Page 36 of Return to the Waratah Inn

They made small talk while their order was prepared. Then the waitress delivered two cups of tea and a scone with jam and cream for them to share. Tilda sliced the scone open and slathered her half with jam, dolloped on some cream, and pushed the plate towards Mima. With deliberate care, Mima did the same, and took a bite of the pastry as she waited for Tilda to finally share what she’d run after Mima to discuss.

Mima’s stomach was still clenched in a knot. She picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. It was hot and pungent, just how she liked it.

She studied Tilda. “Okay, I’ve been patient. Why did you run after me? What do you want to talk about?”

Tilda released a deep breath with a pained expression on her thin face. “I’m concerned.”

“About?”

“About you, of course,” Tilda said, exasperation lining her features. “Where will you go? What will you do now? You’re…” She glanced around the café and lowered her voice. “Expecting…”

“I know, Tilda. And thanks to you, I’ve lost my job and my home. I thought you were my friend but I suppose I was wrong.”

Tilda crossed her arms. “We are friends. That’s why I had to speak up. You couldn’t keep that from the hospital, you know. And they’d blame me…”

“Always looking out for yourself. I don’t know why I’m surprised—I shouldn’t be. It’s what you do.” Mima spat the words, feeling briefly satisfied at letting loose. After months of trying to win over her coldhearted roommate, she was finally done.

Tilda straightened her spine and tilted her chin. “You should be nicer to me. I’m your only ally.”

“Some kind of ally.” Mima’s temperature rose. “I wish you’d rack off.” How dare Tilda call herself an ally, a friend, after what she’d done. A real friend like Edie would rather walk over broken glass than hurt Mima. Tears smarted in her eyes but she held them back. If only Edie were there now.

“I’ve arranged for you to have a place to stay. Not that you deserve it, with a tongue like that.” Tilda stood to her feet and looked down her nose. “I hope you learn to be more grateful.”

“What place to stay? Where?”

The café door opened. A small bell trilled over it, announcing new patrons. Two police officers strutted into the facility. They wore woollen navy-blue uniforms buttoned down the front and with shoulder straps. Their caps sat jauntily on shorn heads, and their eyes were lively as they scanned the room.

Tilda glanced at them, then faced Mima with a look of pity. “I dare say experience is the best teacher. Goodbye, Jemima Everest.”

As she walked away, she gave a nod to the police officers, who dipped their hats to her in response. Mima watched her go, feeling utterly confused. What was that all about? What did she mean? If she intended to simply insult Mima and walk away, why had she chased her down? And what was all that about finding her a place to stay? She hadn’t said a further word about it.

The officers approached Mima’s table. She shifted her attention to them, curious but still mulling over the words spoken by her former roommate, who had retreated up the street towards the hospital with a ramrod-straight back.

“Miss Everest? Miss Jemima Everest?” one of the officers asked. He had a ginger moustache that twitched as he spoke. His hazel eyes were cold.

She nodded. “Yes. How can I help you, Officer?”

He was behind her in a flash, pulling hard on her arm. “I am arresting you under the Vagrancy Act for having no visible lawful means of support and for being in moral danger of falling into a life of crime.”

“What? What do you mean? I’m not a vagrant!” Mima tried to struggle free from the officer’s grasp, but the second officer stepped up and held her fast.

“Don’t struggle, Miss,” he said. “We don’t want to hurt you in your state.”

Mima’s heart was in her throat. A flood of panic washed over her. She felt lightheaded. This couldn’t be happening. Tilda had turned her into the police—there was no other explanation for it.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as they pushed her out of the café.

“Hey! Who’s paying for the tea and scones?” the waitress cried after them.

The police ignored the waitress and bustled Mima along the street to their waiting FJ Holden with the words POLICE printed on a sign above the windscreen. A single loudspeaker sat mounted above the left headlight. Mima had never been in trouble with the police before. Her heart sank, and suddenly she thought she might throw up. But she countered the urge with a smile. She needed to think clearly. Perhaps she could talk her way out of this. She was good with words. Everyone had always said so.

“I’m sorry, Officers, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” she began in as sweet a voice as she could muster.

“No mistake. Watch ya head.” One of the officers pushed down on her crown. She collapsed onto the seat in the back of the vehicle.

“I’m not a vagrant. I’m perfectly fine, in fact. I was let go from my job today—that’s true. But I’ll find another one in no time. I’m a midwife, you see.”

“Who’s going to hire a single pregnant woman?” the officer asked pointedly, staring at her with one eyebrow quirked. “That’s right, no one,” he said without hearing a response. “Now, co-operate or it’ll go badly for ya, miss.”