Free 22 Britannia Road by Amanda Hodgkinson Page B

such dampness. Then the pain hit her. A sudden hurt like a rope pulled tight around her hips. The baby was coming. It must be. The pain faded and shestruggled out of bed, reaching for her clothes. The doctor’s house was a couple of blocks away and she was sure she could get there if she went slowly.
    She dressed and left the flat, edging down the narrow staircase, hands pressed against the wall. When she got to the landing, the rope tightened again. She let out a groan of pain, a low, animal noise she didn’t recognize as her own voice. She leaned against the wall, sweat beading on her forehead. She’d never make it to the doctor. When the pain lessened enough for her to think again, she knocked on an apartment door. A woman answered, a crowd of small brown dogs yapping around her feet. They rushed into the corridor and began nipping at Silvana’s heels.
    ‘Come here!’ the women yelled at the dogs, trying to usher them back inside. A man came out behind her, asking what all the noise was.
    ‘My God,’ he said on seeing Silvana. ‘You’re the girl from upstairs, aren’t you? Are you all right?’
    Silvana fell forwards into his arms. Here she was, bigger than a house and moaning like a cow and he wanted to know if she was all right. ‘I’m fine,’ she managed to reply before the pain across her belly tightened and she doubled over.
    After a while the pain was all there was. Silvana forgot she was giving birth; she believed she was fighting for her life. And then, just as she had begun to welcome the idea of death, her body began to call her back.
    ‘I need to push,’ she told the woman. ‘Oh my God, I need to push.’
    ‘Already? The doctor’s not here yet. Can’t you wait?’
    Silvana shook her head. She began to moan.
    ‘Get on the bed,’ said the woman. ‘Get on the bed. The doctor won’t want to see you on the floor.’
    Silvana batted the woman away. ‘I can’t,’ she panted. ‘I don’t want to. Leave me alone.’
    With her eyes tight shut, crouching in the corner of the room, she gave a long, drawn-out moan and felt heat burn through her. She screamed. Then, just as she could bear no more, a sense of relief flooded her. When she opened her eyes and looked down, a blood-smeared infant lay between her trembling legs. Her body convulsedand she felt the urge to push again. Was there another child? Twins? She cried out in fear.
    ‘It’s the afterbirth,’ the woman said sharply. She leaned over and Silvana felt her hands pushing down hard on her belly. Silvana tried to reach for the baby but the pain made her cry out and she closed her eyes tight. Then came a second warm rush of relief, and she sat back on the floor, exhausted.
    She was aware of the baby being lifted in a sheet, of being helped into bed, of someone wiping a cool cloth across her forehead. She heard the woman fussing about her sheets being stained, a man’s voice telling the woman to be quiet and the sound of dogs barking in another room, and then she slept briefly, absolutely spent.
    When she woke, the pillows were plumped under her head and beside her, swaddled in a blanket, was her son.
    She studied his face. He kept his eyes tight shut, his eyelids creased and purple, as if he didn’t want to see what the world had to offer him. A feeling of awe crowded her lungs and took her breath away. She felt suddenly afraid of the silent creature in her arms. It was such a tiny thing, a screwed-up, boiled red scrap of a beginning, but she knew its strength; that the love she felt already for this stranger could undo her entirely. Was she capable of looking after him? She thought of her mother and the losses she had suffered. What if her son died like her brothers had? What if he were to be ill?
    ‘Can you take him?’ she asked the woman.
    ‘Take him?’
    ‘I don’t know how to care for him. Please. It’s for the best. Take him. I can’t be his mother.’
    ‘That’s enough of this nonsense,’ said the doctor, coming between