Chapter 7
NATE TOOK HIS PLACE ON SET and waited for his cue, acutely aware of Jess watching from behind the line of cameras.
With the bright lights in his face, he couldn’t see her expression, but he could imagine it. It was the expression she’d been giving him since the minute they met: unimpressed. In fact, the only time that changed was when he told her the bedrest fact.
Why he’d felt the need to ask what was wrong, he had no idea.
He hadn’t wanted to talk to her more than the bare minimum, but he kept being drawn in, wanting to impress her.
Was it her resemblance to his ex? That was a stupid reason.
She wasn’t Samantha, and that relationship was well and truly done.
Whatever the reason, the anger he’d entertained this morning felt completely unfair. The dangerous mix of emotions still churned inside him, but it didn’t seem right to take it out on a complete stranger. He’d try to be civil.
It had been nice to see Jess’s surprised look when he knew the medical information she’d needed.
He hadn’t told anyone on set about his background or why he’d auditioned for the role, and he didn’t plan to either.
Ignoring his old life worked for now. Although, he’d eventually have to face reality, and his bursting inbox.
He hadn’t dared look at his notifications.
Running away from everything, temporarily of course, allowed him to reassess his life post-Samantha.
But the history of birth and labour was one of his special interest areas, and he couldn’t help blurting out a bit to Jess when she needed it.
“Ready on set?” Laney called after a flurry of activity as cameras moved into position and extras found their starting places. A chorus of ‘ready’s’ filled the room and then silence.
“Nate?”
He lifted his head, suddenly aware he hadn’t answered. “Oh, yes. Sorry. Ready.”
The First Assistant Camera Operator held up his fingers and counted Nate in.
He stared directly into the camera, fighting the urge to let his eyes drift to Jess, standing within his field of vision just behind the crew. She swayed slowly from foot to foot, tipping her curvy hips to the side in that same easy, sensual way Samantha always moved when she had to wait somewhere.
He swallowed, his tongue and throat sandpaper.
“I’m sorry. Can I get a water first?” he asked.
The red light on the camera switched off, and Laney waved at an assistant. “Water, please!”
“So sorry,” he repeated. What was wrong with him? Since touching Jess earlier, his mind had turned to mush. He wouldn’t have offered her a hand up if he’d known it would have this effect. The old-fashioned English manners he’d been raised with were more than annoying at times.
Her slim, long fingers had fit so snugly within his hand, felt so soft and delicate. For a moment, he’d struggled to let go.
Up close, Nate could better see the differences between Jess and Samantha, although both were uncannily similar.
Where Samantha had a model-like sharpness to her face, and personality it turned out, Jess was all softness and curves: round cheeks, full lips, soft black hair flowing in waves down past her feminine shoulders.
Jess’s brown eyes had flecks of gold and a cheeky spark in them.
Her nose was small and flat across the bridge.
As cute as a button, something his mother used to say, seemed the perfect description.
Stop, he told himself. This isn’t what you’re here for. You’re here to forget about Samantha, not fall for her twin.
Maybe anger was a safer option? He recalled the scene of Samantha and his old friend, the awful metallic taste of betrayal, and allowed bitterness to harden his features.
Laney’s assistant handed Nate a glass of water.
“All good to go?” Laney asked after he’d emptied it and handed it back to the assistant.
“Thank you, yes. Ready.”
THE MORNING’S FILMING SESSION PASSED QUICKLY and in no time, Laney made the call to break for lunch.
Jess exhaled. The young actress playing the role of the birthing mother needed quite a lot of coaching.
She’d never even seen someone give birth and, in Jess’s opinion, was being overly dramatic.
Although it was a medical drama, so perhaps that was expected?
But Laney had said they wanted a realistic birth, and women in the 50s were still fairly restrained, even during birth. Half the time, the mothers completely passed out from the strong drugs doctors administered in those days.
“All back here by two o’clock, please,” Laney announced. She caught Jess’s eye and waved her over. “Hey, your manager called a few minutes ago. She couldn’t get you on your cell. It sounded urgent?”
Jess’s heart sank. In her exhaustion last night, she’d forgotten to arrange the back-up midwife for her clients. She’d been a midwife long enough to have a sixth sense about these things, and she knew her manager likely wasn’t calling with good news.
Jess found a quiet spot outside and, feeling well overdue for a coffee, or three, leaned up against the wall of the old hospital to call her manager.
“Jess, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s sounding like Zara Bishop is in labour. Could be Braxton Hicks, but I thought it better to—”
“No, of course. I’ll call her. Thank you for letting me know. I’m sorry my phone was off. I had to silence it during filming, and I forgot to turn it back on again.”
“Understandable. All going well, I assume?”
“So far. It’s busier than I expected.”
“Well, let’s hope Zara can hold out for a day and save you the trip. Beth doing back-up for you?”
“Yes, but I wanted to make sure all my mums had met her at least once before they went into delivery and all felt comfortable with the change. I don’t like them to feel panicked.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. Talk soon.” After ending the call, Jess scrolled through her messages, seeing that Zara, the mum possibly in labour, had rung earlier that day. She hit call, squeezing the space between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. Hopefully, everything had calmed down.
Zara’s husband answered, sounding boyishly excited. “Hello! Glad you called. Things are starting to happen here.”
“What’s going on?” Jess asked, switching into midwife mode, her sixth sense again warning her this wasn’t a false labour. Zara was a small woman in her third pregnancy. It was only her 37th week, but Jess had suspected she might not last until full-term this time.
“Contractions for a few hours now. Zara, being Zara, insists on carrying on as if nothing’s happening. She’s been cooking in bulk like we’re heading into an apocalypse. But something’s happening!”
Jess liked the Bishops. She’d been with Zara and her husband, James, for all three pregnancies, and they were one of her favourite couples to work with.
“How far apart?” Jess asked.
“I don’t know. Pretty irregular. Is that right, Zar? She says they’re not close.”
“Anything else? Any bleeding?”
“No, all good. She’s just cruising along.”
“Okay. That sounds good. We’ve still got time then. Carry on like you are and check in if anything changes, okay? I promise my phone will be on.”
“Thanks, Jess. We’ll keep in touch. Hopefully this is it!”
James hung up, and Jess checked her phone to make sure there weren’t any other urgent messages.
There was a cute cat meme from her best friend Poppy, but nothing else.
Dave’s stream of increasingly abusive texts had stopped for now.
Perhaps he’d finally got the message and moved on.
She probably should have explained rather than ghosting him, but what could she say?
There was no way he was genuinely in love.
It was manipulation, and any back and forth always made the drama drag on longer.
Jess called Beth, her backup midwife, talking her through each client and making sure everything was in place for them, and then updated her manager.
If Zara went today or tomorrow, she’d have to go in.
The Bishops hadn’t met the back-up midwife and she’d feel guilty leaving them with a stranger, especially when they’d had all their babies under her care.
But the first stage of labour could last for hours.
Zara’s last two pregnancies had really long labours, both over 30 hours. She’d likely last until tomorrow.
Flicking through her clients one by one, Jess called each of them to briefly confirm their meetings with Beth and reassure them.
She’d worked with Beth for several years and knew they’d be in capable hands.
By the time all her calls were done, it was ten minutes until two.
Not enough time for lunch, but she was used to coffee-only lunches.
Some days were so busy at the hospital she wouldn’t eat anything more substantial than a chocolate bar until she got home.
Jess headed for the kitchen, silently thanking whichever kitchen fairy placed a decent coffee machine on set.
She made herself a double-shot latte and joined the rest of the crew as they made their way back to the set.
FOUR HOURS LATER, JESS SLUMPED INTO A CHAIR in the writers’ room.
The cast and crew were on a ten-minute toilet break and then, in an hour, they’d be breaking for dinner.
She hadn’t realised how equally boring and draining filming would be.
There was so much repetition. Retake after retake.
But, at the same time, never a chance to catch her breath.
Even standing at the side, watching the scenes play out, Jess was always ‘on’.
Constantly focused to ensure she wasn’t missing anything.
Was it realistic? Did the fake-pregnant women respond the way actual women would?
What about the doctors and nurses? Were there any historical or medical inaccuracies?
The anchor of doubt in her stomach hadn’t lifted. If anything, it had sunk deeper. None of this felt natural and now, reflecting on her morning, she was sure she’d completely stuffed it up. Jess placed her head in her hands, making the most of the moment’s silence.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she absently removed it, flipping it over to look at the screen. Zara Bishop was calling. Jess instantly straightened her back and shifted forward onto the edge of the chair.
“Zara, how are you?”
Instead of Zara, it was her husband James on the other end. “She’s having them about five minutes apart now,” he said, sounding far less excited than before, a hint of panic in his voice.
“Three!” Zara yelled in the background.
“Zara says three now,” James repeated. “And, uh…” The phone hung silent for a beat, then James was back again, more animated now. “Her waters just broke!”
Jess did the mental calculations. The Bishops were a twenty-five minute drive from the hospital, and she was a good thirty minutes away herself.
“You guys know the drill. Time to head to the hospital. I’ll meet you there.”
Hanging up, she slouched against the chair’s soft leather back for a second. No food, except a slice of cold pizza, and barely any sleep for days. All the coffee in the world was not going to be enough to face a long drive and, potentially, hours of labour.
Why had she gone out on the town instead of getting organised the night before filming?
Another reason to get her life in order.
At 28, she was definitely getting too old for the party-girl lifestyle.
And deep down, she knew it was only a response to her upbringing.
Trying to be the opposite of her mother, submissively sitting around at home waiting on a man like he was her god.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment, breathing deeply like she encouraged her labouring mothers to do. It’d all be okay.
She visualised the little cottage. It had become a stand-in for her dream home. The one she’d been saving a deposit for and the first step in her “Chaos to Calm” plan. The first step in slamming the door on all her crazy party years and building the life she really wanted.
Except for vacations at her grandfather’s house, all she’d ever known growing up was chaos.
Jess was raised shifting from place to place with her mum.
Even though she’d tried to break away, tried to be different, in reality she’d mimicked the same chaotic living.
Which was fine for her twenties, but now, as she headed closer to thirty, Jess craved stability.
A home. A place where, if everything worked out the way she hoped, she could land a job at the new Rangiora hospital and live on her own terms, close to nature, grounded and calm.
It was her motivation to keep moving forward and not hand in her notice to Laney right this second.
She dropped the tension from her shoulders and painted a bigger picture in her mind. There’d be a vegetable garden and an art studio out the back with big double doors and plenty of light. Her grandfather’s art hanging on the walls to inspire her. Yeah, that’s gorgeous.
Breathe. You’ve got this.
But when she opened her eyes, her confidence vanished. The world tilted.
Laney approached, cradling a coffee. “Everything okay?”
“I’m really sorry, Laney. One of my clients is in labour and I have to drive into the hospital.”
Laney looked her over, head cocked to the side. “It’s cool, except I dunno. I don’t wanna be rude, but you look kinda—”
“Shattered?” Jess finished. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get a sandwich and another coffee and I’ll perk right up. I’m used to minimal sleep.”
“I don’t think I’d feel good sending you off on the highway, though. Driving tired is like driving drunk, you know.”
“Honestly, I’ll be fine.”
“Hey girl, listen. One of the perks of the film world is lots of spare hands. I’ll get you a driver. It’s no problem. Then you can sleep in the car on the way in.”
“It’s not—”
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
Jess considered protesting, but the director’s suggestion sounded more than sensible. Tempting even. A half-hour nap would make a difference. Especially considering she had no idea how complicated or long this delivery would be.
Laney shot off to find a driver, shoving Jess in the direction of the coffee machine and insisting she raid the fridge for whatever she could find.
She fixed herself another double-shot latte and discovered a wrapped blueberry muffin in the fridge.
A quick zap in the microwave and it’d be just like a fresh one.
A deep voice made her jump. “Ready to go?”
Clutching her snack and coffee, she spun around to see Nate standing in front of her, holding car keys.