Claire was born on Friday, 28 March 1986, in Portsmouth.
I had finished work at Wessex Marine Supplies at the end of February. My leaving card said ‘Good luck’ in several forms of handwriting, and the accounts manager had written that he hoped I would return when the baby was older. At the time, I could not imagine organising the following week.
The first pains started during the night. I waited before waking Alan because I was not sure. When I did wake him, he sat up and asked what time they had begun.
‘I didn’t check.’
‘We need to time them.’
‘You can time the next one.’
He found his watch, a notepad and the hospital number. He had prepared these in advance. I had prepared the baby’s clothes. We had divided responsibility according to character.
By morning, the pains were regular. Alan rang the hospital and repeated everything I told him, including one answer I changed while he was speaking. We were told when to come in.
Mum arrived before we left. She had brought food for Alan and advice for me. The food was wrapped. The advice was not.
At the hospital, Alan carried the bag and answered questions directed at me until a nurse told him I could speak. He apologised and then answered the next one more quietly.
The labour took most of the day. I remember the sequence more clearly than the clock. Walking. Sitting. Being examined. Being told to wait. Alan asking whether I wanted water. Me saying no, then asking why he had not brought any.
Claire arrived later that afternoon.
She had dark hair, a serious expression and ten fingers that Alan counted even after somebody had already told him. We had chosen the name Claire before the birth. Louise was the middle name we had agreed after rejecting several suggestions from both families.
Alan held her first while I was being attended to. He looked frightened of moving and unwilling to hand her back.
‘She’s very small,’ he said.
This was true, though she was an ordinary birth weight. Alan still looked surprised by every measurement.
He rang Mum and Dad. Mum later said he had given the weight before saying how I was. Alan denied this. Dad said it sounded like him.
Mum visited and checked Claire, me and the contents of the bedside cupboard. She had brought a cardigan for the baby and fruit for me. She asked whether I was eating properly before I had been there long enough to establish a pattern.
When we took Claire home, the Fareham flat had changed in practical ways. The pram filled the lower hall. The cot reduced the space in our bedroom. Washing no longer waited until the basket was full.
The first evening, Alan cooked. He made scrambled eggs because they required one pan and could be eaten quickly. Claire slept through the meal, which we mistook for a routine.
That night, she woke several times. I fed her, Alan changed her and we both checked things that did not need checking. He read the instructions on the steriliser. I told him I had already done it. He read them to the end.
During the first weeks, days were measured by feeds, washing and visits. People asked whether she was good. I said yes because the alternative seemed to accuse her of something.
Alan returned to work. He rang at lunchtime from whichever site he was on. Some days he asked how Claire was before asking how I was. Other days he remembered the order.
Mum came over regularly. She could settle Claire while talking about something else, which I found impressive and irritating. When I asked how she did it, she said she had had two babies.
This did not help with my first.
Claire was five weeks old when I managed to take her into Fareham on my own. I packed nappies, spare clothes, a bottle and enough equipment to remain away for a day. We were gone for an hour and a half.
I visited Wessex Marine Supplies. The women in the office passed Claire between them while the accounts manager stood at a safe distance and said she had grown. He had never seen her before.
He asked whether I missed work.
‘Some of it,’ I said.
That was true. I missed finishing a task and knowing it was finished. At home, one job led to the same job later.
Claire cried before we left. I put her back in the pram, checked the bag and walked home.
At three the next morning, she cried again. Alan lifted her from the cot and brought her to me.
‘Your turn,’ he said.
It was, though we had both been awake.