The Song Of The Wolf (Edited & Rewritten)

Chapter Nine, Part One

Coinín reinstated himself. 'What do you need me to do?'

'Did you set up the birthing pool?'

'Yeah, it's in the bathroom,' Coinín said.

'Good, go clean it.'

'I already–'

'Clean it with this,' she handed him a hypochlorite bottle, gloves, a multi set of cotton cloths along with comprehensive cleaning instructions. 'And when you're done, clean it again.'

'But Magg–'

'There is nothing you can do for her now except make sure your son is born into a safe and sanitary environment– oh and don't forget to clean the shower head as well.'

The next half-hour was a whirlwind of activity as they rushed to make preparations. Maebh conducted a final inspection of the bathroom before returning to the bedroom, her mind racing.

'How many minutes between each contraction?' she asked.

'Five,' Coinín answered.

A scream skewered the room.

'Make that four,' he added.

Maebh felt Maggie's cervix and her earlier suspicions were confirmed. Having dilated centimetres in minutes, they needed to get her into the birthing pool, and fast. Running back to the bathroom, she turned on the showerhead and tested the water for the right temperature, then ran back again.

'Coinín, help me get her into the tub,' she said.

He did as asked, wrapping his arms around his wife and carrying her into the bathroom. Maebh went to follow them until Bear returned from god knows where and latched a hand around her wrist. The contact made her go rigid.

'Do you think she's going to make it?'

Maebh could not believe the idiocy of the man, and the loudness of his query with the person in question mere steps from them. She reached out and pulled his earlobe. 'You awful, awful gobshite!'

'Ouch!' He shot her a glare and raised a hand to his reddened ear. 'I've never met a woman so prone to violence.'

'You deserved it! How can you be so– so–' she hissed, pulling her wrist loose. 'Stay here and change the sheets, I want this bed spick and span.'

Naively, it had not occurred to her until then. Maggie's death loomed as an undeniable possibility. If complications were to arise, they had no access to professional equipment or emergency care, not in this weather. Maebh's lack of expertise was all they had. Their sole lifeline was the knowledge she carried in her memory, and the weight of that responsibility made her feel sick.

'Mae?'

The voice was close, snapping her back to reality. Coinín kneeled beside the tub, waiting.

'Pardon?'

He shook his head in silent mirth, eyes crinkling. 'I asked what we should do?'

'We wait, I suppose.'

'You suppose?' He repeated. 'Now is not the time for guesswork, Irish girl.'

'Should have thought about that before you trapped me into doing this!'

'Please just– both of you, zip it,' Maggie intervened with a tired groan, ending their bickering. 'How should I sit, Mae?'

'That's entirely up to you, Mags, choose the position you find most comfortable, whether that is semi-reclined, squatting, kneeling or on your hands and knees. Why don't you try them out and see what feels right?'