I yawned. ‘Fair enough.’ I stood up. ‘And now I’m heading for home.’
‘Aw no, Steph,’ Scarlett protested, pushing herself upright. ‘You can’t leave me all alone on my wedding night. That would be so wrong.’
I laughed. ‘Can you imagine what the red-tops would make of that? “Scarlett Harlot spends wedding night with ghost.” No, I’d better get back.’
‘No, seriously, Steph. I don’t want to be alone in the house tonight.’ All at once, the frivolity had dissipated. Scarlett was deadly serious. ‘I feel like shit and I don’t want to be alone.’
I could see she wasn’t joking. I didn’t want to be stranded out in the wilds of Essex, but I didn’t want to let her down either. Typical of that useless wanker Joshu, leaving her on her tod on her wedding night because he was too busy playing the big-time DJ with his mates. ‘I’ll tell the car to go, then,’ I said with as good grace as I could muster.
We parted for the night almost as soon as I returned, Scarlett plodding wearily up the stairs while I headed down the hall to the guest rooms by the pool area. The room I chose was already made up, as immaculate and impersonal as a hotel room, save for the large fluffy chimpanzee perched on the pillow. I wondered if that was Scarlett’s inspired choice or something that had been left behind by the previous owner. In the chest of drawers, as promised, there was a folded stack of unisex nightshirts. The bathroom cabinet held sealed packets of toothbrushes, disposable razors and condoms. Expensive toiletries lined the shelf in the shower cubicle. Given the paucity of Scarlett’s experience, I suspected George had given instructions to Carla or the cleaning service.
I barely had the energy to undress and clean my teeth. Next day, I had the wedding chapter to write. The very thought of it was enough to drain the last drops of energy from my weary body. I swear I was asleep before I closed my eyes.
13
It was the sudden bright light that woke me from the depths of sleep. Blinking, I cried out as I pushed myself upright. ‘Sorry,’ Scarlett gasped. ‘But I think the baby’s coming.’ She was leaning in the doorway clutching her bump and sweating like a field hand in high summer. ‘I woke up all wet,’ she said. ‘My waters broke. And I keep getting these contractions.’
I jumped up and ran to her. I put my shoulder under her arm and guided her to the bed. ‘Lie down,’ I said. All I knew about giving birth was what I’d learned from film and TV over the years. Right then, it did not feel anywhere near enough. ‘How often are you having the contractions?’
‘I don’t fucking know,’ she yelled, doubling over in pain and groaning through clenched teeth. It seemed to last for ever, but according to my watch it was only about twenty seconds. After it passed, she visibly relaxed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She looked up at me, piteous as a frightened child. ‘It fucking hurts, Steph.’
‘How long has this been going on?’ I asked.
‘When we were at the hotel, my tummy started to feel a bit crampy. Like when you’ve got trapped wind, you know? I thought it was because I’d eaten too much crap. I’ve had indigestion for about six weeks. I thought it was the same kind of thing. But this isn’t wind, Steph.’ She breathed heavily.
‘Are you booked in at a local hospital?’ I asked.
‘Course not. I’m booked into St Mary’s, Paddington. Where Princess Diana had her boys.’
I couldn’t help giggling. ‘You are such a pro, Scarlett. Always an eye on the headlines.’
‘What? You think I did this because it’s what brainless bimbos do? Think again.’ She groaned. ‘I figure they wouldn’t have let Diana go anywhere except the best. That’s why I chose it. Because if anything goes wrong, that’s where I want to be.’
‘So who do I call?’
‘There’s a Louis Vuitton holdall in the bottom of the walk-in wardrobe in my bedroom. Bring it down, would you? There’s a folder in it with all the details. Arrgh!’ This time she yelled like a wounded pirate. According to my watch, it had been a fraction under three minutes since the previous contraction. That didn’t sound good to me.
Fifteen minutes later, I was reversing out of the garage in Joshu’s ridiculous Golf. When I’d explained the situation to the duty midwife, she’d told me to bring Scarlett in straight away. I tried to get a limo, but the company Scarlett used had nobody available for at least an hour. I didn’t want to call a cab because that would have been like direct-dialling the red-tops. I tried Joshu, but his phone went straight to voicemail. So it was down to me. Three in the morning, there wouldn’t be much traffic. And I’d stopped drinking around six hours earlier. I’d probably be OK. But there was no way Scarlett would be OK in the little bucket seat of her car.
I wasn’t paying much attention to the speed limit, which was pretty dim, given what I was driving. I’d barely hit the A13 when my rearview mirror lit up with flashing blue lights. To tell you the truth, I was actually quite relieved. Scarlett’s contractions seemed to be coming closer together and with more intensity. I was starting to feel a bit worried.
The traffic cop who swaggered up to my driver’s window looked visibly shaken at the sight of a woman in her thirties behind the wheel of the pimpmobile. He was even more disconcerted when Scarlett started shouting from the back seat.
‘Give us a fucking escort,’ she yelled.
‘She’s in labour,’ I said. Pretty needlessly, I thought.
‘Is that—’
‘Yes,’ I said impatiently. ‘And if we don’t get her to hospital soon, you might find yourself in the headlines for making a roadside delivery.’
I could see the cogs turning. ‘OK. Follow me.’ He turned and headed back for his car.
‘Wait,’ I yelled. ‘You don’t know where we’re going.’
He turned, laughing. ‘You’re going to the nearest hospital. She’s in no condition to wait.’
He’d get no argument from me, though Scarlett was swearing like it was an Olympic sport. I wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain or because her carefully orchestrated plans had all gone tits-up.
By the time we got to the hospital, Scarlett was mostly howling like a wolf or whimpering like a chained-up puppy. Sod compassion. All I wanted was for it to stop. I got my wish soon enough. The moment we arrived, Scarlett was whisked away on a trolley and I was directed to the reception desk to book her in. I thanked the cop, who was already preening himself at the desk. ‘I called ahead,’ he said. ‘That’s why they were waiting for her.’
‘I know she’ll appreciate it when she comes out the other side of this,’ I said.
‘Are you her PA, then?’
‘No, I’m her friend.’ I caught his sceptical look and checked myself out. A pair of Scarlett’s joggers, about four inches too short for my longer legs. A sagging T-shirt sized for her bosom rather than mine. It had been that or my best frock, which didn’t seem quite the thing for a hospital dash in the middle of the night. I looked more like a cleaner than any PA I’d ever met, apart from the fuck-me party shoes. But I wasn’t about to explain myself to a cop. Instead, I made a point of getting a piece of paper from the receptionist and taking down his details. George could send him a bottle of Scotch later.
When it came to booking Scarlett in, I was impressed by how much detail I had at my fingertips. Date of birth, full name, address. I even knew where her GP’s surgery was because I’d picked up a prescription one afternoon on my way out to her place. At least it made me look credible in the eyes of the receptionist. I really knew her. I wasn’t just some passing stalker.
Up on the ward, I felt like I’d stepped into a no man’s land between two irreconcilable states. On the one hand, the calm and capable midwives. On the other, the women crazed with pain, fear and discomfort. I found Scarlett in a small side room, squatting on the floor in a hospital gown. ‘Are you OK?’ I said. ‘Sorry, that’s a really stupid question. What have they said?’
‘Nothing much.’ She groaned. ‘Somebody’s coming to examine me properly in a minute.’
‘I’m going to go and try to get hold of Joshu again,’ I said.
‘No,’ she yelled, reaching out and grabbing my wrist like a vice. ‘Stay here with me. I don’t want that useless
