January

“Freya! Freya!”

Freya heard the fearful cries before she’d even opened the front door. The panic in Gab’s voice gripped her. Freya dropped her keys and her purse, everything clattering to the floor, and rushed into the lounge room to find Gab on all fours on the rug.

“What is it Gab? What’s wrong?” she cried.

“I don’t know!” wailed Gab, “Am I in labour?”

“I don’t know, are you?” asked Freya. “I mean, have you had pain during the day?”

“Yes … a little bit … but I thought it was just cramps. It felt like … OWWWWWW!” Gab stopped and howled. “Freyaaaaaa! I can’t do this! Help me!”

Freya put a hand gently on Gab’s shoulder. She’d grown up with a GP for a mother. She knew all about natural, biological processes. Still, real life labour—if this was what it was—was very different from the idea of it.

“Breathe, Gab,” encouraged Freya, reverting to the one tip guaranteed to be relevant. “You can do this. Breathe, just breeeaaaathe.”

The contraction continued, but Gab softened slightly at the waist.

“Remember what they said in birthing classes,” Freya reminded Gab, gradually getting herself together. She had accompanied Gab to a number of birthing classes at the hospital. “Remember, this pain is good pain. Your body knows what it’s doing. Breathe it out.”

And then everything was normal again.

“I’m okay. I’m okay,” said Gab. “But Freya—what do we do now?”

“I’m going to call Mum,” said Freya. “Remember, they said not to come to hospital too early. First labours can take a long time.”

“A long time!” cried Gab. She’d known this fact without really comprehending it until now. “I can’t do this, Freya! I can’t!” and the overwhelm crashed over and through her, drawing her into a vortex more abstract than the contractions, but no less real.

“You can do this Gab,” said Freya. “You’re the strongest person I know.”

Gab got up from all fours on the floor and tried to lay on her side on the couch instead; she pulled out her phone to distract herself with a game, while Freya went to pick up her keys and purse and phone her mother. Within minutes, Gab’s body tightened again, her eyes took on the look of complete focus, and a cry of pain echoed through the house. Gab’s lips were stretched in a grimace, teeth bared as she tried to breath through it; those lips had always worked so hard to guard and hide the impulses that lay behind them until recent months.

Freya had never seen anyone in pain like this before. Was it really necessary for a process so common, so ubiquitous, so essential, to be so brutal? She was dying to know why Gab had not phoned her earlier, how she could possibly have gotten to this point without saying anything—without realising. Freya had an unarticulated sense that perhaps Gab hadn’t wanted to realise it. And she didn’t blame her.

The rest of Freya’s family were staying in Ocean Grove for a fortnight of their summer holidays. Freya had opted to stay with Gab, but the two girls had driven down to hang out with Freya’s family a few times, with increasing trepidation as Gab’s due date drew nearer and nearer.