Free The Drowning Lesson by Jane Shemilt Page A

shopkeepers knew us or they might have called the police. Alice was sound asleep, safe behind the counter.’
    Francesca was looking at Adam through long eyelashes. ‘So you saved the day?’ Her short curly fringe reminded me of a calf.
    ‘Since he wasn’t tied up in hospital, delivering babies, I’d say it was a pretty straightforward job to wheel a pram home,’ I said. ‘More, anyone?’
    Megan shook her head. Gianni nodded vigorously. Andrew’s eyes were closed and, for a second, I thought he’d gone to sleep.
    When I got up to fetch the pudding, Megan offered to help. She was carrying the white-chocolate mousse when she stumbled just as she reached the table. Time seemed to slow: the perfect white disc, rimmed with falling blackberries, turned over before it reached the floor. We stood quite still, looking down at the curdled mess of creamy white streaked with dark red. For a moment it looked like spilt blood.
    There was a little flurry of activity around Megan, almost as if she had been hurt. As Adam swept it all up with a dustpan and brush, I quickly assembled the cheeseboard.
    After everyone had gone home my face felt stiff from smiling. I took off my shoes and flung them into a corner. My uterus had been tightening off and on all evening. No more dinner parties until we got back from Africa. I didn’t want this baby to come a moment before it was due.

CHAPTER ELEVEN
London, November 2013
    The baby came early anyway. It was a wet Sunday afternoon in November and Adam was on call. Alice had an English comprehension to finish while I worked on my laptop.
    Zoë lay on the floor with a colouring book, crayons scattered around her. The driving rain against the windows isolated us peacefully from the rest of the world. The pregnancy was thirty-seven weeks; with the girls, I had gone full term, so I ignored the contractions when they started. When my waters broke, I stuffed a towel between my legs and carried on; I only realized I’d been groaning when Alice pushed the phone into my hand. ‘Get Megan.’
    ‘Sofia is here, Ally. Let’s just …’ I clenched my teeth. I’d forgotten what labour was like.
    Alice stared at me, white-faced. ‘I want Megan.’
    ‘I’m coming round now.’ Megan’s voice on the phone was decisive. ‘I’ll take you to the hospital, the girls will come with us, and then we three will go shopping
for supper. Andrew will be fine till we get back and they can sleep at mine.’
    By the time we reached the hospital the contractions were more frequent and I was unable to walk. Megan found a wheelchair and pushed me to the ward. I could hear the girls’ light footsteps skipping down the long corridors behind her.
    An hour later Adam arrived, out of breath. By then Duncan, the senior obstetrician, had been called. The baby’s heart was slow to recover between contractions. The pain was relentless. I hardly noticed Adam. I’d had epidurals with the girls – things had been better organized. It was too late now. All I wanted was a Caesarean but I didn’t ask. I’d cope. I always coped.
    Other parents push around us on the platform looking anxious, but at least they are smiling. Dad just stares at me, his mouth turning down at the edges again. First term at medical school. Brown leaves curl on the train tracks.
    He speaks so quietly I have to lean close. ‘It’s tougher than you think, Em. If you feel like giving up, remember –’
    ‘Give up?’ I laugh but my chest hurts. ‘Watch me, Dad.’
    He laughs too. We say goodbye
.
He is swallowed into the crowd, one head among many; he turns to wave before he disappears completely, still smiling.
    How would you give up, even if you wanted to? Like how exactly? Do you let go? What do you let go of? What would it
feel like? There is a poster on the wall opposite, advertising holidays: there’s a train on a track, on a green field, leading towards a white cliff and sea. Would it be like falling off a cliff into water? Like