This is the opening chapter in Book 3 in the Ville Rose trilogy:

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Chateau Eugénie, Albas, France, 22 November 2036

“She is now fully dilated. It’s time to leave the bath,” said the mid-wife, whose name was Jessica.

“Come on Jules, you gotta get out of this bleedin’ bath unless you wanna give birth to a blinkin’ tadpole!” Tracy said and signalled to Didier to take her sister’s other arm. They lifted Juliette from the water and onto her feet. He scooped her warm wet body into his arms.

Juliette wanted a natural, water-birth for her baby. She chose to have the child in the Jade Room at Chateau Eugénie, the family home in the French village of Albas. The circular bath’s ornate gold and jade green tiles gave the room its name. At the far end of the bedroom there was a very grand four-poster bed, draped in ancient green and gold brocade. Gently, Didier laid Juliette down.

“Ahh!” Juliette gasped as another contraction hit her and she clutched the hands of her half-brother and sister.

Originally, Juliette wanted to give birth to the baby in the pool, but Didier remained adamant she should leave the water when she went into stage two of her labour. Research warned them there was a risk of infection, the cord snapping and even the baby breathing in water and so, Juliette reluctantly agreed. The midwife also told them both Juliette’s and the baby’s body temperatures could fall if the water was not warm enough. Didier rigidly checked the temperature throughout the three hours Juliette was in labour, keeping it at a comfortable 36 degrees celsius.

As always when Tracy was anxious or excited, she reverted to her native Cockney English. “Now she can bleedin’ start pushing, can’t she?” Tracy cried as another contraction had her sister shouting out in pain. Jessica nodded and Tracy, grabbing hold of Juliette’s outstretched arm, shouted in her ear: “Come on love, push! Let’s get that bleedin’ nipper out of there! Push!” “I am bleedin’ pushing!” Juliette shouted back. “Je pousse, je pousse, je pousse!”

“Take it easy, babe,” Didier whispered gently. “Now relax, and breath until the next contraction comes.” He wiped her brow and kissed her fingers. Gratefully, she smiled a watery smile at him, but moments later another contraction hit her and her face was racked with pain. Didier talked her through it, whispering words of encouragement.

Ever since the dreadful day when the couple discovered they were half-siblings, Didier was troubled about the risk to their unborn baby. It was complicated. He’d fallen in love with Juliette just over a year ago, when they’d first met in Toulouse, and she became pregnant. When Juliette was eight months into her pregnancy, Didier’s mother, Marie, discovered Juliette had been fathered by an Englishman, Frédéric Goldberg. She then revealed that she, too, had a son fathered by Goldberg, and that child was Didier.

Didier’s relationship with Tracy was also complicated. When he’d first met Juliette, she and Tracy had already found out they shared the same biological father, Frédéric Goldberg. They discovered their mothers had both had a relationship with the infamous Frédéric, which made them half-sisters. This meant, of course, Tracy was also Didier’s half-sister. Didier spent many hours trawling the internet to find out more about the problems they might face because of their relationship. He discovered the off-spring of half-siblings had a one-in-eight chance of getting the same gene from both parents, which could result in genetic disease. This could mean their baby might be born with one of a number of frightening and life-threatening diseases, the most common being SCID, or Severe Combined Immunodeficiency Disorder. This disorder would affect the baby’s immune system functioning and a SCID baby’s life expectancy was short. There were many other awful possibilities, including Jackson-Weiss Syndrome, which would be immediately recognisable: a deformed head and face, a bulging forehead and foot abnormalities. He also read of babies being born with Lobster Claw Hand, or Ectrodactyly, when one or more fingers or toes could be missing. The most frightening thing of all, Didier recognised, was a number of other terrifying genetic diseases could develop during childhood, even though their baby might appear normal at birth.

Didier continued to encourage and sympathise with Juliette, but in fact, their seventeen-year-old English half-sister knew more about giving birth than they did. Tracy had two little brothers, both of whom she’d helped to bring into this world.

“Now push like you've never pushed before, me old china,” Tracy urged. “Yeah, ‘course I know it bleedin’ hurts but nothing’s worth having if it don’t hurt a bit, innit? Just get friggin’ on with it, Jules!”

“Frig off yourself!” shouted Juliette as another pain took hold. Tracy laughed and grabbed both her hands.

“Now poussez, you silly old cow. Poussez like you never pousséd before!” Didier couldn’t help but chuckle and suddenly the three of them were laughing, crying and screaming.

“I can see the baby’s head,” said Jessica calmly as she stood up from examining Juliette. “Stop pushing, Juliette, and pant with the next contraction.” Within seconds, another contraction was on its way and Tracy jumped up on the bed beside her sister, on all fours, her tongue hanging out, panting like a dog.

“Pant,” she commanded, “don’t push, just bleedin' pant!” She looked so funny, even the midwife was laughing. Juliette half-cried and half-laughed as another wave of pain wracked her body and the baby’s head emerged.

“Now the shoulders, Jules! I can see its little shoulders comin’ out!” Tracy cried, kneeling between her sister’s legs. “Keep panting, mate, and the nipper will do the rest of the work!”

Smiling, Jessica gently moved Tracy to one side and took over the baby’s delivery.

“That’s it! Would you Adam and Eve it, you bleedin' done it, Jules!” Tracy laughed as she watched the child being born. “And it’s a boy, inn’it? Look, I can see his little willy!”

“Why isn’t he crying?” Didier asked quietly as he looked down at his son. The boy was perfect; no sign of abnormality, but he was very quiet. Juliette heaved herself upwards to look at her baby.

“Surely he should cry?” she whispered. “I thought crying clears the baby’s lungs?” She reached down and touched a tiny foot. “Come on Judi, cry! Don’t just lie there!”

“This is what they did to me little brother when he didn’t bawl,” Tracy muttered and very gently, with two fingers, she tapped the baby’s little pointed bottom. The baby’s eyes opened wide and he mewled gently. Jessica smiled and gathered the baby up, gently stimulating his circulation with a soft towel.

“It’s not really necessary for a baby to cry when he’s born,” she said. “He’s breathing quite easily and he’s a nice colour. Some babies arrive with a calm and open-eyed awareness I find rather humbling. He’s just a quiet soul who is responding to your voices, which he has grown used to over the last nine months. I have often found babies whose mothers use a birthing pool seem to be far less stressed when they are born. And you, Juliette, have had a relatively short and easy labour, so he’s just happy to be here.” Jessica swaddled the baby and passed him over to Tracy’s eager arms. The midwilfe assisted Didier in cutting the cord.

“Cor blimey, you’re a looker, ain’t ya?” Tracy murmured, stroking the little, wrinkled forehead with one finger. “But it’s yer mum you want now, not your bleedin’ aunty. Here Jules, give yer little man a cuddle, though how the poor mite’s gonna cope with a soppy name like Judi, I don’t know!”

Lying back on a pile of soft pillows, Juliette held out her arms for her child. Tracy helped to settle the baby and they both gazed down in wonder at his big, round eyes.

“He’s always been known as Judi so it would be very difficult to change that now,” Didier said, joining his sisters. “But because he’s a boy, we will call him Jude, short for Julian.”

“Yes, Jude it is, although it will take some time for me to stop thinking of him as Judi.” Juliette smiled, stroking the little child’s cheek.

“Cool name! Like Jude in the Beatles’ song,” laughed Tracy. She picked up a little hand and smiled as his fingers grasped one of hers. “Bonjour, Jude. You’re just perfik, bleedin’ perfik, ain’t ya?”

By Gillie Bowen

From: United Kingdom

Website: http://gilliebowen.simplesite.com

Twitter: @AmuseBouchecook

Facebook URL: http://Facebook.com/VilleRoseSeries