The incessant dripping of a leaking pipe splattered water onto the cold unfeeling cobbles of an alleyway in East London. A dull thud of drum and base from a nearby nightclub bounced off its dark walls. The streets of the early morning were scattered with drunkards. Their alcohol fuelled outbursts polluting the night sky with obscenity and insults. Anyone who happened to glance down the alley would have noticed a nameless young woman sprawled along the floor.  But the stench of sewage, and stagnant water that wafted from it turned any potential onlookers away. Nobody saw her, or at least, nobody cared. She sat half naked on the damp stone, propped up by a pair of fly infested dumpsters. Rotten food and split binbags littered the floor around her. Hordes of rats sent the scrapes and scratches of skittering claws echoing down the thin brick corridor. She barely heard it. Her focus was locked upon her breathing. Deep, slow, Rasping, and purposeful. In through gritted teeth, out through a face painted with anguish. A moth-eaten towel lay stretched across the floor beneath her swollen stomach. An ineffective barrier against the dirt and the chill, but it was all she had. The curry-stained corners of the material drooped between the cobbles, greedily sucking up the rancid water that was hiding there. Her whole body was overtaken by shivering. Her matted hair and the thin polyester of her tattered shirt no match for the cold. An all-encompassing pain gripped her, throwing her head backwards. Screams of labour pierced the London night. 

Agony shot through her entire body. The cold vanished. The smell vanished. Nothing else mattered to her now. Nothing except the child ripping through her pelvis. Her arms flailed with every push. Desperate for something, anything to hold on to. Grasping at the wet slippery stone provided no purchase. Her hand rested on something solid. Reaching out she clutched the cold neck of a bottle. London’s air was heavy with the sound of her wails, but the city didn’t seem to care. A new barrage of shrieks escaped her lips. She tensed. Desperate to relieve the pain she tightened her grip. Glass shattered. Blood poured from her clenched fist. She did not release. 

The minutes slipped by. Or were they hours. She could barely tell, fighting to keep consciousness as the pain overwhelmed her. One more desperate push. One more blood curdling shriek. A head appeared, closely followed by a torso. A blood-soaked baby girl slid onto the mangled towel. A sigh of relief rolled from the mother’s mouth. Exhaustion beckoned her, but she forced herself forward. Her child needed her. The baby squirmed as its mother wrapped it in the towel, attempting to dry its sodden hair. The rancid scent the rag collected from between the cobbles wafted upwards. The overpowering stench was too much for the child. She opened her mouth and screamed.  

Windows shattered. Dogs howled. Alarms screeched. And none of them could compare to the sound erupting from the baby’s mouth. Blood trickled from the infant’s ears, but the mother barely noticed. She smiled, holding her little girl close. London may have pretended not to hear her, but there was no way they could ignore her beautiful little girl. 

A new wave of pain gripped hold of the pit of her stomach. Her body flung itself backwards as contractions started again. She could no longer hear her own screaming. The child’s powerful voice had ruptured her eardrums. But her new cries echoed through the city drowning out even the baby’s squealing. The entire east end awoke. Rumours of a banshee roared through London like wildfire. With her lungs strained to bursting point she gave one final bloodcurdling screech and pushed. In a pool of blood, a second skull slid onto the cruel city streets. Silence fell. Sudden and heavy silence. Dogs, flies, sirens, everything stopped. The city still moved. The tap still dripped. Two babies lay, mouths open, red in the face from the strain of screaming. But the sounds didn’t come. Cold and bloodied, the mother struggled upright. She slowly pulled off her shirt and covered her youngest child’s naked body. Cradling both girls in her arms she grimaced her way through a weak smile. She held them tight against her unclothed body as she slumped backwards against the hard brick. Suddenly she was painfully aware of the night’s chill. She noticed the puddle of blood beneath her left arm, and realization dawned. Calling on her last ounce of strength, she reached into the pocket of a filthy jacket, retrieving a small notepad and a cracked biro. With her final breath, she wrote down the names of her daughters. Katie and Mikaela Tace and pulled the jacket across them. She fell backwards, for the last time. As her head hit the floor a torch appeared at the mouth of the alley. Two uniformed men sprinted towards her. Their heavy boots hit the cobbles with all the noise of a slipper on a woollen rug. Green sleeves of a paramedic’s uniform scooped up the babies. Two fingers were placed on the woman’s neck. A large tear fell onto the street, and a man stood, and shook his head.