Chapter 8
Two days to the renewal of the vows ceremony
“Everyone’s talking about that wank personality test,” said Sheridan late the next morning as she dumped a cappuccino in front
of Polly. “I was listening to Len Champion in the atrium and he reckons they’re going to use the results to fire people. He
was on about ringing up the union.”
“Len Champion would ring up the union if they ran out of cheese sandwiches in the canteen,” said Polly. She pressed at her
temple because she’d had a headache since she woke up and hoped a second dose of ibuprofen would quickly kick in and shift
it.
“Where’s Germy today?”
“Day off,” replied Polly. A grin bled across her lips and infected Sheridan.
“I frigging love it when he’s off. What are you reading?”
“The Auntie Marian’s Bread company profile.” Polly sighed unconsciously. She couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm for it. “It doesn’t
sound like a very nice place to work.”
“I thought as much when I was typing up Jeremy’s notes,” said Sheridan.
“Hmm,” replied Polly with a nod. Some firms were easier to help than others.
Some cut unnecessary corners and wouldn’t listen to advice they’d paid for, which made her job so much harder.
It was usually these sorts of companies that treated their staff like rubbish.
Auntie Marian’s Bread wouldn’t be her favorite challenge; she could tell that already because the owner, Arthur Peach, wanted big changes but at the same time would be resistant to them.
Some firms just gave off a rotten vibe, like this one and the Italian restaurant chain she’d read about by mistake.
“I have heartburn like you couldn’t believe today, but I don’t care,” confessed Sheridan over the desk divide. “I was craving
spicy food last night and I was craving spicy sex. I was unfillable, Pol. I hope that doesn’t go away when I give birth. I’m
sure we must have dented the baby’s skull.”
Polly threw her head back and laughed aloud, then realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed like that. It
was almost certainly at work with Sheridan and not at home.
“I’m surprised I can walk.”
“Sheridan, please. Too much detail.”
“I’m suffering for my excesses, though.” Sheridan bent forward with a long oooh and rubbed her stomach.
“You all right?” Polly asked her.
Sheridan half chuckled, half winced. “Braxton-Hicks again. I’ve been having them for a full hour off and on,” she said, on
a deep breath. “They’re really starting to throb a bit.”
“Sheridan, love, I hate to tell you this, but Braxton-Hicks aren’t painful.”
Sheridan’s face segued into an expression of horror then. “Oh God, I think I’ve wet myself.” She stood up and there was a
stain the size of the Isle of Wight on her trousers, still spreading.
“Sit back down and ring Dmitri,” said Polly, putting on her best calm voice. “I’ll ring an ambulance. I think you’re in labor,
love.”
Polly got her phone out of her bag and Sheridan got hers and they both made their calls.
“Dmitri’s going to meet me at the hospital. He’s only five minutes away,” said Sheridan. Then she started loading her bag with things from her desk drawers, including her giant bar of fruit and nut chocolate, her notepad, and her foldaway emergency poncho and matching umbrella.
“Leave all that,” said Polly.
“Pol, I’m taking my things with me. You and I both know that if I come back after my maternity leave, I’m not going to be
sitting at this desk. They’ll transfer me somewhere else and Brock the cock is not having my best pens and chocolate.” She
carried on shoving her possessions into her bag until she was done. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, help me get downstairs to reception,
will you? Oh my God, I’m wet through.”
Holding on to Polly’s arm, Sheridan set off for the lift at a comfortable speed.
“I can feel everyone gawping at me,” she said, chuckling. “The poor incontinent lady.”
“I think they can work out what’s happening,” replied Polly. “Anyway, never mind about anyone else; you just concentrate on
yourself.”
“Good luck, Sheridan,” someone shouted, followed by someone else and more of the same.
“Thank you, thank you, everyone.”
They made their way to reception and sat in one of the quiet corners on the faux-leather seats. Sheridan geared up for another
contraction and Polly rubbed her back, hoping it helped. She’d been left to it in the hospital. There had been no one with
her, at least in the early stages of labor when she was merely given a dose of paracetamol and a woman’s magazine to take
her mind off things.
“Brutal,” said Sheridan, coming through it. “How bad will I feel if I get to hospital and it’s just bad wind after that vindaloo?”
“I’ve never heard of wind so bad that it breaks your waters,” said Polly, pushing Sheridan’s long dark curls back over her
shoulders.
“Don’t, I’ll fart,” Sheridan said, trying not to laugh.
They sat quietly, waiting for the ambulance or another contraction, whichever came first.
“Oh Polly, I will miss you. We’ve had a giggle, haven’t we, over these past couple of years?”
Polly put her arm around Sheridan and pulled her in close. “Yes, love, we have. And we will again.”
“Come and see us at home. I want to know all the goss about Germy and Cock.”
“Of course I will,” said Polly. She felt stupidly tearful. She remembered her own contractions starting, the strange combo
of fear and exhilaration that her baby was on its way. She hadn’t had it confirmed, but she knew it was a girl. She’d been
in agony, but she didn’t care. It meant her baby was healthy and as eager to see her mother as the mother was to see her child.
“Christ, Pol, this hurts. This baby is splitting me in half.”
“He wants to meet you,” said Pol, squeezing her friend. “You’ll soon be holding your baby in your arms and it will be the
best moment of your life.” She paused then and listened hard. “I think I hear a mee-maw.”
Sure enough, there was the faintest two-tone siren in the distance growing ever louder, and then they saw the welcome sight
of the big yellow vehicle through the glass front doors. The two paramedics on board were quick to take over.
They loaded Sheridan into a wheelchair and started to wheel her away, but she made them stop so she could hold out her arms
to Polly.
“Promise we’ll keep in touch, Pol,” she said, hugging her tightly. “I need to know how the wedding goes and where you’ll be
living and if Brock the cock comes into the department and sits on the wet chair.”
Polly laughed and embraced her, savoring the warm feel of her. “I will,” she said. “Good luck, darling.”
Polly stayed there until the ambulance drove off. She didn’t know she was crying until she felt the teardrops tickle her cheeks.
What a beautiful start of things this was for the Savalas family. She sent up a silent prayer that everything would be all
right, that mother and baby would be safe. Everything else would take care of itself if that happened.
Polly snuck off early that afternoon. And when she was at home, she did a little more secret packing. It made her feel proactive, as if this was really going to happen at last. It would be all change in Sheridan’s life, and from Sunday onward, it would be all change in hers too.
Polly woke up the next morning to an email that baby Alexander Michalis Savalas, seven pounds fourteen ounces, had arrived.
Mum and baby doing very well.