She took hold of Tara’s wrist and gently drew Tara’s face up towards hers. Tara started mewing, pained little mews like a cat being strangled.

‘That’s a cat, what did I say? Did I say cat, did I say sheep, or did I say hippo? You got to go lower, come on, copy me.’

Connie started mooing big, heaving moos from the depth of her diaphragm. Tara’s whole face blushed red, her eyes darting to the door. ‘Don’t be embarrassed. No one here but us, come on.’ Tara gave a tentative ‘mur’ sound. She scowled with concentration. ‘Lower, bigger, much bigger, MAAHOOOOOOOOOO … ’ Connie thundered. Tara stared at her in bemusement. She tried again, copying Connie. Connie nodded silent encouragement. At first Tara’s breathing was self-conscious, still clinging to some urge to be ladylike, but gradually she let herself go and started imitating Connie’s heaving moans.

‘It helps, don’t it? Now get down here like this.’

Connie dropped down onto all fours and swayed her bulk backwards and forwards on the matt. Tara copied obediently. Connie’s contractions were getting more intense now. She felt like screaming but she wanted to stay in control for Tara, to show her how to command the breath and ride it out. The women rocked backwards and forwards together silently.

‘Did you get a pre-labour manicure?’ Connie asked, looking at Tara’s perfectly polished nails.

‘Yes,’ Tara said, stretching out her palm. ‘Why?’

‘Did you get a bikini wax and all?’ Connie asked with a grin.

‘That’s a bit of a personal question,’ said Tara, frowning.

Tara was still rocking slowly back and forth when an involuntary loud trumpet sound erupted from her rear end. Tara took a moment to register what had happened before clasping a hand over her mouth. Connie chuckled, a long, hearty chuckle.

‘There’s far worse going to come out down there, so you best get relaxed about a bit of wind, prissy missy.’

Tara covered her face with her hands and then started to laugh herself. She had a musical, high-pitched laugh.

‘Oh my days, is that your laugh?’ said Connie. ‘Even that sounds uptight.’