Another Jenkins…
Ben felt Emily’s fingers brush against his arm.
“What?” He opened his eyes. “Has it started?”
She gave him a cryptic smile and glanced at the bed beside him.
Ben turned his head and saw a bundle. He reached out, but the blanket sagged under his touch—empty.
“Ben!” Emily’s voice called from somewhere distant, strained with panic.
He blinked awake, finding her tense face hovering over him, as if listening for something. He shook his head, trying to shake off the remnants of the dream.
“What? Did it start? We’ve still got two weeks—”
“I don’t know, my stomach hurts,” Emily murmured.
“Right.” Ben propped himself up on his elbows. “We need to call an ambulance.” He turned again—no bundle, no trace of the dream. He exhaled in relief, pushing the vision away.
“Let’s wait. I’m not sure these are contractions. Just twinges. The midwife said to call when they’re ten minutes apart.” She looked at him hopefully.
“By the time the ambulance gets here, you’ll have given birth. Where’s my phone?” Ben fumbled for his jeans draped over the chair. The phone slipped from his pocket, landing with a muffled thud on the thick carpet.
Fully awake now, he pulled on his jeans, grabbed the phone, and turned to find Emily groaning, arms wrapped around her belly.
“Contraction?” He swung himself to her side, kneading her lower back with his fists, just like they’d practiced at the antenatal classes.
“Breathe deep,” he instructed, inhaling noisily through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.
Emily mimicked him.
“It’s passed,” she said, forcing a smile.
“I’m calling the ambulance.” Ben jumped up. “No—get dressed, I’ll drive you to the hospital. Faster that way.”
The hospital bag had been packed for weeks, waiting in the corner of the bedroom.
“Documents are in the bedside drawer,” Emily said, pulling a loose dress over her head.
Ben grabbed the folder, spotted a phone charger at the bottom, and shoved it into the bag.
“Passport?”
“In the wardrobe,” came her muffled reply.
He dashed into the next room, cursing under his breath. “Why can’t you keep things together? Your phone—where is it?”
“Here!” Emily called back, unruffled. “On the nightstand.”
“Emily, I told you, keep everything close. Like a child,” he grumbled, re-entering the bedroom. “Hairbrush? Toothbrush—”
Emily gave him a guilty, lopsided smile as another wave of pain twisted her expression.
“Hold on.” He dropped the bag, resuming the massage.
Annoyance simmered in him. The clock read half five in the morning.
Emily relaxed—until the next contraction hit minutes later.
Ben yanked on a T-shirt, hoisted the bag.
“Come on, let’s get downstairs before the next one.”
Emily shuffled into the hallway, hands cradling her swollen belly. He slipped her feet into wide, flat boots—her fashionable shoes long abandoned to swollen ankles—helped her into her coat, and tugged on his own shoes, realising too late he’d forgotten socks. No time. Bare feet in trainers would have to do.
“Ready?” He guided her up from the low stool, and they stepped out into the dawn.
The city was just stirring. Lights flickered on in scattered windows. Overnight snow had blanketed the streets, slowing their escape from the driveway.
“Why don’t people plan babies for summer?” Ben muttered. “No snow, no ice, proper daylight…”
Emily’s groan cut him off.
The roads were empty. He pressed the accelerator.
“Em, hold on. Nearly there. Breathe…”
He felt his own muscles tense with each of her contractions—but it was nothing compared to what she was enduring. He couldn’t share her pain, couldn’t lessen it.
The hospital loomed. Ben steered her up the ramp, through the doors marked *Maternity Admissions*, and into an empty reception.
“Hello? Anyone? We’re having a baby!” His voice echoed in the sterile silence.
A midwife materialised, calm in her white scrubs.
“Easy there, Dad. How far apart are the contractions?”
“They got closer on the way,” Ben answered for Emily.
“Slippers? Help her change. Take her coat and shoes with you. Documents, please,” she instructed briskly.
Ben moved mechanically, feeling like he was wading through tar. Emily bit her lip, breathing hard.
“Go home. Note this number for updates.” The midwife gestured to a noticeboard.
Ben glanced away—and saw Emily already at the far door, her eyes wide with fear. His stomach lurched. He lunged toward her, but the midwife barred his way.
“You can’t go in there!”
God, he loved her. He needed to say something—anything—but his mind was blank. “Good luck” sounded ridiculous.
“I love you,” he blurted, forcing a smile.
Emily tried to smile back, but pain twisted her face.
“Christ…” No prayers came to him—not that he’d ever known any.
He carried her things back to the car, drove home in a daze. Work? Impossible. He rang his boss.
“Took Emily to hospital. Can’t think straight.”
“Right. Been there twice myself. Madness till they’re out. Then you panic they’ll mix up the baby. Call me later,” his boss said before hanging up.
Ben wandered the flat, picking things up, putting them down. In the bedroom, he buried his face in Emily’s pillow, breathing in her scent.
“It’ll be fine,” he muttered, setting it back.
*Call now? Too soon?*
He paced, restless. Remembered how they’d met at a mate’s birthday. No love at first sight—she’d seemed too aloof. But he’d asked her to dance anyway. Later, his friend admitted his wife had invited Emily deliberately.
He’d walked her home. Conversation stumbled, but the silence was comfortable. No games, no nerves. Just… ease. Two days later, he rang her (his friend’s wife passed on the number). No theatrics—just “Where shall we meet?”
Somehow, without realising, he’d stopped noticing other women. She was thirty-two, he forty-one. Both carried scars from past heartbreaks.
When Emily said she was pregnant, fear gripped him—*A father?*—then joy. Their child would be cherubic, perfect, like the posters in the antenatal clinic.
Snapping back to the present, he couldn’t bear waiting alone. He’d return to the hospital, stand beneath the windows. She’d feel him there. It would help.
From the car, he watched a group exit the maternity wing—a beaming father cradling a blue-ribboned bundle, a weary mother with flowers, relatives trailing behind.
Would *he* walk out like that soon? The group dispersed into cars.
A bloke in an unzipped jacket burst out, pacing anxiously. Ben approached.
“Wife in labour?”
“Yeah, two days now. Is it always this long?”
“Dunno. Brought mine in three hours ago. Any way to check if she’s had it?”
“Reception,” the man jerked his thumb.
Inside, posters of grinning babies adorned the walls. Notices listed visiting hours, permitted items…
“Any news on Emily Jenkins?” Ben asked the woman behind the glass.
She scanned a ledger, lips moving, until a nurse whispered to her. Both women stared at him.
“Mr. Jenkins?” The nurse stepped forward. “Wear these, leave your jacket, and come with me.”
Ben’s throat closed. His knees buckled.
*This is how it happens in films.*
The posters swam. His legs were lead. *God, no. Not like this. Not her.* He remembered Emily’s frightened face, her rumpled dress—
“Inside.” The nurse stopped at an office door.
Ben staggered in, collapsing onto a chair.
The consultant—a man his age—offered water. Ben gulped it like whisky.
“You’re Emily Jenkins’ husband?”
“What’s wrong—?”
*”I’m Emily Victoria Jenkins’ husband!”* A winded voice interrupted. The pacing bloke from outside stood there, wild-eyed.
The consultant looked between them.
“So… *both* of you are married to Emily Victoria Jenkins?”
Ben’s stomach dropped. *His* Emily was Emily *Margaret* Jenkins.
“Sorry—repeat the name?”
The consultant did, adding the birth year.
“Not my wife,” Ben exhaled. “Mine’s Emily Margaret Jenkins.” He grinned, relief short-lived. “Where’s *my* Emily?”
“One moment.” The consultant made a call.
Ben hovered, hanging on every word.
“Emily Margaret’s in delivery. Wait downstairs—better yet, go home. She’s fine. Apologies for the mix-up. Two Emilys at once…”
Ben fled.The next time Ben saw the other Jenkins at the park, the man was pushing a pram with a giggling toddler, and beside him walked the same woman from the clinic, her hand resting gently on his arm as they smiled at each other.
