Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
Marrickville
The hum and bustle of the busy maternity hospital was part of Mima’s everyday life five months later.
Her stomach had swollen to what seemed like an impossible size, although everyone told her she was healthy.
The doctor on staff at the hospital called her strong, yet still seemed concerned that she wasn’t eating enough.
Mima didn’t want to tell him she had no choice in the matter.
She ate what she was given, and Mrs Thompson didn’t appreciate complaints or requests for more.
On her hands and knees, she pushed the scrubbing brush over the black-and-white chequered tiles in the married maternity ward.
Up and down, up and down. Both hands were chapped and dry from the constant scrubbing of floors, bedpans, walls, clothing, and linens, and the heat of an early summer’s day had sweat already streaking her dusty face.
Each bed was full today. Married women lay in repose, some in early labour, others with nothing much to do but wait for the doctor’s rounds. Midwives bustled between the beds and ordered Mima and Fran around.
“You missed a spot here.”
“You’re moving too slowly.”
“We need this room, ladies. Hurry it up, please!”
The barbs were thrown at random, in a hiss of a whisper as the women hurried past Mima and Fran, who scrubbed on hands and knees in their long, fitted pants with elastic waistbands and airy smock tops.
Mima’s hair was pulled into a ponytail, and Fran’s was clipped back away from her face.
Her dark curls clung to her sweaty neck, and she had shadows beneath her large brown eyes.
Mima was worried about her. She was due around the same time as Mima.
Both had two months to go. But she was thinner than she should’ve been and looked tired all the time.
When Mima looked in the mirror, she saw much of the same in herself—the ghost of a person she vaguely remembered stared back at her, all angles and bones with big eyes, hollow cheeks and an enormous stomach. Who had she become?
As they finished their work in the maternity ward, they backed out through the doorway, still scrubbing and pulling the buckets with them.
In the hall, they stopped short when Fran backed into something solid.
She hesitated to look behind, and saw Mrs Thompson, hands on her ample hips.
A walking cane dangled from one hand. Mima shuddered at the sight of it—she’d received the end of that cane on the back of her legs often enough to know not to disrespect its owner.
Both women rested a moment on their knees.
Mima looked down at the floor, waiting. She knew what was coming.
It was best to avoid Mrs Thompson, and they often managed to go the whole day without running into her.
But this time, they hadn’t heard her heels on the tiled floor or seen her skirts swishing towards them around her plump, stockinged legs in time to change course.
“You’re taking your time today, girls. Chop, chop! I need this floor sparkling clean. I hope I won’t find streaks when I inspect your work later.”
“Yes, Mrs Thompson,” they both intoned in unison.
“You know you should be grateful for the roof over your head. Not many would give two fallen women like yourselves a second chance, but here we are, doing our bit. You must pay for your trespasses on society by serving and suffering, and perhaps then you will make amends for the wrong you’ve done.
But until then, I don’t want to see you slacking for a moment.
There’s plenty of work to be done and not enough hands to do it. ”
It was at times like this, Mrs Thompson reminded Mima of her own mother.
There’s work to be done. Get to it, Mima.
Stop slacking. You gab too much for your own good.
One of these days you’re gonna find yourself in trouble.
Maybe she wouldn’t have ended up in this position if only her parents had shown a little warmth, or compassion.
When she phoned to tell them about the baby, her mother had gone quiet and her father had huffed and puffed, then shouted down the telephone line that he’d told her all along her actions would have consequences.
She pictured his face turning red and steam rising from his ears with every word.
At least Mother had agreed to send her some money, a small allowance for treats, stamps so that she could write, and a train fare for the trip home.
Although she’d assured Mima that she couldn’t stay in Bathurst long, since people would talk.
And there was nothing her parents cared about more than their reputation.
Mrs Thompson droned on about working hard and making life-altering choices, her preferred lecture topics, then paused for a response.
“Yes, Mrs Thompson,” Mima replied, barely registering what the woman had said.
Mrs Thompson turned to leave, and Mima spoke up, her gaze travelling to land on the woman’s face for the first time. “I have a cheque to cash from my parents. Can I go to the bank when I’m finished here?”
“I suppose that would be fine. Stop in at the office the moment you’re back, please.”
When she left, Mima and Fran exchanged a look. Fran picked up her scrubbing brush. “Did you hear her coming?”
“Not a footstep.” Mima shook her head. “I’m grateful she seemed to be in a good mood, though. And now I can finally go and cash that cheque.”
“I can’t believe your parents sent you money. I wish someone would send me something.”
Mima grimaced. “They’ve basically disowned me, but Mother somehow managed to scrape together cash to send.
I’d bet the farm that Daddy doesn’t know about it.
Still, I hope they’ll let me come and stay with them.
Heck, I’d give anything for a hug and them to tell me it’s going to be okay. But beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Everything is gonna be okay,” Fran said, shooting her a grin.
“You don’t know that.” Mima’s voice cracked.
“It has to be okay. Something’s gotta work out.”
“How can you be so positive?” Mima blinked at her friend, reaching out a hand to rest on her arm as she scrubbed. “You endure it all without complaining.”
Fran stopped scrubbing. “I have to be positive. I’d give up otherwise.”
She had a point. Mima had felt like giving up so many times over the past months, but Fran’s positivity had helped her through it.
They’d become fast friends, and now Mima wasn’t sure what she’d do without Fran by her side.
The other women there were kind as well, but they were each caught up in the pain of their own situation and didn’t have much to give.
The fact that Mima and Fran shared a room meant they’d lain in bed many a night and swapped stories about their lives, their pasts, the futures they hoped for and the lives they dreamed of having someday.
It’d connected them on a level Mima had forgotten was possible.
“I’m losing feeling in my legs,” Mima said suddenly. “I don’t know if I can stand.”
Fran hoisted herself up onto her feet, swaying slightly, then reached out two hands to pull Mima up as well. They both stood there a few moments as the blood rushed back into their legs and feet and the world stilled.
“I’m so grateful for you,” Mima said with tears in her eyes. “I couldn’t do any of this without you. You know that, right?”
Fran’s eyes glistened. “You’re a good egg, Mima. And we’re in this together, you and me.”
They held hands and squeezed tight, beaming at one another through their tears.
“Together,” Mima replied with a brisk nod, knowing what she had to do and wishing she could take Fran with her.
Her plan was simple, and maybe that was the beauty of it.
Or perhaps it would get her in even deeper trouble.
Regardless, she wouldn’t back down now. She would cash the cheque from her mother at the bank, then take the money and run.
Well, “waddle” was probably a more appropriate description of what she’d do, but it felt good to be dramatic.
She could use the money to catch a train to Bathurst, and she was fairly certain that when she got there, she could convince her father to let her stay long term.
At the very least, they might drive her to a local unmarried mothers’ home, one that didn’t force the single women to do hard labour at seven months pregnant.
And one that was close enough for her parents to visit occasionally.
Her deep hope was that they’d take her in and care for her themselves.
They had plenty of money. Surely they’d want to care for their only daughter.
Even if they’d lost all respect for her choices.
She’d simply have to give up the freedom she’d grown to love and follow her parents rules. The life she’d lived was over.
The bank was busy for a Tuesday. Mima had to stand in line for ten minutes waiting to take her turn with the teller.
But finally, she had the money in her hand and pushed it carefully into her purse.
She stood outside the bank, with her purse swinging on one arm, wishing she’d been able to pack a bag to bring with her, but it would’ve tipped off the prison wardens, Mrs Thompson’s minions who watched every movement in and out of the hospital entrance on her behalf.
She couldn’t afford to raise suspicions, so she had to cope with the small purse and whatever she could manage to stuff into it.
She’d buy more clothes when she reached Bathurst. It wasn’t as though she fit into most of the ones in her suitcase now, anyway.
She’d had to make do with donated items in the thrift shop down the road from the hospital ever since her stomach had outgrown her wardrobe.
With the money safely stowed away, she stepped up to the curb.
A horse pulling a bread cart trundled by on the shoulder of the road.
The driver spat a stream of tobacco juice from the corner of his mouth, and it landed in the dust beside her feet.
Mima took a step back as the old man dipped his hat.
A bus rumbled by, then Mima crossed the road, ducking between cyclists and pedestrians. It was only a fifteen-minute walk to the train station. She heard the red rattlers in the distance, the new electric trains that had replaced the old steam engines in the Sydney suburbs.
As she stepped into the station, a ticket officer asked for her ticket. She said she wanted one to Central Station, and he was about to hand it to her when two police officers rushed up behind her, puffing hard.
“Miss Everest?” one of the men asked.
She recognised the other one. He’d arrested her months earlier.
He glared at her, then his eyes crinkled as a lazy smile played on his lips.
Panic washed over her. Her gaze darted around the station.
Could she escape? Make a run for it? Not at this late stage in the pregnancy.
Her panic was soon replaced by hopelessness.
“We meet again, Miss Everest. Where are you going? Mrs Thompson called us to enquire about you.”
“I’m visiting my parents.”
“They don’t want to see you.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, her throat tightening.
“I do, and that’s a fact. I called them on the telephone after our last encounter. Wanted to see if they’d take you. They said they wouldn’t. Your father was pretty firm on the topic. So, Mrs Thompson is your only hope, I’m afraid. Come on, girl. Let’s get you back home.”
Mima sobbed. “It’s not my home.”
“It is for now,” the officer replied as he took an iron-like grip of her arm. “Don’t make a scene. You’ve got to think of the baby.”
She relented and stumbled meekly to the car as he propelled her along.
He bent low to whisper into her ear. “You’re a second-hand girl, Miss Everest. Haven’t you heard? Nobody wants you.”
Mima bit down on her lip. She wouldn’t let him see her cry.
She tilted her chin up and climbed into the police car.
He slammed the door shut behind her. She leaned her forehead against the window and watched the train station and all of her hopes, disappear into the distance as the vehicle pulled away.
Back at the hospital, Mrs Thompson met the officers and followed Mima up to her room. Mima slumped onto her bed, her lower lip trembling. But her eyes were dry.
“You’ll be punished tomorrow. I’m too tired to deal with you today.
But if you do this again, I’m sorry to say, you’ll regret it, girl.
Your redemption is under threat with this level of rebelliousness.
I thought you understood what you had to do.
But apparently, you need further instruction on the matter.
Wash up for tea, and you can spend the evening embroidering to make up for missing laundry service this afternoon. ”
After Mrs Thompson left, Mima lay on her side on the bed, her hands tucked beneath her chin.
What she wouldn’t do to Mrs Thompson given half the chance.
That woman deserved to be pummelled to within an inch of her life.
And no doubt Mima was going to get the walking cane tomorrow.
She cringed at the thought of it. Why had she tried to run?
She should’ve known her father didn’t want her.
Should’ve realised the police had already tried her parents, and they’d turned her away. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
“Are you okay?” Fran’s voice startled her.
She sat up. Fran stood in the doorway, framed by the light behind her. Wisps of hair flew around her head, making her appear like an apparition in the gathering darkness.
“I’m fine.”
“They caught ya, huh?”
Mima’s nose wrinkled. “They did. At the train station. I’d almost made it through. I didn’t think you knew…”
Fran walked over to sit on the bed beside Mima. She patted Mima’s leg. “I tried to do a runner three times before I finally gave up. In the end, it’d be harder out there than it is in here. At least, that’s what they tell me. And at some point, I started to believe it.”
Mima looked at her. “How do you stay so strong? I don’t think I can do this…”
Fran looked away. “I’m not strong.”
Mima knew what she meant. They sat there, side by side, in the silence as the room grew dark, hands bound tightly together like one fist clenched in anger against a world that had rejected them.