Chapter 58

Taking a couple of deep breaths – not that it was doing anything to help the stitch in his side – Max dialled the operator.

'I'd like to make a reverse-charge call please.'

He told the woman the number of the shop and waited to be put through. It was all right, no need to panic, everything was under control. Bruce would be able to help.

'Max, is that you? What the bloody hell d'you think you're doing?' Bruce sounded irritated beyond belief. 'Have you any idea how much it costs to accept a reverse-charge call?'

'I'm sorry. Look, I'm in a phone box on Dempsey Street.' Max tried to find a nice way of saying it. 'My . . . um, waters have broken and I'm in a bit of a mess and I haven't got any money on me –'

'Good grief, Max! If you're in labour, tell that husband of yours to get you to the hospital.'

'Hiro's gone.' Max felt the prickle of perspiration at the back of his neck. 'But the thing is, I don't think I'm actually in labour. I mean, I haven't had any real contractions –'

'So you want the afternoon off? For crying out loud, Max, you certainly pick your moments! I told you I had a vital meeting lined up –'

'Bruce, please, I need some help here.' Don't be a selfish bastard all your life, Max longed to yell, but didn't. 'I really hate to ask, but you couldn't come pick me up, could you?'

'What, miss my meeting and wreck my leather car seats I do hope you're joking, Max.'

'I'm not joking.'

'And who's going to look after the shop?' demanded Bruce. 'I'm sorry, but somebody has to stay here. Dial 999, get yourself an ambulance.' He paused and tut-tutted indignantly. 'You have no idea how inconvenient this is.'

'But I can't call an ambulance if I'm not even in labour!' Max was desperate to make him understand.

'So? Just pretend you are,' Bruce snapped back. 'Clutch your stomach and scream for pethidine, that's all Verity did the whole time she was in bloody labour with Jason. Then when you get to the hospital, tell them the contractions have stopped. They'll clean you up and give you the bus fare home.'

'But –'

'Have to go, customer wants serving, 'bye.'

Brrrrr went the dialling tone in Max's ear. He shifted his balance form one foot to the other and felt another warm trickle of amniotic fluid slide down the inside of his leg.

A cramping pain in the depths of his stomach increased in intensity, making him gasp. Was that one? Was that an actual contraction or just another of those Braxton Hicks practice ones he'd been experiencing for weeks?

It was all very well draping yourself across the sofa reading the books, thought Max, perplexed, but when it came to the real thing, how were you supposed to tell?

He waited. The cramping pain receded.

And waited.

Nothing happened.

If I stay here for just a few more hours, Max thought, my trousers might dry out.

It all depended how much water had already leaked out and how much was left.

Oh, hang on . . .

Another cramp was on its way, building up in strength like a giant fist being squeezed gradually tighter and tighter . . .

Yes, yes, this must be labour. Hooray, that meant he could now phone for an ambulance and they wouldn't sue him for calling them out under false pretences.

Weak with relief, and panting a bit as the fist tightened its grip still further, Max snatched up the phone. He stood, index finger poised over the 9 button, and pictured the scene. An ambulance, blue lights flashing and siren blaring, screeching to a halt outside the phone box. Paramedics leaping out, ready for anything and clutching those cases they use to jump-start dead bodies back to life –

Oh crikey, not really an emergency, thought Max, chickening out. Two contractions and a puddle, that's all I am.

Hardly the same as a multiple pile-up on the M25.

Relieved, Max thought of something else he could do. Phone Ray.

Yes, that was definitely a sensible idea. Ray, as his designated birth partner, needed to be warned that things could be about to happen. Ray may have to finish work at six and make his way straight for the hospital. Max felt better instantly. He was glad he'd have Ray there. Not for the technical advice, admittedly, but for the sheer moral support. Because, let's face it, if things got rough and you wanted someone around to take you mind off things and make you laugh, well, Ray was definitely your man.

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When you worked in the Takao Kinomiya salon you became accustomed to seeing celebrities, but even by Takao's standards, cutting and styling the hair of Magdalena Rosetti was something of a coup.

Currently one of the world's most prized actresses, garlanded with Oscars at this year's ceremony and feted as much for her beauty as for her stupendous talent, she was over in London to appear at a televised awards bash being broadcast live that evening from the Grosvenor Hotel.

'My hairdresser was scheduled to fly over with me,' Magdalena explained to Takao. 'But he fell off his pogo stick in Central Park and while he was lying on the ground a six-year-old rollerbladed over his hand. Three broken fingers,' she went on, 'and he's suing for two hundred million dollars.'

'Suing the six-year-old?' said Takao.

'No, the manufacturers of the pogo stick, for not warning him that if he pogoed, he might fall off.'

'She's amazing in the flesh,' Bev confided to Tala when he phoned an hour after Magdalena's arrival. 'So glamorous, even with her head tipped over a sink, and the smoothest neck I've ever seen – damn there's another call waiting, so what time are you coming round tonight?'

'Seven thirty. Six hour to go.' Tala grinned, he couldn't help it; these days he was so happy, he'd taken to counting the hours like a teenager. 'Shouldn't you be taking that call?'

'Let them wait. I'd much rather talk to you.'

'Don't let your boss find out.'

Since there was no chance of that happening, Bev wasn't scared.

'Takao's locked away in the VIP room with Magdalena Rosetti. Getting up to goodness know what.'

'Lucky Takao.' Tala laughed, then added, 'But I'd rather be locked up in the VIP room getting up to goodness knows what with you.'

Finally, after a couple more minutes of playful banter, Bev whispered, 'Better go now . . . love you . . . 'bye,' and took the call that was, irritatingly, still hanging on waiting to be answered.

Honestly, talk about inconsiderate. Was making an appointment to get their fringe trimmed really the high point of some people's lives?

Had they never heard of true love?

'Yesss, the Takao Kinomiya salon, how may I help you?' Bev said smoothly in her best don't-mess-with-me-I'm-the-receptionist voice.

'Well, well, at long last,' drawled a woman, employing similar don't-get-uppity-with-me-I'm-the-operator tactics. 'Will you accept a reverse-charge call from a Mr Max Granger? He needs to speak to a Mr Ray Kon.'

'Mr Kon isn't here, he's on his lunch break.' Reversing the charges? What was going on? Takao wasn't going to be thrilled when he heard about this. Bev thought fast, then said graciously, 'But I'll accept the call.'

The operator, sounding bored and not in the least grateful, sighed and said, 'Putting you through.'

'Max?'

'Bev?'

'Max, what's happening? Ray's not back from lunch yet. But I can take a message for him.'

'Oh. Right. Okay?' Max's voice was high-pitched and he sounded distinctly on edge. 'Can you tell him I think I'm in labour, so if he could make his way to the hospital after work, I'll meet him there?'

'You think you're in labour?' Bev was mystified. 'Good grief, don't you know?'

'I probably am. It's hard to explain . . . oh God, and there are kids with skateboards banging on the glass . . .'

Takao, emerging from the VIP room, tapped Bev on the shoulder and said, 'Coffee for my client, please. Black, two sugars.'

Not even hearing him, Bev frowned into the phone – banging on the glass? – and said, 'Hang on, where are you?'

'In a phone box on Dempsey Street, in Barnes. Look, I'm really sorry about having to reverse the charges, but –'

'A phone box?' echoed Bev, appalled. 'God, you can't give birth in a phone box – too unhygienic for words!'

Takao, about to tap Bev on the shoulder again, stopped and stared at her.

'Who are you talking to?'

'And they smell of wee,' Bev went on, wrinkling her nose in disgust. 'Max, if you're in labour, you really should get to a hospital, they have clean sheets there and everything – oh, hang on a sec.' Realising that she was the focus of Takao's attention, Bev apologetically covered the receiver. 'It's Max,' she stage-whispered. 'You know, Ray's friend. He wanted to let Ray know – ooh, ouch!'

Takao snatched the receiver out of her hand before she could finish her sentence. His jaw set, he said tightly, 'Max, what the hell if going on?'

Charming, thought Bev, bend my finger right back, why don't you? And don't even think of saying sorry, oh no, just gaily inflict a bit of GBH then barge in on some phone conversation that has absolutely nothing to do with you –

'Tell me where you are,' ordered Takao, making Bev jump. 'Right, yes, I know Dempsey Street. Okay. Stay there, don't move, I'm on my way.'

'B-but,' Bev spluttered as he banged the phone down and headed for the door, 'you can't – Takao, you can't just –'

The door slammed shut behind him.

Too late, he already had.

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'Crikey, what's up with Takao? He just shot past me in the Lotus doing about a hundred miles an hour down the Fulham Road.' Amazed, Ray unwound his red scarf from around his neck and flung his beret, James Bond style, at the hatstand. Oh well, James Bond probably practised a lot more than Ray did.

'Your friend Max rang up. Takao's gone racing off to rescue him from some public phone box.' Bev pulled a fastidious face – much as she wanted babies of her own, she couldn't help wishing that she could pick them up at the supermarket, shrink-wrapped. 'Max thinks he's in labour. I must say, it all sounds quite revolting. Talk about disgracing yourself completely – he's surrounded by boys on skateboards, cheering him on.'

'Oh. Cheering him on was supposed to be my job.'

Ray was disappointed, but not that disappointed. When Max had asked him to be his birth partner, Ray'd naturally assumed the event itself would take place in a hospital, preferably one kitted out with morphine, midwives and all manner of hi-tech medical equipment.

Somehow, crouching on the floor of a grubby phone box didn't hold quite the same allure. If Takao wanted to be the intrepid one, that was fine by Ray.

'So I missed Magdalena Rosetti, did I?' Ray looked resigned. 'I suppose she's been and gone.'

'Tuh, that's the other thing.' Bev looked exasperated. 'Takao was so hell-bent on playing the flying doctor, he forgot all about her. She's still in there.' She jerked her head in the direction of the VIP room. 'Half cut.'

Ray's mouth dropped open.

'You mean . . .'

'Not sozzled. I mean literally half cut.' Bev mimed scissors snapping away. 'I took her a cup of coffee and she asked me where Takao was. I said he'd be back in a minute.' She shrugged helplessly. 'I mean, what else could I do? Lucy's completely tied up for the next forty minutes, James is at lunch . . . Corinne's just going to have to deal with her as soon as she's free, but that's going to be another half-hour at least.' She shook her head indignantly. 'It's not on, it really isn't. Takao can't run out on clients and expect to get away with it – think of the ghastly publicity if this got out.'

'You are absolutely right,' said Ray.

Yes, yes, yes!