Mothers' Day

by Fiona McArthur

‘Of course. We’ll have you up here next. Now, don’t you worry about this happening to you. It’s very rare, you know.’

  No, she didn’t know. That was good to hear. ‘Thanks.’ She looked around and picked up Kylie’s nappy bag and water bottle. Kylie settled Sarah into the pram and the two girls paused to look around the dishevelled room and then they left.

  Jacinta felt like a part of a sad procession as they headed for the car park.

  Win was there when she walked in the front door of the guesthouse. She tilted her head at the expression on Jacinta’s face and opened her arms. Jacinta didn’t hesitate. She stepped straight into them and Win’s arms closed around her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Noni

  In the operating theatre, Noni’s head snapped around as the scrub-room door burst open and the unknown surgeon strode, scrubbed, into the room. His gloved hands were clasped in front of him. There was something familiar about the set of the shoulders and the carriage of his head before Noni noticed his eyes.

  When she’d said ‘get someone’, never in a million years would she have imagined that person to be Iain McCloud!

  Iain nodded grimly at her. ‘Yes, I’m a surgeon. They couldn’t find an assistant, so you’d better get scrubbed, Sister. They’re calling in another midwife and anaesthetist to resuscitate the baby if needed.’

  Then he ignored her as he and the theatre sister began the skin prep and draping procedure.

  Noni shook her head once as if to make the reality of Iain being a doctor soak into her numbed mind. It was too hard. So, she pushed that conundrum aside and concentrated on getting to the scrub sink and back as efficiently as she could before donning a sterile gown and gloves. Every second counted for Aimee’s baby. Her head shook as she scrubbed her fingers and nails and she couldn’t help but mutter as she washed. He’d said he was a stockbroker! Why would he say that if he wasn’t? A pathetic little person in her head whispered, Unless he’s both.

  When she stepped up opposite him, Noni could barely keep track of the speed of his dissection through the abdominal layers. Any lingering doubt that Iain was a skilled surgeon left in that instant, banished for good.

  She took over holding the retractor and received a grateful glance from the scrub sister, who’d been doing two jobs and only just keeping up. ‘You don’t need an assistant. You and Sister are almost at the uterus already.’

  ‘Hold the sucker,’ Iain muttered. ‘I’m ready to pierce the membranes. There’s not much movement here from baby but there might be enough.’ The second anaesthetist and Cathy arrived at the same time and stood by the resuscitation equipment outside the sterile circle.

  At the sudden gush of green-tinged fluid, the raucous sound of the large-wound suction filled the theatre. Noni had expected that the amniotic fluid would show signs of foetal distress and hoped that none of the soiled fluid would cause problems in the baby’s lungs.

  Noni held her breath for the last few seconds as Iain slipped his hand inside the uterus. He dexterously slid the baby’s head out through the narrow opening, unravelled another loop of cord, then quickly drew out the limp, blue body of a baby girl.

  Noni slipped the tiny suction tube into the baby’s mouth in case she took her first breath with a mouth full of the green fluid. Iain clamped and cut the pale cord, and the limp baby was passed swiftly over to Cathy standing beside the table with a sterile drape over her arms so she didn’t unsterilise the surgeon during the handover.

  Noni turned to watch Cathy hurry over to the resuscitation trolley with her precious cargo, the extra anaesthetist close behind. There seemed to be minutes of silence, but must have only been seconds, before a weak cry could be heard above the sound of the oxygen.

  ‘Breathe, Noni.’ Iain’s voice penetrated the slight fogginess of her brain and she sucked in a sudden breath before letting it out.

  ‘Thank you.’ She blinked and concentrated on a few slow breaths and loosening her shoulders until the terrible tension began to ease. Her brain cleared and she looked down at the wound Iain had begun to methodically tidy, and saw he’d already removed the placenta.

  ‘How does the baby look?’ Iain called across to the anaesthetist.

  ‘Remarkably well and alert. No signs of cerebral irritation. They’ll keep an eye on her over in maternity, but I reckon she got off scot-free.’

  Noni and Iain looked at each other and both smiled in relief. Then Noni remembered.

  ‘So. You’re a surgeon!’ Her voice came out carefully expressionless. She glanced at the now lustily crying baby. ‘And a highly skilled one, at that.’

  He didn’t look at her, and appeared to speak to the wound. ‘So it seems. Let’s finish here first, shall we?’

  ‘By all means, Doctor.’ She saw his eyes narrow as she stressed his title. A sudden chill ran down her spine as she realised where they would have been if Iain hadn’t been around as a spare surgeon. But that didn’t excuse his underhandedness – and his lies. ‘I’ll admit you did an incredible job to get that baby out so fast.’ Her look promised more discussion at a different time.

  He shrugged as if to say, I’ll deal with it later. ‘What time did the cord prolapse?’

  Noni glanced at the theatre clock. ‘Seventeen minutes ago.’

  ‘Your very fast work getting her here will have made all the difference. Well done, yourself.’

  The important person who needed to feel the relief was asleep. ‘It must have been terrifying for Aimee,’ she said, feeling almost weak now that the situation was under control.

  It took fifty-five minutes to repair what had taken six minutes to open. But still, the wound was of textbook neatness and the theatre sister caught Noni’s eye as she handed her back an instrument.

  She whispered, ‘He did it in half the time it normally takes. Impressive, eh?’

  ‘I’ll say,’ Noni hissed back.

  ‘Okay, you two. Stop swelling my head.’

  ‘But he’s got really big ears,’ Noni spoke in her normal voice and handed him the dressing to lay over the wound. Iain raised his eyebrows and Noni gazed blandly back.

  He gently placed the dressing over the wound and pressed the adhesive onto the skin and then stepped back. Noni watched him roll his powerful shoulders as if the great man had found some tension of his own.

  ‘I’ll see you at Win’s before class, then.’

  ‘Will you do cricket tonight?’ Noni stared at him hard. He nodded. ‘Thank you. Then I’ll stay until Aimee wakes up and sees her baby.’

  The theatre sister watched them both with avid interest and Noni tried not to notice.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Jacinta

  Jacinta was sitting outside on the swing seat when Harley came out to stand beside her. She patted the seat in invitation.

  He squeezed his little warm body into the small space next to her and she felt the comfort until he pushed the swing so they were rocking. Typical. He wouldn’t be able to stay still. ‘Win said your friend got sick and you needed company.’

  Jacinta looked at the little boy. He always seemed to make her smile, and even now she felt her tension ease. Thanks, Win, she thought gratefully.

  ‘They rang to say her baby is fine, so I’m feeling better,’ she told him, a genuine smile on her face. ‘My friend will get better, too.’

  ‘My mum’s with her.’ This he said as if Jacinta should have known her friend would be all right.

  Jacinta looked down at the small head. ‘Yeah. She’s a good midwife.’

  ‘She’s the best.’ Harley said it as a matter of fact. ‘But your dad’s better as a cricket coach. I hope he gets home soon. I don’t want to be late.’

  Half an hour later her father arrived home. Harley was happy, and her dad gave her a wave as he reversed the car back out again.

  Win came out to sit with her on the adjacent chair. ‘Busy afternoon.’

  ‘Very. I’m guessing Noni is still at work. She stays late a lot, doesn’t she? Don’t you mind
?’

  ‘Why should I mind? I know she does an important job. Harley gets a little cross sometimes, but he understands. She’ll stay late for you, too.’

  ‘I was thinking that.’ She caught Win’s glance and smiled. ‘Thanks for being here, Win. And I’m pretty lucky we came to a house with a midwife, too.’

  ‘Funny how things work out,’ Win said. ‘Like you being there so Kylie wasn’t on her own today when things went silly. I believe chance like that is serendipitous. I trust in the future.’ She stood up. ‘Why don’t you come in and help me set the table? Then we might just have a cup of tea while we wait for the cricketers and Noni to come home.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Noni

  During the rushed meal before classes, both Iain and Noni avoided the conversation that had to come. Trying to address how confused she felt while rushing between places spelled disaster for Noni. Iain seemed content to let it lie. She wondered about that, too.

  No doubt they’d all suffer indigestion with the tension that hung over the table as they finished gobbling before class. Even Win had been quiet. Iain stood to take the plates into the kitchen and motioned for Win to stay seated. It was one of the little things that Noni liked about him. She felt too mentally exhausted to catalogue the things she didn’t like.

  Jacinta didn’t smile as she placed her plate on top of her father’s and stood up to go change for the class. She’d been very quiet since she’d found out Iain had withheld his medical training from them all. Even her.

  ‘Just forget I’m a doctor and treat me like a normal ante natal student tonight.’ The extent of his explanation didn’t begin to address it.

  Noni raised her eyebrows. ‘Even when you’re obviously not normal?’

  ‘Ha-ha.’ Iain tilted his head. ‘Don’t you have to get ready to facilitate?

  Noni considered his comment. She’d called herself a facilitator at their first night. Had he remembered?

  Noni considered the surgeon status in the big picture. It was a shame he wasn’t the desperately needed O&G guy who could save her job. ‘So why did you choose surgery?’

  ‘I really don’t want to talk about it, okay?’ Iain huffed a little and avoided her eyes, then headed off to the kitchen with the plates.

  Noni frowned, looked at her aunt and shrugged. ‘What’s not to talk about? What was wrong with me being interested?’ She hoped later she’d be able to talk about some of her work concerns now that she knew he’d understand. But then again, she was probably kidding herself. A sensible shop talk with Iain didn’t look promising.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Win

  Win watched the byplay and marvelled at the unexpected foolishness of the tall man who’d just left the room. She’d seen the tight-jawed disappointment on Noni’s face and suppressed her sigh. Boy was he going to be in trouble when he came clean. This had been the perfect opportunity to stop lying.

  That was the problem with lies. The exit point needed guts. She hadn’t thought Iain lacked intestinal fortitude, but there you go. Or maybe he was just realising what he might lose.

  She stood up from the table just as the burnished mahogany grandmother clock in the corner began to chime the sixth hour. The melodious chimes made her pause and listen, and almost instantly her mood lifted.

  She saw Noni glance at the golden face of the clock as the lyrical chimes settled over them. Her niece’s shoulders drooped as the tension slipped from her and Win suspected she didn’t even know why she felt better. Win had always been a strong believer in beautiful sounds lifting a person’s frequency and mood. ‘You scoot. I’ll clear the rest of this.’

  Noni lifted her head. ‘Yes. I’d better get a move on. Thanks, Aunt Win.’ She stood up. ‘I’m so lucky to have you.’ She hugged Win, who squeezed her for a second. Then Noni walked out of the dining room and Win heard her run up the stairs to her room.

  Times were certainly interesting. She loved Noni like a daughter; had savoured the growth of the young pregnant woman into a strong and determined woman with a good heart. And that man, Iain McCloud, had better lift his game or Noni would shoot him down to size.

  She wished she could have a good mull over all this with Greg, but he’d only be getting home now from his day of meetings and she wouldn’t disturb him.

  It was strange how the more time she shared with her old friend the more she wanted to spend. It had been a long time since she’d considered sharing her world as much with a man. She had spent most of her life being one of the group, with male and female friends in numbers, not putting herself out there for disappointment.

  Too many years as a spinster. Too many years as the show volunteer who everyone knew. Too many years feeling that she didn’t need a man to make her life with, and aware that short-term relationships in a country town didn’t work.

  Of course she’d had lovers; fun flings in far off places, always away from Burra. She liked things simple; uncomplicated. An affair in town would cause waves in the calm waters she enjoyed. But Greg made her question her rules.

  Maybe she’d look foolish. Win wasn’t so sure she really wanted to catch and hold her man, anyway.

  She thought back to all those years ago when Greg Soams had come to town. Her first sight of him at Sunday tennis; a tanned athletic man in his early thirties, with a delightful sense of humour and a demeanour unlike any doctor she’d ever known. He’d been a breath of fresh air amidst the frisky station boys and pompous medicos, and he and Win had laughed together as they’d teamed up in the mixed doubles competition. Laughed a lot.

  He’d been the one approaching her, and too many times he’d made her belly hurt with mirth. Naturally, she’d been halfway to being in lust with him when Margarite Milson had swooped in and whisked him out of reach.

  As much as she’d disliked the homilies, the atrocious woman had been right. It hadn’t been Win’s forte to be proper, like a doctor’s wife should, and Win had known that. She’d been more the quirky one, the one who played the guitar and wore long skirts and beads off the courts. The one who had travelled to India to live in an ashram for a few months.

  Win had watched Margarite toss her gossamer hair around him, until he’d been trussed tighter than a moth caught in a web. The tragedy being poor Greg had almost suffocated under all that properness. Shame that.

  Win had had a fun life and she wasn’t finished yet.

  The phone rang and she crossed the room to answer. ‘Riverina Guesthouse.’

  ‘Ha. Not the person I need to talk to, but just the person I was hoping to.’

  Win felt the smile twitch her lips. ‘Greg. And I was thinking about you, funnily enough,’ she said calmly. ‘Do you need to talk to Iain?’

  ‘I do. It seems you’ve been having excitement there.’ His words were filled with warmth. ‘And when they all go off to their antenatal class I wondered if I could drop by and share a pot of tea with you.’ His tone held a hint of question. ‘At my meeting today I came up with the brilliant idea of us catching up tonight.’

  She couldn’t keep the smile from her voice. And why should she? ‘The meeting was that good?’

  His voice teased. ‘There was a moment there when I enjoyed it.’

  ‘I’ll get Iain for you,’ Win said. ‘And I’ll put the kettle on when they’re gone.’

  Twenty minutes later Greg’s knock sounded, within seconds of the departure of her guests. She suspected he may have been parked around the corner. The idea made her chuckle.

  Win put the round tin filled with fresh Anzac biscuits on the table, the same ancient tin her mother and grandmother had used for their biscuits out on the farm all those years ago, and went to the door.

  Greg stood there, the streetlight shining on his thinning hair, his smile playful, his lovely brown eyes alight with humour. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes.’

  ‘Come in, flatterer, I have the kettle on.’

  She stood back, but as he passed he stopped, leaned in, and kissed her lips.
His mouth was firm and cool against hers and a little frisson of delight ran through her. Then he pulled back and his eyes danced with mischief and something unexpectedly sexier.

  She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘What was that for?’

  ‘Because I wanted to.’ He stared directly into her face, with a slight challenge.

  She patted his cheek. ‘Live dangerously. That’s my motto.’ Then she shooed him through into the kitchen, pretending it hadn’t affected her at all.

  Greg sat at her table, his shoulders relaxed, his hand under his chin, as he watched her with a slight smile on his face.

  ‘Stop watching me.’

  ‘You give me pleasure.’

  ‘What? Making a pot of tea?’ She shrugged. ‘You always were a cheap shout. Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?’

  Greg laughed and stretched back in his chair as if he were settling in for the night. ‘One-doctor towns don’t really allow for us drinking alcohol, but that doesn’t stop us from admiring the finer things in life.’

  Win put the pot on the table where she’d set two cups in the few seconds she’d had before he knocked. ‘Are you calling me one of the finer things in life, Greg Soames? First time that label’s been applied.’

  ‘A crying oversight, then. You are my finer thing in life.’

  Win raised her brows. ‘Have a biscuit,’ she said as she lifted the lid and slid it under the tin.

  Greg inhaled, and even Win could smell the syrupy scent of the fresh Anzacs rising like mist. ‘Don’t mind if I do. You always were an amazing cook.’

  ‘Really?’ He had compliments aplenty tonight. But then, she was good at anything she enjoyed.

  Greg nodded as he took his first bite with a reverence even Win felt impressed with. He pretended to chew thoughtfully and then rolled his eyes. ‘Truly the best. Are you still judging for the Show Society?’

  She sat down and reached for his cup to pour the tea. ‘Thirty years with the cooking section. And still winning with my flower arrangements every year. In between, there’s my debauchery. You know that.’