Everything seems to slow, my hands gripping air as I tumble down the stairs. For a second I see my dad falling, hear the sickening crash as he landed at the bottom of the stairs. There’s a searing pain in my knee as I land awkwardly and a strange sensation of floating but I tumble back to reality as it comes again.

The scream.

Lisa is lying on the sofa on her back. Knees bent.

‘Lis?’ I scramble over to her.

‘It’s coming.’

‘It?’ I can’t make sense of what she is telling me, and my head is throbbing where it banged against the bannister.

‘The fucking baby,’ she bellows, and I am suspicious. Elated. Confused.

‘There’s a baby? You really did it? The surrogacy? God, I’m so sorry, Lis, for doubting you.’

‘I’m not ready.’ Lisa’s distress spreads like ripples in a pond.

I am aware of Nick hovering behind me. I can feel his panic matching mine.

‘He shouldn’t be coming yet,’ I say, as though my words might be able to change things. I can’t believe this is happening.

Lisa doesn’t speak. Her face hot pink, fringe damp and plastered to her forehead. The whole room stinks of sweat. She pants, and I stroke her hair, let her grip my hand.

There’s a baby.

‘Call an ambulance, Nick.’

‘With the response times somewhere this rural? Last time someone in the village called an ambulance it took a fucking hour. We’d be better off taking her to the hospital in the car. Can you stand, Lisa?’ Nick says.

‘No. I can feel the head.’ Lisa is crying.

‘I’m going to have a look,’ I say.

Nick turns to the wall as I ease down Lisa’s knickers. ‘She’s right. There’s not enough time to go anywhere.’

‘Fuck.’ Lisa throws her head back and bellows. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t.’

‘You can.’ I feel a rush of warmth towards her. ‘We can. Together. Look at me.’

She turns her head, her eyes full of tears. We are locked together in this moment, in every moment that has come before. School plays where she’d cheer me on, exams I’d help her revise for, bad haircuts, birthday parties, first love, first loss. It has always been together and all of it was leading to this. I am stunned but I can’t afford to stand around thinking how I’ve got her wrong.

‘Nick.’ I snap to attention. ‘Boil some water and fetch some towels, some scissors and something warm to wrap the baby in.’

He hurries up the stairs, and when he’s gone Lisa says: ‘Kat. There are things I need to tell you… Christ. This hurts.’

The muscles in my back scream as I hunch over her, remembering all the times I’d watched One Born Every Minute. My teeth are gritted as I hold the baby’s head in my hands, waiting for the next wave of contractions. Lisa can’t stop babbling. Shouting. Screaming. And I don’t try to guide her. Her body knows what to do, and she will cope with this in any way she can.

It seems like an age before Nick comes back with a scalding kettle full of water but no bowl, and the towels from the bathroom, damp from use, but I don’t send him back for more. It’s nearly over. Lisa has stopped talking and is wailing and grunting. I tell Nick to hold her hands, and he shouts out in pain as she squeezes too tightly.

With one last guttural cry, Lisa pushes, and the baby slithers into my arms and, although he is covered in gunk, I have never seen anything more beautiful in my entire life.

But he is still. Silent. Blue.

He’s not breathing.

Strangely, I am suddenly calm. I’ve seen enough births on TV to automatically ease my finger between the umbilical cord and his neck. There’s a gasp. A juddering breath. A piercing cry, and I’ve never heard anything quite so lovely. He is small, but not worryingly so. Perfectly formed.

‘It’s a boy, Lis.’

Nick hands me scissors and I carefully cut the umbilical cord and wrap the baby in the fleecy lemon blanket with the giraffe in the corner that Nick has fetched from the nursery.

‘Lis?’

‘I don’t feel right, Kat.’

Suddenly there is blood. Too much blood. Lisa’s lungs rattle and she is chalk white.

‘Nick.’ I place the baby gently on the floor. ‘‘Fetch some cold water, a flannel and a phone. Hurry.’

‘Kat,’ she whispers. ‘I’m scared.’

‘You’re going to be fine,’ I say, but as I cradle her face between my hands, her eyes start to roll back into her head.