Then I stopped grinning, because there in the shelter, in front of me, was Cupcake. She was damp, she was restless, and she was the only horse I had to ride. In the dark. Through a storm. Over a creek. To rescue my mum from potentially dying.
I made a face and my tummy felt ill. My brain clammed up with panic, and all I could see was Rob the ambo guy after I came off Cupcake, his face filling my vision, asking me if I was okay. A disgusting taste came into the back of my throat and I swallowed it down. Hard.
I was going to have to do this.
I pushed Rob and his questions down somewhere where I couldn’t see him, and wrestled a picture of Mum into my head instead.
I have faith in you, Charlie. You’re A-OK.
‘Yes, I am,’ I said to myself. And then I said to Cupcake, but more quietly. ‘And so are you.’ I took a deep breath in and let it out steadily, calming the twitch in my arms and the shake in my legs. I put out my hand to her nose and gave her a pat. ‘We have to ride, Cupcake. We’re going to be fine. You’re going to be able to do this.’
She nuzzled my hand and I pulled some feed out of a sack, staying calm and quiet as I did. Little Mika watched me with her big, brown eyes from the back of the shelter. Both she and Fozzles were resting quietly on the straw. I gave her a pat and blew Fozzles a kiss. ‘See you guys soon.’
I pulled a saddle and a bridle onto Cupcake, adjusted the girth and swung myself up onto her back, ducking my head at the top of the shelter.
Cupcake didn’t like the rain. She also didn’t like the wind, the dark, and the fact I was riding her. But I was calm and strong and put my hand on her neck to reassure her.
I have faith in you, Charlie.
‘I have faith in you too, Cupcake,’ I said loudly, so she could hear me over the noise of the storm. ‘Walk on.’
We walked for a while, just to get Cupcake used to the idea that we were going outside in the worst weather she’d possibly ever seen in her life, then I pressed my legs against her to get her to break into a run. As her pace increased, so did the amount of water hitting my face and running down my neck into my clothes. The only thing Dad’s jacket was good for was keeping me reasonably warm in the midst of the wind and rain. Cupcake wasn’t that warm, unfortunately, so I got her to run a bit more to keep her from freezing. We trotted, then cantered down to the bottom of the property, and then I saw it.
The creek.
I knew it would be higher. I didn’t realise it would be a mini-river, with brown waves, swirling white edges and a noise that almost drowned out the sound of the rain splattering on my ears.
This isn’t good.
I have faith in you, Charlie.
‘I have faith in you, too, Cupcake,’ I said, and urged her on towards the creek.
She stopped, just before the edge of the water, turning her head towards me, crossly. I could almost hear her words to me. ‘Really? This? I thought we were friends now.’
‘We have to. Mum needs us.’ I leant down over her neck and hugged her, a big drippy hug. ‘Please?’
She wouldn’t move. She didn’t go backwards, which was good, but she didn’t go forwards either. Instead she was trying to turn away, walking on the spot. I heard Coco’s voice in my ear. ‘She hates the creek.’ And then I realised this was not going to happen. Not without something special from me.
‘Okay, if that’s the way you want it.’ I slid off her back, down to the muddy ground. ‘Oh!’ I said, as my boot shot through the slush. ‘Whew.’ I found my footing again.
If Cupcake wouldn’t be ridden through the creek, she would have to walk with me. I shut out Dad’s warnings about rushing water and focused on Mum, alone in the house, crying in pain. I gathered the reins up into my hand, hung on tightly, and shone my flashlight a couple of metres downstream to where I knew the creek bed was flatter. That was where we would cross.
‘Ugh,’ I shuddered as the water filled my boots and found its way up into my jeans. Now I was getting wet from both ends. ‘Ugh, ugh, ugh.’ I tried to keep my voice down and my breath steady, to calm Cupcake. ‘Come on, girl,’ I said carefully, and pulled firmly at her reins. ‘You just have to. There are no options.’
It was true. If Cupcake didn’t do this, Mum might not get help in time, and then, who knew what might happen? Maybe she’d be fine. People have babies all the time and they’re fine. But sometimes they’re not. And maybe, this time Mum wouldn’t be. I gripped the reins tighter and pulled again. I wasn’t going to be able to live with myself if she wasn’t.
Cupcake moved. She took a step into the water with me, then she took another. I pressed on, walking further out into the rushing stream, pulling her along behind me. ‘We’re doing this,’ I said firmly, trying to stop myself from jumping with joy. Even though I’d told her to follow me, I was surprised it was actually working. Cupcake was tentative, but she trusted me, and followed along.
The part of the stream I’d chosen to cross was wider and shallower than other parts, but even so, as we reached the middle, the current was torrential. Each step I took had to be deliberate and each foot had to be firmly placed. I looked back to see if Cupcake was wobbling like I was, but she looked firm.
‘Good girl,’ I said, but I shouldn’t have. By shifting my concentration, I lost my footing. ‘Wo-oh!’ My body was shifting, turning in the direction of the current, and I felt like I was going to fall … until Cupcake’s nose caught my flailing arm. I grabbed her bridle out of instinct and steadied myself, my heart beating crazy-fast.
‘Thank you,’ I said, when I was upright and my breath had slowed down. ‘You got me.’ But then I was surprised again. Cupcake walked on, so that she was by my side, but on the downstream side. If I fell again, I’d fall right into her. I wouldn’t get taken away by the water. I put my hand up to support myself against her bridle and she took the weight without even a shake.
‘Thank you,’ I said again, when our final step was onto firm ground again and the creek was behind us. I stopped and pressed my forehead against hers. ‘I … I mean, I—’ Nothing came out. I knew what I wanted to say, but I knew that if I said it, I’d break down. It would have to wait. Because we still had to get to Ness’s place.
I swung back up onto Cupcake’s back, ignoring the water pouring out of my boots, and the fact that everything I was wearing, even my undies, was wet through. ‘Canter,’ I said to Cupcake, and she took off like a rocket. We both knew the path; we’d ridden this way hundreds of times, and we both wanted to get to Ness as quickly as we could.
When we found the driveway, Cupcake’s hooves clattered on the gravel. Ness might even be able to hear us coming, I thought. Every little bit of time helps.
As we rounded the bend towards the house, I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘The lights are on,’ I shouted over the noise. ‘She’s got power.’
From that point, it was a blur. We reached the house, Ness came running out, followed by Tessa and James and I slid off Cupcake so fast they almost had to catch me. I said some incomprehensible things about babies and power and phones and ambulances, and somehow, someone understood me enough to find a phone that worked and call the hospital.
‘How many weeks is she?’ Ness asked me, all cold and shivery and dripping all over the floor, mid-conversation to the emergency line.
‘Weeks?’ I must have looked blank because Ness looked impatient.
‘When’s the baby due?’
‘Oh. Um, next month, I think.’ My mouth hardly worked, I was so shivering so much.
‘Get her a towel,’ mouthed Ness to Tessa, and to me, ‘Change your clothes.’
I shook my head. Changing clothes and getting dry would take time. I needed to get back to Mum as soon as I could. The ambulance might take forty-five minutes to get to her in this weather, down our drive, even if it left straight away, but riding back would only take twenty. ‘I’m going home.’
Ness hung up the phone and stared at me. ‘On horseback? No way. James, get me a pile of towels, a pair of scissors and t
he first aid kit. Tessa, you ring Charlie’s dad and tell them what’s going on, and then take Cupcake to the stables and look after her. Charlie, you and I are getting into the car right now.’
I dropped the towel and went to move but she scolded me. ‘Bring that.’ She pointed to the towel. ‘And the ones James is getting too. You may be some kind of rescue-angel-slash-superhero-storm-goddess, but I’m not letting you get pneumonia on my watch.’
22
Chapter 22
It’s just as well Ness wasn’t fussy about the seat covers in her four wheel drive, or she might never have been my friend again. I squished mud all over everything when I got in her car, but neither of us really noticed. We were way more focused on squinting at the road through the windscreen wipers, which were panting their little hearts out, trying to keep up with the ferocity of the storm.
‘We had our power go out,’ I said. ‘And the phones didn’t work.’
‘Our mobiles went too.’ Ness’s face was grim with concentration as she steered the car up the slippery dirt road. ‘I think it was a lightning strike on the phone tower. But I’ve got a land line with one of those old style phones. The tower doesn’t affect them.’
‘It’s been a surprising day,’ I said, which made Ness chuckle. We turned onto the main road and sped down the bitumen, the fastest bit of the trip.
‘Two minutes till we turn, and then, maybe ten minutes down the drive?’ she said. ‘We’ll be there soon.’ She glanced at my hands and I looked at them too, to see clenched fingers and white knuckles. ‘How the heck did you get Cupcake across that creek?’
I laughed, but it sounded jangled and weird in my ears. Nerves, probably. ‘I have no idea. I just knew we couldn’t go back.’
‘Here’s the turn.’ The car slid slightly in the mud as we headed onto our driveway. ‘It’s okay. I’ve got low range.’ She pulled the gear shifter down and across, and the engine moved into a low growl as we began to bump down the steep part of the drive. ‘How high is the water that goes across the driveway lower down, do you think?’
‘Mum said Dad put a causeway in. I don’t know if it will work in this kind of weather, though.’
Ness twisted her mouth, breathed in and out, and looked ahead again. ‘We may have to take her to the hospital ourselves. Or even just meet the ambulance at the top of the drive. I don’t know if it’s going to make it down here.’
Fear gripped my stomach and I pushed it away. ‘She’ll be okay, right?’
‘No worrying. It doesn’t help. Let’s just get there and do what we have to do.’
‘What will we have to do?’ My voice sounded like a thin wail in the darkness, but the only reply was the sound of the rain and the wind, battering the outside of the car.
Exactly thirty-seven minutes after I left the house, dry and scared, I entered it again, still scared, but now totally soaked.
‘Now you have to get changed,’ said Ness as she shook off her rain jacket at the door.
‘Takes up time. I want to see Mum first.’
But Ness wasn’t having any arguments. ‘It’s more dangerous for your mum if you’re hanging around, all wet and germy, and for the baby too.’
A sudden picture of Mika flashed into my brain, snuggled warm and dry on the straw in the shelter. ‘Okay. I’ll do it now.’
I ran down the hall into my room, where I tore off the wet gear, all clammy and clinging to me, dried myself as quickly as possible with a towel I found on the floor, then pulled on whatever came out of my cupboard first—a t-shirt, a pair of track pants, and some kind of jacket thing that Josh had grown out of. I pulled my wet hair into a ponytail and towelled off some stray drips around my face, then raced back down the hall to the lounge room, where I came to a screeching stop outside the door.
I’d told Ness it had been a surprising day, and here was another surprise. Not necessarily a good one, either. There was noise inside. Specifically, a lot of groaning. Also, some screaming, panting and grunting.
My eyes went wide. Was Mum dying? I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out.
I pushed the door open slowly and quietly. Maybe this would be the last time I saw Mum. I didn’t know if I was ready for it. Had my rescue mission not worked? Maybe I’d ridden through the rain and crossed the stream for nothing. I looked up at the clock on the wall. Would the ambulance ever get here?
‘Mu-um?’ My voice choked up as I stepped into the room. Was I going to lose it now, right when she needed me most?
‘Oh, good, Charlie, it’s you.’ Ness’s voice was straightforward, cheerful and loud. Just like normal. Her face was normal too; she turned towards me with a smile.
My eyebrows went up. How could she be happy at a time like this? Behind her, Mum was kneeling on the floor, her face pressed into the sofa. She groaned again.
‘Mum?’ I swallowed. Maybe, if the baby wasn’t killing her, she’d die of suffocation.
‘She’s fine,’ said Ness, grinning. ‘But it looks like she’s going to have this baby. Right here, right now.’
Mum groaned again and shifted position. Ness looked back at her and gave her a pat on the back.
‘What about the ambulance?’ My words weren’t much more than a splutter—a tiny drop of spit with each syllable.
‘They’ve been called.’ Ness shrugged. ‘They’ll get here when they get here. We could try to get her in the car now and take her ourselves, but I think we’ll be delivering a baby in the rain on the side of the drive if we do that.’
My face must have looked like it was hit with a wet fish because she laughed. ‘My thoughts exactly. We stay here, warm and dry. We pray a little. And we do what needs to be done.’
I hadn’t thought about praying before but it suddenly seemed like an excellent idea. Dear God. That’s my mother over there. Don’t let her die. I need her. Do you have to say ‘Amen’ at the end? The question crossed my mind but I didn’t have time to think about it. I figured God could take care of those kinds of details. The important thing was Mum. And her staying alive.
There was another groan from the sofa. My stomach dropped.
‘What do I do?’ I asked Ness, who was kneeling down next to Mum. ‘I need to do something.’
She stood up and surveyed the room. ‘We need something on the floor. A tarp. Or a big sheet of plastic, or even just towels. We need hot water. We need a drink for your Mum.’ I rushed towards the door. ‘And after that, you can come hold her hand and tell her she’s going to be okay.’
I’m a girl who does my best when I’ve got something to do. Give me a job, give me a task and I’ll get it done for you. Charlie Franks delivers. It’s what Mum always said about me. ‘Charlie will get it done.’
I have faith in you.
So I did it. I found two old waterproof sheets Mum must have kept from the days when Josh (not me!) used to wet his bed, and spread them out on the floor under her. I put the biggest pot of water I could find on the BBQ plate and lit the burner. I filled a glass, then threw it down the sink, and filled a water bottle instead, for Mum to sip from. No point having more water spilling; there was quite enough outside already. Then I sat myself next to Mum and held her hand.
The groaning was terrible, and it wasn’t cool to hear Mum scream, but Ness’s face was telling me things were good, despite how it sounded.
‘You don’t have long to go,’ she said. ‘You’re nearly fully dilated.’
‘Dilated?’ I asked.
‘You probably don’t want to know,’ said Mum in a grunt. It was the first time she’d spoken to me, although she had gripped my hand enough for me to know that she knew I was there.
‘Don’t tell her that,’ said Ness. ‘She needs to know.’ She grinned at me while Mum groaned again. ‘Imagine you pulling on a tight long necked polo shirt.’
I made a face. ‘I hate those.’
‘You push your head into the neck hole, and it’s all tight for a bit, then you think you’ll never breathe again, but suddenly, it’s as wide as it ne
eds to be for your head to slip out.’
I nodded.
‘Your baby sister’s head is pushing down, out of your mum. Being dilated means that where she’s coming out of is now wide enough for her.’
‘Oh.’ I had no other words. Whereas Coco would have screamed or made a face, or been grossed out in some other kind of way, I didn’t feel any disgust at all. There was still a little bit of fear buried somewhere deep, but mostly I was interested.
‘Is it like a foal, where the hooves are first? Do you see the hands come out?’
Mum groaned. ‘Better not be.’
Ness laughed. ‘Normal presentation is head first. That’s what you want for a good birth. Bum first is bad. And I can’t imagine feet or hands first.’
‘Is sh— I mean, this one, head first?’
‘We’ll find out in a minute, I think.’
Mum groaned and yelled a few more times while Ness and I sat and waited, me rubbing Mum’s hands and Ness stroking her back. Then it happened.
‘I can see hair,’ said Ness. She put her face up close to Mum’s. ‘Your baby is crowning, and she’s got the most beautiful head of hair.’
Mum’s mouth formed a perfect O shape and she turned her head towards me. I saw two tears run down her cheeks in perfect unison, and for some unknown reason, I choked up as well.
‘Are you going to be ready to push?’ asked Ness. ‘On the next contraction, okay?’
Mum closed her eyes, then, when her mouth grimaced up, she held her breath, gripped my hand harder than it had ever been gripped before, and strained down so hard I thought she might pop.
‘That’s great,’ said Ness. ‘You’re doing really well. Another one now.’
Again, Mum strained down. Her fingernails clenched my hand so hard I nearly had to stifle a yell. I was sure there would be blood spots when I opened my palm, but she wasn’t letting go anytime soon. A third time and then a fourth, she shut her eyes and pushed and pushed.
Then, on the fifth massive push, just when I thought my hand was about to fall off my wrist, there was a shout from Ness. ‘You did it. She’s here.’
Charlie Franks is A-OK Page 14
