The night before dawn
When the contractions started for Poppy, the clock read a quarter to three. The flat was dim and damp: a fine rain fell outside, and the streetlamps smeared blurred reflections across the pavement. I was already up, having barely slept the whole night, perched on a kitchen stool, checking the bag by the door and glancing out the window. Poppy lay on her side, hand pressed to her belly, counting the seconds between the waves of pain seven minutes, then six and a half. She tried to remember the breathing technique from the video inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth but it came out uneven.
Already? I called from the hallway, my voice muffled by the closed bedroom door.
It looks like it She eased herself up onto the edge of the bed, feeling the cold floor under her bare feet. The contractions are getting more frequent.
We had spent the past month preparing for this: wed bought a large navyblue hospital bag, packed everything from a checklist wed printed off a maternity website passport, NHS card, spare nightgown, phone charger and even a chocolate bar just in case. Now that order felt fragile. I was rummaging through the cupboard, sorting the folders of documents.
My passports here the NHS card wheres the exchange card? Did you grab it yesterday? I said quickly and quietly, as if the walls could hear us and wake the neighbours.
Poppy pushed herself up and shuffled to the bathroom she needed to wash her face at least. The room smelled of soap and damp towels, and the mirror showed a woman with dark circles and rumpled hair.
Should we call a cab now? I shouted from the hallway.
Yeah but doublecheck the bag first.
We’re both young: Poppy is twentyseven, Im just past thirty. I work as a design engineer at a plant outside town, and she was teaching English at a primary school before maternity leave. Our flat is tiny a combined kitchenliving area and a bedroom that looks out onto the main road. Everything hinted at the change ahead: a crib already assembled in the corner, a stack of nappies beside it, and a box of toys from friends.
I ordered a black cab through the app the familiar yellow icon popped up on my phone almost instantly.
The car should be here in ten minutes, the drivers text read.
I tried to keep my voice steady, though my fingers trembled over the screen.
Poppy slipped on a hoodie over her nightdress and fumbled for the phone charger the battery indicator showed eighteen percent. She tucked the cable into her jacket pocket with a face towel, just in case it came in handy.
The hallway smelled of wet shoes and my damp jacket, still drying from yesterdays walk.
As we got ready, the contractions grew stronger and a little more often. Poppy refused to look at the clock; she focused on breathing in and out, thinking about the road ahead.
We left the flat five minutes before the cab was due. The hallway light cast a pale patch by the lift, where a cold draft rose from below. The stairwell was chilly; Poppy pulled her jacket tighter and clutched the folder of papers to her chest.
Outside, the air was damp and cool even for May. Rain beads slid down the awning above the entrance, and the few pedestrians hurried past, huddled in coats or pulling their hoods tighter.
Cars were parked haphazardly in the courtyard; somewhere distant a muffled engine throbbed, as if someone was warming it up for a night shift. The cab was already five minutes late; the tracker on the map crawled forward slowly, the driver apparently looping between streets or working around an obstruction.
I checked my phone every halfminute.
It says two minutes, I muttered, but hes taking the long way round roadworks?
Poppy leaned on the balustrade and tried to loosen her shoulders. She remembered the chocolate bar, slipped a hand into the side pocket of the bag and felt its familiar wrapper a small comfort amid the chaos.
At last the headlights appeared around the corner: a white Renault eased up to the entrance and stopped right by the stairs. The driver, a man in his midforties with a weary face and a short beard, hopped out, opened the back door and helped Poppy settle into the seat with her luggage.
Good evening! Maternity ward? Got it. Buckle up, please, he said cheerfully, not too loudly. He moved efficiently, without any unnecessary fuss.
I slipped in behind the driver; the door slammed a little louder than usual. Inside, fresh air mingled with the faint smell of coffee from a thermos on the passenger side.
As soon as we left the courtyard we hit a small jam: ahead, flashing lights marked road crews repaving the street under the occasional lamp. The driver cranked the navigation a little louder.
Right, they promised to finish by midnight. Well swing by the side lane, he announced.
At that moment Poppy remembered the NHS card.
Hold on! I left the card at home! They wont let me in without it! she cried.
I went pale.
Ill run back! Were not far, I said, already sprinting toward the building.
The driver glanced in the rearview mirror.
Take your time, how long will it be? Ill wait, he replied, his voice calm.
I bolted out of the cab, splashing through puddles as I raced up the stairs. Four minutes later I was back, breathless, the card clutched in my hand along with the key ring. Id forgotten them in the lock and had to climb back up to fetch them. The driver kept his eyes on the road, waiting patiently.
When I slipped back into the seat, he gave a brief nod.
All set? Then lets go.
Poppy pressed the documents to her chest as another contraction hit harder than before. She tried to breathe evenly through clenched teeth. The car inched forward along the construction zone; wet shop signs for 24hour chemists flickered past the fogged windows, and occasional silhouettes of pedestrians with umbrellas drifted by.
The cabin was tense and quiet, broken only by the navigations periodic rerouting prompts and the soft crackle of the heater warming the windshield.
After a few minutes the driver spoke up.
Ive got three kids myself the first was born at night too, and we had to walk to the hospital in kneedeep snow. We still laugh about it now, he said, a smile tugging at his lips.
Dont worry about the time, he added. Just keep those papers close and hold each others hands tight.
His steady tone made the pressure ease a little, more than any forum advice or mumtomum chat could. I glanced at Poppy; she managed a faint smile despite the strain.
We arrived at the maternity unit just before five in the morning. The rain was still falling, now a gentle patter on the car roof. I was the first to spot a pale line on the horizon the city beginning to blush with the early light. The driver turned into the small driveway, stopping where the puddles were shallowest. Two ambulances waited nearby, but there was still room for a quick exit.
Here we are, the driver said, turning to face us. Ill help with the bag, dont worry.
Poppy struggled to sit up, pressing a hand to her belly and clutching the folder tightly. I was the first out, grabbing her elbow and guiding her onto the slick pavement. A fresh contraction hit, forcing her to pause and take slow breaths. The driver lifted the navyblue bag and stepped ahead of us.
Watch your step, its slippery, he called over his shoulder, his voice sounding practiced yet never quite routine just another part of life in this big city.
The entrance smelled of wet ground, fresh flowers, and a hint of antiseptic. Rain droplets gathered on the awning, sometimes slipping onto sleeves or cheeks. I looked around: no one else in sight, just a nightshift nurse behind a glass door and a couple of men in scrubs down the hallway.
The driver set the bag down beside Poppy, straightened up and, a little embarrassed by his own eagerness, shrugged.
Good luck to you both. Remember, look after each other. Everything else will fall into place.
I wanted to say more, but the words stuck in my throat too much had happened in one night. I simply shook his hand, a firm, grateful grip. Poppy gave a small, hesitant smile and whispered, Thank you really.
No problem, he replied, averting his gaze as he moved back toward his car. Everything will be fine.
The maternity doors creaked open; a night nurse peeked out, took one quick look at our situation and gestured us inside.
Come in! Have your paperwork ready men arent allowed in unless its an emergency. Got your folder?
Poppy nodded, handed the folder through the halfopened door, and we followed with the bag in tow. I lingered under the awning, rain drumming on my hood, barely noticing it.
Stay here. If you need anything, well call you, the nurse called from within.
I turned for a brief moment, catching Poppys eyes through the glass. I raised my palm in a quick all good gesture, a faint smile on my lips. She was led down a corridor, the door sliding shut behind her.
I stood alone under the early morning sky. The drizzle was easing, the dampness seeping into my collar but no longer annoying. I checked my phone the battery was down to a couple of percent. Id have to find a socket later.
The driver didnt leave right away; he fiddled with the cars interior lights, glanced at me through the side window, and our eyes met briefly, wordlessly. In that silence there was more support than any long speech could give.
I gave him a thumbsup, a simple thankyou. He returned the nod, a weary but genuine smile, and finally pulled away.
When the car vanished around the corner, the street seemed unusually empty. The world was quiet enough that only the rains tap on the awning and the distant hum of the waking city could be heard.
I waited under the shelter, watching the nurses desk through the window; Poppy sat at the registration desk, filling out forms. Her face looked calmer, as if the tension of the night had dissolved with the rain.
For the first time that night I felt a lightness, as though Id been holding my breath under water and could finally surface. Everything had worked out: wed arrived on time, the documents were with us, Poppy was in safe hands, and a new day lay ahead.
The sky above the city slowly turned a pearly pink as dawn broke, the moist air smelling fresh after the nights rain. I breathed in deeply, just because, with no particular aim other than to enjoy the moment.
It felt as if anything were possible.
Time stretched slowly as I paced the path beside the hospital, trying not to stare at my phone lest it die completely.
About an hour and a half after Poppy had checked in, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was her calling.
Congratulations, youre a dad, she said, her voice tired but bright. Its a boy a little champion. Alls well.
