Dying for Cake, page 19
‘Yes,’ I said quietly.
‘Is that pear going to eat her?’
‘Pears don’t eat people, William!’ Sophie stood next to him now, her wet painting in her hand. ‘Look at my picture, Mummy!’ Sophie held her picture in front of my face.
It was similar to the ones she’d been drawing in felt pens for the last few weeks. On one side of the page there was a tall green tower. A yellow bridge curved from the tower door out over a blue river, and on the bridge were two figures, one large and one small. ‘That’s you and me, Mum! We’re crossing the bridge together.’
Sometimes I wonder if children mean to communicate as much as they do, or if, as adults, we load their words and actions with our own meanings. Who knows? At that moment I felt a great surge of love and, squatting on my heels, I held my arms wide.
‘Come here, you two!’ I cried. William and Sophie ran at me laughing, almost knocking me over with their enthusiasm. I hugged them tightly, wrapping my arms around them both.
WENDY’S CHILD
Zip! The bulging red suitcase opened like a large red-lipped mouth and spat its contents out over the double bed. Baby singlets and bunny rugs, bodysuits and sunhats entwined like entrails and, smelling like mothballs, fell onto the floor. Wendy stooped to pick them up, fishing blindly for them on the floor, underneath her billowing denim pinafore. Those things would all need washing. It was five years since Madeline had used them and they had been packed away in a suitcase under the bed since then. As she stood, the blood rushed back to her head and she felt a wave of dizziness come over her. Still, she kept on. She was nesting.
Being a midwife, Wendy knew all about nesting — the frantic last-minute preparations made by the mother-to-be as the anxiety mounts, heightened by the impending birth. It had taken Wendy a long time to begin her preparations because, throughout her pregnancy, she had never really liked to think about the child she carried. Thinking about the baby always led to thinking about its conception and that nagging guilt that it might be Steve’s child and not Harry’s.
Harry’s surprise when she had told him the news had been quickly overcome by his elation and a certain pride in his own potency. After all, they had not had much of a sex life at the beginning of the year. Even so, she reminded him, they’d had sex on his birthday. True enough, he’d agreed, but he thought he’d slipped on a condom when things started to hot up. Had he? She couldn’t remember. She blushed now as she recalled that night — Harry’s furtive fumbling and her passive acceptance of his overtures. Her growing sense of foreboding as she watched the shadows sliding across the ceiling. Harry’s smell mixed with Steve’s on her skin. It was possible, she tried to convince herself, that the child could be Harry’s. Condoms weren’t foolproof, not the way she and Harry used them.
As Wendy sat on the bed, sorting through the clothing, she felt a dragging sensation in the pit of her abdomen. Ligament strain, she told herself, and she stood up and pulled the pram out from the back of the cupboard to prove the ache was nothing more than that.
The pram looked old and tired. The faded navy canvas hung limply over the metal frame, and when she pushed it, the wheels squeaked. As she unfolded the canopy, she noticed that it was covered in dust and a fine sheen of mildew. The pram would need oiling, sponging down and a spell out in the sun. She’d always told herself that she would buy a new pram if she had another child. Somehow she hadn’t been able to get enthusiastic about this baby.
She hadn’t even allowed herself to get swept up in Harry’s excitement. He had repainted the old wooden cot white and set it up beside the bed some time ago. She looked at it now, standing on her side of the bed, all made up with Daniel’s old blue cot sheets. Harry had done that to see how it looked. When he had finished, he had come to her and covered her eyes while he led her into their bedroom. ‘Surprise!’ he’d laughed as his warm pudgy hands sprang away from her face. ‘Can you believe that we’re going to have someone small enough to fit in there soon?’ She had hugged him so that he couldn’t see the trepidation in her eyes. That was her penance, she thought. Guilt.
Wendy frowned. Where were the nappies? She had pulled out the entire contents of the suitcase without any sign of them. She must have put them somewhere else. She opened the cupboard again. There they were, at the top, stacked in piles. She pulled over a chair and climbed up but it was still impossible for her to reach them. The ceilings in their old Queenslander were almost three metres high and the top of the cupboard was a lofty prospect. She always tried to avoid putting things there if she thought she would need them. Getting the nappies down would require bringing up the stepladder from downstairs. She considered this for a moment while the pit of her abdomen pulled and strained. The adrenaline shot through her blood and her heart kicked an extra beat. She bit her lip. It was time to get organised.
Thanks to Harry’s recent effort at reorganising the space under the house, she found the ladder easily, propped against one of the house stumps. She looked around and saw that Harry’s tools were neatly placed up on the board behind his workbench. The old tins of paint were stacked in piles and the boxes that held who knows what were retaped and pushed out of the way. Harry had been nesting for a while. Wendy groaned as she picked up the ladder and felt a dull ache wrench her lower back. She ignored it. The stepladder wasn’t that heavy and she balanced it against her swollen belly and carted it outside.
She struggled on the back steps. Although it was a lightweight aluminium ladder, the effort of lifting it made her pant and her overgrown heart strained and pressed against her ribs, knocking the breath from her lungs. Halfway up the steps she took a rest. Long tendrils of sunlight fell down through the swamp bloodwood in the backyard and caught in the strands of her black hair. She felt hot standing outside in the sun and it occurred to her that it was November now. Her baby would be a summer baby just like Amy had been.
As Wendy caught her breath, she heard footsteps swish through the long grass down the side of the house and climb the steps behind her. The movie that Harry had taken the kids to see must have finished early. She felt him stroke her hair and she turned with a smile.
‘Steve?’ The blood drained from her face.
‘I saw you struggling and I thought …’ He grinned at her, squinting in the sunlight so that the skin around his steely blue eyes creased and smiled. The dimple in his square chin cast a little shadow on his face.
‘Thanks,’ she let him take the ladder. ‘I thought you were Harry.’ Steve’s sandy hair had been cut since she had last seen him. Short back and sides. It suited him, and in his white T-shirt and jeans he looked more presentable than she’d seen him in a long while.
Steve passed her, carrying the ladder over his head. He called back over his shoulder and she saw his biceps bulge as he turned. ‘You shouldn’t be doing this. Not at this stage of the game.’
She followed him inside. After being so long in the bright sunlight, the indoors seemed pervaded by darkness. She staggered while her eyes adjusted to the dimness.
His hand was on her arm. ‘Where do you want it?’
‘In the bedroom. I’m trying to get some nappies down from the top of the cupboard.’
It was awkward, having him in the room she shared with Harry. Her heart thumped against her chest so hard that she thought he would notice her dress shaking. She brought her hands up to her face to cover her warm, red cheeks.
‘Are they up there?’ he pointed. ‘Let me get them down for you.’
Steve climbed up the ladder and Wendy couldn’t help watching his taut buttocks move under his jeans. He retrieved the nappies and passed them to her. She took them and the tips of their fingers touched.
‘Wendy. I need to talk …’
‘Don’t. Please Steve! Not now …’
He saw the pupils widen in her swimming-pool eyes and he was quiet but he moved towards her and cupped his hands under her chin, bringing her face up to meet his. Stroking her warm cheek with his thumb, he searched her face with his eyes. She felt naked before him. With a flick of her head she averted her eyes from his and pulled away, moving towards the bed.
‘Thanks for your help. I need to get on with things now.’ She leant over and dragged the suitcase off the bed and it fell down with a thud. Her womb dragged and strained and she felt something pop. Water trickled down her leg and ran onto the floor. Steve looked down at the puddle forming beneath her pinafore and seemed bemused.
‘Wendy,’ he said lamely, confused. ‘Have you wet yourself?’
Wendy rolled her eyes to the ceiling and smiled anxiously. ‘No, Steve. I haven’t wet myself. My waters just broke.’
The dull aches and pains Wendy had been feeling for hours became stronger and more focused now. Steve brought a wad of towels from the bathroom for her to put between her legs as the fluids continued to leak from her womb. She was embarrassed having him there. They had barely been lovers and now it felt as if he was witnessing the baseness of her sexuality and the raw power of her womb.
‘Could you phone Harry please?’ Wendy asked him, partly to give him something helpful to do and partly to escape the intensity of his stare.
She heard him rifling through the junk that was beside the telephone. ‘I can’t find Harry’s mobile number, Wendy! Do you know it by heart?’
‘No. It’s in the little black book, under “H”. I hope he’s got it on! He’s taken the kids to the cinema.’
She heard Steve dial the number. She heard the mutterings, the explanations and then she heard Steve say, ‘Yeah mate, I’ll stay with her until you get back. See you in fifteen.’
‘You don’t have to stay, you know. I’ll be alright,’ she told him when he loitered in the hall. Wendy grabbed hold of the bedpost and breathed through a contraction. ‘They’ll be here soon …’ she told him, more to reassure herself, as the pain dwindled away. Letting go of the bedpost, she moved towards him to fetch the overnight bag she kept behind the bedroom door.
His hand squeezed her shoulder. ‘Look, it’s okay. I told Harry I’d stay. Here, let me do that!’ He took the bag from her. ‘Tell me what to pack and I’ll do it.’ His eyes pleaded with her.
It was easier to give in to him. As the vice wrenched her abdomen again she sent him to the bathroom. ‘Orange … toothbrush … soap …’ She pointed and he began rummaging noisily through the drawers and shelves. ‘Do you want this green toiletries bag?’
She breathed the pain away. ‘Yes, that’s the one. There’s a bottle of shampoo in the shower recess. Throw that in too …’ It was weird having him in the next room, helping her to pack her bag for hospital. She shivered. Perhaps he had done this for Evelyn too, back in January, when Amy was born.
While he was in the bathroom, she threw a couple of nighties, some underpants and some sanitary napkins onto the bed. Harry could bring anything else she needed later. Another contraction gripped her. They were getting closer together now and stronger too. She breathed slowly out as the pain niggled in warning and she breathed in deeply as it seared through the pit of her belly and around her back before dwindling again. She tried to keep the towel between her legs as she hobbled about, collecting the things she needed, but already it was soaked and the waters trickled warmly down her leg and onto the floor.
When Steve appeared with her toiletries bag she sent him out again to boil the kettle and make a cup of tea. She couldn’t think of what else to do with him. She didn’t want him around her. It was Harry she wanted.
The Morris pulled into the carport and she heard the front gate click and swing back on its spring. The kids raced up the steps and through the front door, shoes clattering across the bare pine floors. Madeline ran into the room first, her blonde pigtails flying. ‘Mummy! Is the baby coming out now?’
Wendy nodded. ‘Daddy needs to take me to the hospital and it will come out there, Maddy …’ The pain began to wrench again and she had to stop talking and breathe again. She stood up and grabbed the side of the bed. The towel dropped onto the floor and the rest of her waters gushed out, flecked with the vernix that surrounded the unborn child. Daniel and Harry appeared at the door.
Daniel looked at the puddle on the floor and his mother’s wet dress and made a face. ‘Urggh, gross, Mum!’
Harry picked up her bag. ‘I’ll get you another towel to sit on in the car, okay? Steve said he’ll stay with the kids until my folks arrive.’
Wendy nodded. With Harry’s help, she made it to the door. Then she stopped and leant on the wall.
‘What is it? Another contraction?’ Harry’s round face was twitching nervously.
She shook her head. ‘Joanna!’
‘What about Joanna?’
‘I said she could be at the birth, as a support person. Remember?’
Harry yanked his mobile out of his pocket. ‘I’ll ring her and we’ll pick her up on the way through.’
Somehow, Wendy and Harry got out to the carport. Wendy looked back towards the house. Steve and Daniel waved stiffly from the verandah, aware that they were outsiders and that this was women’s business. They both looked nervous but Madeline was jumping up and down waving both arms. ‘I want to see the baby as soon as it comes out,’ she yelled.
Wendy pulled the seatbelt around her belly and leant back in her seat. The old Morris shuddered as Harry turned the ignition and jumped backwards as he reversed out of the drive.
‘Don’t bump! Don’t bump!’ Wendy groaned as her womb contracted. Harry took one look at her as she breathed through the contraction, then put his foot on the accelerator. Coughing out a big blob of black smoke, the Morris hiccuped up the road and trundled around the corner to Joanna’s place.
‘We’re not going to make it in this thing, Harry,’ Wendy moaned as they chugged into Joanna’s driveway. ‘We’ll have to ask Joanna to drive us in her car.’
‘Alright,’ said Harry as he switched off the ignition and the car heaved to a standstill. He burst out of the car and pulled Wendy’s bag out of the boot. The screen door leading from Joanna’s kitchen into her carport swung open and Joanna raced out of the little weatherboard cottage. She was ready for action, having squeezed herself into a pair of black bike pants and a red top that hugged her ample bosom. She bounded up to the car, beaming with excitement, and tapped on Wendy’s window.
‘I’ve got everything you suggested in here,’ she yelled through the glass, holding up a brown paper bag. ‘Lavender oil for soothing, a tennis ball for massage, apple juices and high energy snacks … God, you look awful …’
‘Joanna,’ said Harry confidentially. ‘We need to take your car to the hospital. Ours isn’t working well. It keeps backfiring and it’s not comfortable enough for Wendy.’
‘Sure!’ said Joanna, helping Wendy out of the car. ‘You just back the Morris out of the driveway so that we can get out.’
Harry turned the key. The car spluttered and coughed and then the engine shut off. ‘Shit!’ Harry turned the key again. This time the engine didn’t even turn over. ‘Not now! Not now!’ Joanna and Wendy watched incredulously as the bald spot on the top of Harry’s head reddened in frustration.
Wendy clutched Joanna’s arm while the child’s head rammed against the muscles that held her inside the womb. Joanna’s bag of birth aids fell on the ground and the tennis ball rolled down the driveway into the gutter. Suddenly the way was clear for the child and the force of the uterus expelled her into the birth canal.
Wendy heard a low guttural noise that sounded like a wounded animal. Was she making that sound? She couldn’t speak to them now. She couldn’t tell them that the baby was about to be born.
‘It’s all happening too fast!’ panicked Harry. ‘You help her inside, Joanna. I’ll ring for an ambulance.’
While Harry fumbled with his mobile phone, Joanna chose her moment and dragged Wendy inside. Just inside the kitchen door, Wendy dropped to her knees on Joanna’s lino floor. There was nothing else she could do. Great waves rocked and shook her now. Consumed as she was by the force of her own body, Wendy nevertheless thought she could smell something sweet and intoxicating. What was it? Of course, Wendy thought, it was cake. Rich fruitcake had been cooking all morning in Joanna’s kitchen until the pungent aroma of plump fruit soaked in brandy pervaded the air. Wendy inhaled the essence of the cake like a drug and pushed.
As the baby moved down the birth canal, her head was squeezed and moulded by muscles that forced her through the blackness. Her little heart raced as the pressure built on her skull. She was crowning.
Instinctively, Joanna put her hand on the warm mound that seemed to be rising. ‘Easy now! You don’t want to tear anything!’
With the pressure breaking around her head, Wendy’s child felt the air rush against her scalp. One last contraction and she was propelled out of her mother’s body into Joanna’s waiting arms. She screwed her eyes shut tight to delay her entry into the world, and with her heart exploding in her chest, she discovered the agony of breathlessness. When she opened her mouth to express the burning inside her chest, her tongue quivered. Then the air rushed in and filled the aching space and, at last, she screamed.
Joanna clasped the newborn girl to her breast and breathed in her freshness. Both she and the baby were covered in the muck and blood of birth but Joanna didn’t care. ‘It’s a girl! It’s a girl,’ she cried.
Wendy, sinking to the floor, wept and laughed at the wailing of her child. Harry, who’d run inside to find Joanna holding the baby, rushed to Wendy’s side and helped her to sit up and take the baby in her arms.
‘Shouldn’t we cut the cord or something?’ asked Joanna, looking at the twisted blue umbilical cord, still attached to the baby.
‘No,’ said Wendy, shaking her head. ‘Leave it for a while. It won’t hurt her. The ambulance will be here soon anyway.’
As they waited in Joanna’s kitchen for the ambulance to arrive, sunlight broke through the nylon cafe curtains hanging in the window. It lit the tiny round face with the soft dewy skin and the open wailing mouth. Sensing the light, the baby stopped crying, squinting her deep blue eyes. Wendy saw in an instant that the baby’s face was Steve’s. Still, she smiled and held the child close, undoing her pinafore to breastfeed. Joanna found a cotton blanket and wrapped it around them both.
