Ten Trees and a Truffle Dog Read Free Page B

pastis-swilling infidels that she'd initially presumed.
    Â Â 'You're in a stage we call pre-labour. Sometimes it can go on for days; for you, I'd say another three hours. Premature births can be a little complicated, particularly when they are truffle induced,' she went on, as if there were volumes of medical research on the subject. Her tone implied that as a father she expected me to be aware of the potential difficulties.
    Â Â Just minutes ago time had been our enemy, as we fought shock and raced to the hospital; now, the clock on the wall ticked slowly by and Lea's pen scratched repetitively as she filled in form after form. My ignorance quickly bred a gathering paranoia. I imagined a library shelf full of learned discourses on pregnancy and truffles – perhaps a seminal book on the correct use of forceps in a truffle-induced birth, sitting side by side with the pioneering and definitive work: The Father, the Truffle and Birth .
    Â Â Lea's pen came to the end of a sentence and a look of concern crossed her face. 'I am so sorry,' she stuttered, 'it's been a busy day, otherwise I would have noticed sooner.'
    Â Â Glancing in the direction of her eyes, I saw that she was looking at the time – 12.15.
    Â Â 'Now, the best place is just down the road, they do a fantastic menu – twelve euros including the wine. Really excellent.'
    Â Â Tanya shook her head in amazement. Was Lea really suggesting we leave, after all we'd been through to get here? 'But you said the birth could be complicated.' The sound of Tanya's voice was familiarly fragile. It was the tone she used when building towards one of our rare arguments.
    Â Â 'Yes, but you still have plenty of time. Count the minutes between the contractions and if you get to a regular four, come back as soon as possible.'
    Â Â Over the preceding eight months I'd imagined plenty of questions that I might have to ask during the birth. My research had been meticulous, with lists of vocabulary learnt and relearnt: waters breaking, contractions, discharge, blood pressure, heart rate, epidural and umbilical cord – there was scarcely a situation I hadn't envisaged. However, never once, with all my first-time-father leave-no-stone-unturned gusto, had it occurred to me that the first serious medical problem to be overcome would be lunch.
    Â Â 'Is there anything she can't eat?' I asked in a concerned husbandly way, giving Tanya time to collect herself.
    Â Â 'She may not feel like much, but it's important to build up strength. Something light, perhaps a goat's cheese salad with a little toast, or they do an excellent courgette farcie,' confided Lea, looking sheepishly at the clock and clearly still angry at herself for forgetting such a basic need. Reluctantly, Tanya and I were ushered into the street.

    On our return, after what I had to admit was an excellent lunch, we were led through a set of swing doors into the birthing area. I was instructed to put on the plastic shoe coverings and Tanya a hospital gown. Each of the four birthing suites had been named after local Provençal flowers and herbs – Lavande, Thym, Romarin and Mimosa – nice calming names which unfortunately did little to rein in my gathering anxiety. Historically births in my family were far from simple. One of my sisters-in-law nearly gave birth in the corridor in St George's, Tooting, due to a lack of available rooms; the other sister-in-law staggered over her front doorstep to give birth, having being wrongly sent home from Sevenoaks Hospital. The omens were not good.
    Â Â  'Ça va?' Lea asked, directing us through the door of Lavande, a spacious light room painted in a gentle purple.
    Â Â  'Oui, ça va,' winced Tanya, easing herself up onto the birthing chair.
    Â Â Lea nodded and then moved on to more important matters.
    Â Â 'What did you have?'
    Â Â Both of us looked quizzically back at her.
    Â Â 'For lunch,' chastised