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And by the strangest of co-incidences it was at that very same moment, on that very same evening, that Kitty’s twenty-three-year-old cousin, John, was shepherded into the fathers’ waiting room in the maternity wing of Welsby General. The young red-haired SEN who served as his shepherd directed him to a rickety slat back chair that was set adjacent to a sharp-edged, shin-high, side-table arrayed with three well-thumbed copies of Punch, the October 1973 issue of Reader’s Digest, and a Woman’s Realm.

“We’ll pop and get you when baby comes,” the nurse had said, and she’d then promptly departed and left him to stew.

His wife of three years, Julie, had been mounting the stairs to take an early bath when her waters had broken, and her first contraction had come barely five minutes later. She was only thirty-three weeks into the pregnancy.         

John had straightway bundled her into the back of their Triumph Herald and driven her across town to the hospital. They’d exchanged neither words nor looks on the way over.

On their arrival, John had parked across two spaces but even with that Julie passed no comment.

Once inside the building, she had quickly been whisked off by the attending midwife to a labour ward, while he was left standing somewhat dishevelled and shell-shocked in the corridor.

He’d padded up and down not knowing quite what to do with himself, with his hands sometimes down at his side, sometimes in his pockets, and occasionally clasped behind or on top of his head.  It was a long couple of minutes later when the red-haired SEN called to take him through to the waiting room.

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            By eight-fifteen, he had read every cartoon in all three copies of Punch and was half-heartedly attempting the Woman’s Realm crossword, somewhat hampered through want of a pen.

            The red-haired SEN returned at a quarter to nine and brought him a cup of tea and a McVitie’s digestive.

            “How’s Julie?” he asked. “I heard somebody shouting and screaming a few minutes back. That wasn’t her, was it? Is she okay?”

            “No, that wasn’t your wife,” the nurse replied. “She’s doing fine. There’s absolutely no need for you to worry.”

            But John was not to be so easily calmed.

            “Right. Well … I was just wondering … because … well, you know, she’s only …”

            “I’m sure everything will be fine,” the nurse interrupted. “She’s got the doctor and the midwife with her, so she and baby are being very well attended to. I know it’s hard, but you just need to be patient and wait.”

            She then placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, gave him a parting smile, and disappeared back down the corridor.