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 needs 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.’
Mum’s head jerked up from the sofa, and she looked around, her eyes streaming tears. ‘Is she okay? Is she alright?’
I let go of Mum’s hand and looked over at Ness, who was holding something in her hands. It was a tiny, squirmy baby, all encased in a white bubble, just like Mika had been.
‘The sac is still together,’ she said. ‘It’s amazing. I’ve never seen that happen before. But she looks perfect.’
Mum turned around and sank onto the floor, which were covered with the sheets I’d found. She was still crying, but her face was happy and her arms were out for her baby, and she didn’t even seem to mind the mess that was surrounding her. Goo, bits of snot-looking stuff, and some blood. I raised my eyebrows at it, but Ness didn’t seem worried, so I figured it must be normal.
Ness turned to me. ‘We’ll need towels. Can you get some?’
‘Okay.’ I skipped towards the door, and then looked back. Mum was hugging the baby. And I was surprised for what may have been the seven hundred and fifty-fourth time that day. Instead of feeling angry about it, I felt happy. And then, I started to cry. With joy.