‘I don’t believe that,’ said Jack stoutly, and Carmen thought that was probably true.
Phoebe was being uncharacteristically quiet as a large sign came up indicating the turn-off for the hospital. Carmen, hands gripping the wheel, was now terrified of stopping and parking. Fortunately, the maternity unit allowed you to drop off right at the door, and Pippa went and found someone to bring a wheelchair.
‘Thanks,’ said Sofia weakly then, quietly to Carmen: ‘Thank goodness I’ll have Pippa for when I kill Federico.’
Carmen smiled. ‘When’s his plane?’
‘He’s probably on his second glass of Champagne and watching a movie right over the Russian steppes,’ said Sofia as she managed, with some difficulty, to transfer from the car to the wheelchair.
‘See you inside!’ And with that, Carmen took the children with her to park the car. Out here, beyond the city without its protective heated offices and walls, the cold was much more stark, surprising and fierce. The Pentland hills were right above them, thick with snow. There were marks where people had evidently been skiing. Goodness.
She unbuckled the children, and they jumped out, enjoying their night-time adventure.
‘I am going to have a LOT to talk about in news tomorrow,’ said Pippa happily. Carmen suspected she generally did.
‘I’m not sure there’s going to be school tomorrow,’ she said, expecting happy cries all round.
‘BUT! It’s the concert!’ said Phoebe, eyes round. ‘We have to be there!’
‘We do,’ said Jack. ‘We can’t miss it.’
‘But the baby might take a while to come … ’
Phoebe and Jack had taken a hand each, not even asking for her permission, just doing it. She felt incredibly privileged, like they had bestowed a gift on her.
‘ … you might be too tired.’
‘No way,’ said Jack. ‘I’ve stayed up all night before.’
‘You did not,’ said Phoebe. ‘It was a sleepover at Zack’s house and he said he did but he totally didn’t.’
‘Did!’
‘Shut up!’
‘Come on,’ said Carmen. ‘They won’t let you in the hospital if you’re fighting.’
She hadn’t been expecting that to work but as they reached the silent automatic doors, they fell quiet. It did, thought Carmen, have a similar feel to school when you thought about it.
The maternity unit was quiet at that time of night, as if most people had somehow managed to decide not to have their babies at such an inconvenient time of year, and there were certainly no other children there. It struck Carmen forcibly how her extremely organised sister had, for the first time in her life, managed to do something completely disorganised.
The nurse on reception nodded.
‘She’s gone straight to delivery suite six,’ she said. ‘We can’t let you all in … but she shouldn’t be by herself.’
‘I can watch the others,’ said Pippa.
‘Hmm. Maybe not,’ said the nurse. ‘But let me show you the waiting room.’
To the children’s absolute delight – it was a very new and shiny hospital – there was a waiting room with children’s toys piled up and a television tuned to a cartoon channel. There was also a vending machine selling an array of absolute crap. They looked at Carmen wide-eyed. This was clearly heaven itself.
Carmen looked at them all. Even Pippa seemed to be relaxing her stance as commander-in-chief to examine a pony you could bounce up and down on. She stood at the door. She was agonisingly close to the delivery suites; she could even hear the unpleasant noises.