At his questions, she has to pause a moment, still clutching the stone foot of the angel, taking stock of her body. Another pain washes over her and she grits her teeth, then counts backward to the last one and finds it's been several minutes. Long enough that it likely means the baby is not coming this second, but that she likely has several more hours before their arrival. Her water has not broken yet, though it hadn't with Julia either, not until after when she had already been in the bed, the sheets soaked through with her sweat.

"We have time yet," she says. "The pains are bad, but they ent that close together. Not yet. And..." She pauses again, letting the sound of her husband's breathing on the other end of the telephone calm her further. Ross is good in a moment of panic, unless it's his own, at which point he's prone to snap decisions and anger, but here, with her, he's calm enough. Collected to the point where she can take strength from that and let it bolster her own.

"No, I'm alone," she says. "Unless there are others closer toward the gates. There are benches there, Ross, I'll go to 'em. That'll make the... oh, what do 'ee call it?" She knows what she means, the big red and white vehicle with the screaming sirens and the flashing lights. She'd been placed in one her very first day in Darrow and it had utterly terrified her, but now she's come to accept them as part of daily life, even if she can't remember what they're called right now.

"It'll make me easier to find," she says. "I'll go now and you call and then call me right back, please, Ross. Promise you will."