Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Marrickville
“Up here, love,” Mima said, watching Fran with a worried expression.
A taxi growled by them. Fran stepped onto the curb without acknowledging Mima. Her cotton dress hung off her thin frame as though she had no shape. Her greasy hair hung in thin strands around her cheeks. Her eyes looked haunted, and she hadn’t said more than a word here or there to Mima in weeks.
Mima looped her arm through Fran’s and continued the steady stream of chatter she’d taken up from the moment they left the hospital an hour earlier.
“I don’t think we should worry about making apple cider for Christmas.
Do you? We don’t have an apple orchard, but we do have the chooks in the back, and the milking cow.
We can easily make eggnog. I think that’s what we should do.
And it’ll be such a nice treat for everyone.
Of course, I’m due any moment now, so hopefully I’ll be home in Bathurst by Christmas.
But we could make the eggnog now as a special pre-Christmas treat.
” She was rambling, but she hated the silence that hung between them like a fog.
She didn’t know what Fran intended to do next.
Mrs Thompson allowed each girl to stay on at the hospital for a couple of weeks after the birth so they could figure out their next step, but so far Fran hadn’t said a thing about her plans.
Dot had left right after Mali was born, since her baby was already three weeks old at that stage.
All of the other women who’d been there when Mima arrived were long gone now, and a whole new crop of pregnant young mothers had arrived in dribs and drabs.
She didn’t really know any of them and had no desire to try—she’d be gone soon herself.
It was only her and Fran left out of the original crew, and Fran was a hollowed-out ghost of her former self.
The bag of groceries that swung on Mima’s left arm was heavy, and her footsteps were slow.
Grocery shopping was one of the chores she and Fran had been assigned a few months ago.
It gave them a chance to escape the walls of the hospital for a hour and talk without anyone overhearing them.
To feel as though they were free for a short while.
She looked forward to their outings, although carrying the laden string bags were becoming more difficult by the day.
She felt the impending birth in every region of her body.
Her feet and ankles were swollen, her hips hurt, and she was heavy, tired and lethargic.
But the end was close now—it wouldn’t be long before she could leave this place and travel to Bathurst. Mrs Thompson had suggested she wait to buy her train ticket until after the baby came, so she could decide how long she wanted to stay in the city after the birth.
She’d hidden the money for the ticket inside her Bible beneath the thin mattress in their shared room, dreaming of the day she’d walk up to the ticket office and hand it over for her pass to freedom.
Part of her wanted to run right now with Fran, to get away from Marrickville and the hospital, Mrs Thompson and the rest of the staff, and never see them again.
But she was too big, too pregnant, too tired to run.
And then what? She needed help with the delivery.
She didn’t want to do it alone, so she’d wait until the baby came and then she’d leave.
But in the back of her mind, she worried—what would she do with Fran?
Perhaps she could come to Bathurst with Mima, although she wasn’t sure her parents would take in her and the baby, let alone another woman they didn’t know.
It didn’t seem likely. They’d already said no, once.
The sun dipped below the facade of buildings on the western side of the street.
The sky was streaked with golden fingers of light.
A few bats flew overhead. Mima chewed on her lower lip, deep in thought, as they walked past a local church.
Built of stone, the doorway was an arch, and there were candelabras against the walls on either side.
From within, she heard the sound of music.
She stopped, pulling Fran to a halt along with her, then walked up the steps to stand in the doorway.
There was a small choir near the front of the church, but the pews were empty.
A group of girls were in the middle of a rendition of “O Holy Night.” Mima loved that song.
She recalled being part of a choir much like this one back when she lived in Bathurst. With Edie beside her, they’d belted out the carol while Mima grinned at one of the local boys who was seated in the front row of folding chairs in the school hall.
She couldn’t recall his name, but she’d had a huge crush on him.
Now it seemed like a lifetime ago. Her heart sank.
How much she missed those days and that life.
The song swelled from the front of the church, filling the high ceiling with resonance.
It brought tears to Mima’s eyes, the raised voices of the young singers full of life and beauty.
There was something about it that was so nostalgic and soulful.
She wanted to bask in the song, listen to the choir for hours with her eyes shut, in the dark.
But she couldn’t. They had to get back. Mrs Thompson would start to worry if they didn’t return soon.
With one wistful glance back at the choir, she turned to lead Fran down the stairs.
When they reached the bottom, she heard a faint pop, and water rushed down her legs.
She stood stock still, staring at the growing puddle on the pavement.
“Fran!” she whispered urgently. “Look, my water’s broke.”
Fran’s eyes showed some life for the first time in weeks. “You’re having a baby, Mima. Come on. Let’s get back.”
She leaned on Fran the entire way, although contractions didn’t start until she was in a hospital bed with midwives surrounding her. Fran stayed by her side at first, but disappeared after a while. Mima asked after her, but the midwives shushed her and said to pay attention to what she was doing.
Labour was short and intense. Within four hours, she’d pushed her baby into the world, and all the while, she kept motivating herself with the reminder that soon she and the baby could leave this place forever and go home.
It was the only thing that helped her keep going.
She was tired, run-down, every part of her body ached, she was thin, her hair was dishevelled, and she was low on energy.
But she put everything she had into the contractions, and she made it through.
There was a time she didn’t think she would—she told the midwives she wanted to leave, that she wasn’t going to stay one more minute.
But they convinced her to stay, and she pushed as hard as she could.
When she heard the baby cry, she felt tears on her own cheeks and wondered when they’d got there. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and watched as the midwives checked the baby over.
“Boy or girl?” she asked.
The midwife glanced at her warmly. “A baby boy.”
Her head swam. A boy. She had a boy. She’d never be alone again. But why didn’t the midwife place him on her chest?
“Is he okay?” Mima asked, reaching for him. “Let me see him.”
“I’m looking him over. The doctor will need to assess him, and I’ll be right back.” The nurse hurried from the room with her baby boy held in her arms.
Mima’s heart stood still. She wanted her baby here with her.
Her heart squeezed and panic wound its way up her throat — they’d taken Fran’s baby, would they do the same to her?
No, they couldn’t take him from her. The law didn’t allow it.
She was getting worked up over nothing. Her mind spun and her head felt light.
Another midwife worked on cleaning her up, checked Mima’s vitals.
“Is he okay?” she asked again.
The midwife looked at her with kind, brown eyes. “Lie back, love. You need rest. Your labour didn’t go exactly as we’d hoped and there are a few complications, but it’s going to be fine. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”
“What about my baby?”
“He’s a strapping young lad. Now, I need you to relax and take some deep breaths.”
The woman checked her blood pressure. Mima inhaled and tried to calm herself.
There was a drip. Mima didn’t remember them inserting the cannula, but there it was.
She lifted her hand to look at it. Her fingers were chapped, the nails dirty and broken.
As she studied the cannula, she turned her hand over to look at her palm, flexed her fingers, pinpricks of light danced before her eyes and then suddenly everything faded to black.
She gasped in panic and drifted out of consciousness.
When Mima woke, she was alone in her hospital bed with the curtains drawn around her. The ward was in semi-darkness. She heard someone cough and a baby cry nearby, its mewling made her breasts ache. How long had she been out? And where was her baby?
She looked around frantically as panic welled within her. Then she sat up, held back by the drip in her arm.
“Hello?” she cried out. Her voice echoed through the cavernous room. “Hello? Nurse?”
Several moments later, a nurse pulled the curtain aside and walked over to the bed. She held the back of her hand to Mima’s forehead, then checked her pulse with two fingers.
“How are you feeling, Jemima?” she asked with a concerned look on her face. “You had us worried there for a few hours.”
“What happened? I blacked out… I don’t know what went wrong.”
“Some post-labour haemorrhaging, but the doctor managed to get it under control. He’ll be along in a few minutes to talk to you about it. But in the meantime, lie back and relax. We need you rested so your body can recover. You’ve had quite the day.”
“I’m okay. I want to see my baby boy. Where is he? I have to feed him. It’s been hours. He must be so hungry.”