‘We’re just going to run a few routine tests: urine sample, bloods. Nothing to worry about.’

Dan had to help her to the toilet and wait outside for her. Her wee hitting the cardboard bowl made the noise of a torrential storm. So romantic.

Then they had to wait for an interminably long time back in the assessment room. The pain was getting worse and it had spread to her back. Jenny nudged Dan in the direction of the door. ‘Ask them when I can go to the water birth room. We might not get in otherwise.’ She knew she would feel better if she could just get into a nice warm pool.

The midwife came back in. ‘Sorry, no water birth for you. Your white cell count is up. Might be an infection. We need to get you up to the consultant-led ward.’

Every contraction was more painful than the last. Jenny begged for an epidural. They had promised pain relief: why weren’t they giving it to her? They could take a leg. A kidney. Anything. Just make it stop. Make it stop now.

A midwife leaned in towards her. ‘We need to give you something to speed things up.’

Anything to get it over with. But then she heard the midwife warn Dan: ‘The pain is going to get a lot worse.’

This couldn’t be happening. She’d read the leaflets, done the pelvic floor exercises, even written a beautiful birth plan. Why was it going wrong? Dan looked terrified. There was a steady stream of people coming to look at her nether regions, but she didn’t care. Why was no one listening? Couldn’t they see the agony she was in? As if in a nightmare, she opened her mouth to tell them how she felt, but nothing came out. Bodies moved around, but no one was looking at her. Look at me. Listen to me. Where was Dan? He was there. Then he wasn’t. Then there was nothing but pain. Tearing pain.

There were voices.