Free Bridesmaid Blitz by Sarah Webb

three,
heave
.”
    Once Shelly’s on her feet, I put my arm around one shoulder and Clover takes the other, and we help her down the stairs, taking it snail slow.
    “That’s it, Shelly,” Clover says kindly. “You’re doing fab. One step at a time.”
    Finally, we reach Clover’s car. “We’ll lie you down in the backseat, Shelly. Getting you in will be the hard part.”
    Shelly clutches her stomach again and takes a few slow, deep breaths. At least she was listening to me. “Oh, Christ, it’s getting even worse.”
    “You’re doing brilliantly,” I say while Clover opens the driver’s door and pulls the seat as far forward as she can.
    “It’s a contraction, Shelly,” she explains at the same time. “Like a giant rubber band squeezing your stomach in for a few seconds. Each contraction is less than a minute. Just ride the pain, let it flow over you, and remember each one will only last a short time.”
    I look at Clover in admiration. How on earth does she know so much about labor?
    As if reading my mind, Clover grins at me. “Had to go to some of those baba classes with Sylvie when Dave was working. You don’t forget weird stuff like that.”
    I smile at her. “You’re so right. The amount of weird stuff I’ve seen, I’m scarred for life.”
    Shelly puts her hands on the roof of the car and tries to breathe through another contraction. I run inside and grab some cushions from the sofa to make the journey more comfortable for her.
    “Do you have a hospital bag packed?” Clover is asking when I get back.
    Shelly shakes her head. “Am I supposed to?”
    “Dad can take some things in with him,” I say gently, arranging the cushions on the backseat. “Now, let’s get you into the car.”
    Getting her in is no joke — it’s like squeezing a hippo into a dishwasher — but after a lot of squealing and grunting (and that’s just me and Clover!), we manage it.
    Minutes later, we’re tearing down the Liffey quays, toward the city center. And it’s all going swimmingly until we hear a
NEE-NAW-NEE-NAW-NEE-NAW
. I look around and spot a police car in the lane beside us, its siren blaring. The Garda at the wheel waves at Clover to pull over.
    “Siúcra,”
Clover mutters. She checks in her rearview mirror, swerves left, and pulls in.
    As the guard swaggers toward us we wait in nervous silence — with the exception of Shelly, who’s still breathing noisily. Clover buzzes down her window and he crouches down, resting his blue-shirted arms on the window frame.
    “Are you aware that you were doing sixty-five, miss? Down a bus lane.” He lifts his dark eyebrows at Clover.
    “We have to get our friend to Parnell Street,” Clover says. “It’s an emergency — her baby’s on the way and she’s not doing so good.”
    He gives a tight-lipped smile. “That’s what they all say.”
    “But it’s true,” I cry, pointing at Shelly in the back. “Look!”
    He peers through the gap in between the front seats, and sure enough, Shelly’s face is almost green. She’s dripping with sweat and moaning loudly, her eyes squeezed shut. His jaw drops. “Right, follow me.” He jumps back into his squad car and peels off again, sirens blaring.
    “I’ve always wanted a Garda escort,” Clover says, restarting the engine. “I just wish it were in different circumstances. Hang on to your hats, lads.” She rams her foot down on the accelerator and we power off.
    I grip the edges of my seat with both hands and pray frantically in my head.
If we get there safely and the baby’s OK, I’ll help with Alex and Evie all the time, God. And I won’t complain about it, I promise. And I’ll be nicer to Shelly, I promise. Please make the baby be OK.
    We’re soon tearing up O’Connell Street, the three lanes of traffic parting in the middle to let us through. “It’s like that Bible story — Moses and the Red Sea,” Clover says excitedly. “And I’m Moses, cutting my way through the waves.” She’s such a