Page 52 of Return to the Waratah Inn

“Hey,” he said. “Did you get my message?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for inviting me, but I’m going to take a rain check tonight. I’m a bit under the weather.”

“Did you just use two weather-related metaphors in the space of thirty seconds?” he asked with a chuckle. “What happened to Channel Four’s most promising upcoming journalist?”

They chatted for a few more minutes, but she managed to convince him she’d go out again another time. When she hung up, a sound at the end of the verandah caught her attention—scratching and tapping. She startled and glanced up to see Cocoa the possum wobbling along the handrail of the verandah towards her.

“There you are,” Bindi said, pulling a piece of apple from her pocket. She’d stashed it there earlier in case the possum showed up. Cocoa had been missing since Kate had the baby, and they’d begun to question where she might be.

The possum climbed down to the floor, her tail curling around the supporting beam as she went to hold her steady. Then she put both front paws up on Bindi’s arm and reached for the apple. She held it between her paws and chomped happily. Bindi stroked her soft fur and the possum’s body arched to meet her hand, tail wrapping lovingly around Bindi’s wrist momentarily.

“We’ve been worried about you. Thought you’d given up on us because Kate wasn’t here. I’m glad you came back from whatever adventure you were having.”

She handed the possum another slice of apple and then stood to her feet. The animal took it and continued eating, munching through the slice of sweet, juicy apple at a rapid pace.

“It’s good to see you.” Bindi bent over to run her hand down the length of the possum’s back.

Part of her wanted to go out with her new friends again tonight. But another part of her, deep down inside, didn’t trust herself to keep her distance from Brett. There was something overwhelmingly attractive about the man — he was charismatic, handsome and obviously interested in her. He’d made that abundantly clear. It was the first time since her wedding that she’d had a man flirt so openly with her and she wasn’t sure exactly how to stop it or if she even wanted to.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

December 1953

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 façade 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.