The One Winter Collection. Rebecca Winters

into another contraction. ‘She knows it all. This’ll be a piece of cake for our Julie.’

      Only it wasn’t. Rob had managed to calm Amina; there no longer seemed to be terror behind the pain, but there was certainly a fair bit of terror behind Julie’s façade of competence.

      One line in the little book stood out. If the baby’s presenting face up then there’s no choice; it must be a Caesarean.

      Any minute now she’d know. Dear God...

      Her mind was flying off at tangents as she waited. Was there any other option? They couldn’t go for help. They couldn’t ring anyone. For heaven’s sake, they couldn’t even light a fire and send out smoke signals. If it was face up...

      ‘And my Julie always stays calm,’ Rob said, and his voice was suddenly stern, cutting across the series of yelps Amina was making. ‘That’s what I love about her. That’s why you’re in such good hands, Amina. Are you sure you don’t want to puff?’

      Amina swore and slapped at his hand and a memory came back to Julie—she’d done exactly the same thing. She’d even bruised him. The day after the twins were born she’d looked at a blackening bruise on her husband’s arm, and she’d also seen marks on his palm where her nails had dug in.

      Her eyes met his and he smiled, a faint gentle smile that had her thinking...memories can be good. The remembrance of Rob’s comfort. Her first sight of her babies.

      The love...

      Surely that love still deserved to live. Surely it shouldn’t be put away for ever in the dusty recesses of her mind, locked away because letting it out hurt?

      Surely Rob was right to relive those memories. To let them make him smile...

      But then Amina gasped and struggled and Rob supported her as she tried to rise. She grasped her knees and she pushed.

      Stage two. Stage two, stage two, stage two.

      Face up, face down. Please, please, please...

      There was a long, loaded pause and Amina actually puffed. But still she held her knees while the whole world seemed to hold its breath.

      Another contraction. Another push.

      Julie could see it. She could see...what? What?

      A backside. A tiny bottom.

      Face down. Oh, God, face down. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She glanced up at Rob and her relief must have shown in her face. He gave her a fast thumbs-up and then went back to holding, encouraging, being...Rob.

      She loved him. She loved him with all her heart but now wasn’t the time to get corny. Now was the time to try and deliver this baby.

      Hands off. That was what the book said. Breech babies will often deliver totally on their own.

       Please...

      But they’d been lucky once. They couldn’t ask for twice. Amina pushed, the baby’s bottom slid out so far but as the contraction receded, so did the baby.

      Over and over.

      Exhaustion was starting to set in. Time for Dr Julie to take a hand? Did she dare?

      Another glance at Rob, and his face was stern. He’d read the book over her shoulder, seen the pictures, figured what was expected now. His face said: do it.

       So do it.

      She’d set out what she’d need. Actually, she’d set out what she had. The book said if the head didn’t come, then forceps might be required. She didn’t actually have forceps or anything that could be usefully used instead.

      Please don’t let them be needed. It was a silent prayer said over and over.

      Don’t think forward. One step at a time. First she had to deliver the legs.

      Dot-point number one. Carefully, she lubricated her fingers. One leg at a time. One leg...

      Remember the pictures.

      ‘Jules is about to help your baby out,’ Rob said, his voice steady, calm, settling. ‘Next push, Amina, go as far as you can and then hold. Puff, just like I said. Keep the pressure on.’

      Next contraction... The baby’s back slid out again. Deep breath and Julie felt along the tiny leg. What did the book say? Manoeuvre your finger behind the knee and gently push upward. This causes the knee to flex. Hold the femur, splint it gently with your finger to prevent it breaking. This should allow the leg to...

      It did! It flopped out. Oh, my...

      Calm. Next. Dot-point number two.

      The other leg was easier. Now the baby could no longer recede. Manoeuvre to the right position. Flex.

      Two legs delivered. She was almost delirious with hope. Please...

      Dot-point number three. Gently rotate the baby into the side position to allow delivery of the right arm. Easier said than done but the illustrations had been clear. If only her hands weren’t so slippery, but they had to be slippery.

      ‘Fantastic, Jules,’ Rob said. ‘Fantastic, Amina. You’re both doing great.’

      She had the tiny body slightly rotated. Enough? It had to be. Her finger found the elbow, put her finger over the top, pressured gently, inexorably.

      An arm. She’d delivered an arm. The dot-points were blurring, but she still had work to do. She was acting mostly on instinct, but thank God for the book. She’d write to the author. No, she’d send the author half her kingdom. All her kingdom.

      She suddenly thought of the almost obscene amount of money she’d been earning these past years and thought...

      And thought there was another arm to go and then the head, and the head was...

      ‘Jules. We’re doing great,’ Rob growled and she glanced up at him and thought he’d seen the shiver of panic and he was grounding her again.

      He’d always grounded her. She needed him.

      Her hands held the tiny body, took a grip, lifted as the book said, thirty degrees so the left arm was in position for delivery. She twisted as the next contraction eased. The baby rotated like magic.

      She found the elbow and pushed gently down. The left arm slithered out.

      Now the head. Please, God, the head. She didn’t have forceps. She wouldn’t have the first clue what to do with forceps if she had them.

      ‘Lift,’ Rob snapped and he was echoing the book too. ‘Come on, Jules, you know what the book says. Come on, Amina. Our baby’s so close. We can do this.’

      Our baby...

      It sounded good. It sounded right.

      ‘Next contraction, puff afterwards, ease off until Jules has the baby in position,’ Rob urged Amina, and magically she did.

      Amina was working so hard. Surely she could do the same.

      She steadied. Waited. The next contraction passed. Amina puffed, Rob held her hand and murmured gentle words. ‘Hold, Amina, hold, we’re so close...’

       Do it.

      She held the baby, resting it on her right hand. She manoeuvred her hand so two fingers were on the side of the tiny jaw. With her other hand she put her middle finger on the back of the baby’s head.

      It sounded easy. It wasn’t. She lifted the baby as high as she could, remembering the pictures, remembering...

      So much sweat. She needed...she needed...

      ‘You’re doing great, Jules,’ Rob said. ‘Amina, your baby’s so close. Maybe one more push. This is fantastic. Let’s do this, people. Okay, Jules?’

      ‘O...Okay.’