and not solely for the baby she was carrying.
Small and curvy even before she got pregnant, Kayla physically wasn’t his usual type. Her honey-blond hair fell in messy natural ringlets around her shoulders, as chaotic as her rolled-through-a-jumble-sale fashion sense. The layers of mismatched vintage clothes she favoured, most people would have consigned to the dustbin.
Personality wise there was a major clash between them, as this current exchange would attest to. She was hard work, a pain in the backside he could do without. Yet, since losing Tom and Liam, he hadn’t been able to keep away from her. He knew it was more than their shared grief but hoped his sudden interest in her would end once the baby was born. Anything else would have disaster written all over it. Her shudder of obvious disgust at his comment was proof of that.
‘My body is absolutely none of your business.’ She folded her arms across her blossoming cleavage and Jamie tried to avert his stare.
‘Ditto. So, I’ll thank you to stop looking at me as though I’m a piece of meat.’ By the way she’d been ogling him earlier he’d say her pregnancy hormones were running riot. It was a reminder of that day in the café when they’d come close to succumbing to temptation. Thank goodness they hadn’t, when things were complicated enough between them.
‘I was not!’ Her reddening cheeks gave her away.
‘Let’s get one thing straight here, Kayla.’ He flicked the kettle on and lifted a mug down from the cupboard. ‘My only interest is in the baby you’re carrying.’
‘Mine too.’ Composure regained, she walked right up to him. Close enough for him to drink in her floral scent. It was likely something she made herself from daisies and buttercups under the light of a full moon.
Kayla opened the cupboard above his head, lifted out a handmade, slightly wonky, blue-glazed earthenware mug and set it down on the counter.
‘I assume you have a birth plan in place? I don’t imagine the event is something either of our brothers would have left to chance.’ Even if Kayla seemed the sort of person to let nature take its course. There was a very bohemian quality to her. As though she’d be more at home in some hippy commune living off the earth and communing with nature than working nine-to-five and living in a suburban semi.
‘I’m having a natural birth. At home.’
He should have known.
‘Not happening.’
‘Excuse me? It was what your brother, Liam, and I wanted. You can’t just swan in here—’
‘And what? Want what’s best for my baby? Which is to be born in a hospital where the best medical care is at hand should anything go wrong?’
Kayla couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They had planned as peaceful a welcome into the world as they could provide. Now, Jamie was storming in demanding as much noise, disruption and upheaval that came with hospital births in comparison. No way was she having that. The days of letting anyone walk over her were long gone.
‘In case you’re not aware, I was a qualified midwife before I became a doula. I know the difference it can make to mum and baby when a birth is at home, surrounded by familiar faces, enveloped in love rather than machines and overworked staff. That’s why I changed careers.’
It had been difficult for her to adhere to the rules laid out by the hospital management when births didn’t run to their specific timetable or targets. She realised quickly after qualifying she’d much rather devote herself to one family at a time than be on a conveyor belt moving from one mother to the next without making any real personal connection.
‘Then you know there are potential risks with any pregnancy. Complications during a home birth can’t be dealt with as effectively as they could be at the hospital.’
‘I’m qualified to make those kinds of decisions that might warrant a hospital transfer.’ It didn’t happen often, but in emergencies she would encourage medical intervention where it was needed. The welfare of baby and mother were always top priority.
‘Tell me, are you planning on giving birth naked and alone in a field?’ There was that patronising tone she’d come to know well when involved in a heated discussion with another medical professional on the subject.
‘You might not agree with my methods but please don’t mock them.’
‘It’s hard not to,’ he muttered, reinforcing the idea that a calm, peaceful birth wasn’t going to be possible anywhere with him around.
‘What is so wrong in wanting to be in the comfort of my own home, listening to the music of my choice and letting nature take its course?’ There’d been too much upset already during this pregnancy and the least she could do now was give this baby a smooth transition from the warm cocoon of her body into its new environment.
‘It’s selfish,’ he answered without taking time to think about what it meant to anyone other than him.
‘No, it’s simply an alternative to a hospital birth. Women have been doing it for centuries. I think I’ll manage.’
‘What? You’re going to deliver the baby yourself? I’m sorry, but this is crazy. I’ve already lost my brother. I’m not prepared to jeopardise my baby for the sake of your whim to raise a flower-child. I don’t think the sixties were all they were cracked up to be, you know. There was a higher mortality rate back then, likely for this very reason.’
Breathe in. Breathe out. Don’t punch things.
Kayla hadn’t realised dinosaurs still roamed the earth masquerading as pretty doctors, but Jamie was living proof.
‘There are such things as friends. I know that concept might not be familiar to you if this is how you speak to everyone you meet. I have my own doula to assist with labour as well as a community midwife.’
‘Great. It’s reassuring to know there’ll be two of you howling at the moon and stinking the place out with incense.’
She didn’t know where he plucked these ideas about home births from. He was a GP, for heaven’s sake. She was sure he’d dealt with them in his time. This seemed more personal to her. As though he simply disapproved of her and her life choices when, really, he knew nothing about her.
All his talk so far surrounded his wishes for his baby, relegating her to the role of incubator who shouldn’t have any opinion of her own.
‘I really don’t care what you think, Jamie. This is my safe space. My body. My baby. My birth plan. You won’t be here anyway, so it won’t affect you.’ At this rate the baby would be cutting its first teeth by the time she told him it had arrived.
There was no way she was having him anywhere near her, stressing her out during the most important, and unexpected, phase of her life as she transitioned into motherhood. Given the chance he’d probably be shouting instructions like her old PE teacher, calling her a slacker and pushing her until she was sure her lungs would explode. That wasn’t the atmosphere she was striving for on this occasion.
‘Who says I won’t be here?’
‘This
