Page 108 of Thursdays at Orange Blossom House
‘What else would it be?’ Dorothy says brightly. ‘I’m not due for three weeks!’
‘Dorothy, babies keep their own calendars,’ Grace Maud says, taking hold of her arm with a grip that is surprisingly strong for a woman her age.
They peer through the café’s windows and see tables without cloths, not enough chairs, a menu on the floor and hardly any natural light.
‘Are you going to change the décor?’ Patricia asks.
‘Frederick didn’t say he wanted to. He said the place would be ready to walk into.’
‘Does that include those strands of garlic hanging from the ceiling?’
Grace Maud nods upwards and Dorothy sees evidence of what this place used to be: an Italian restaurant. That’s when she notices the red-and-white checked curtains and the empty bottles of Chianti with candles in them. Terrific. None of that will be appropriate for their place. Frederick has never met a pasta sauce he likes.
Dorothy gasps as a stronger twinge – something that could be classified as closer to being pain – hits her. ‘Oh.Oh.’
Grace Maud tugs on her arm. ‘Right, back in the car. Port Douglas is lovely and I’m sure Frederick will make a success of it here. But there’s no hospital so we’re going to Cairns right now.’
‘But it’s only a little pain. We don’t have to go back yet. We’re going to have morning tea!’ Dorothy wails, not ready to let go of her idea of a lovely morning despite the reality that is crashing into it.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Grace Maud orders. ‘You’re in labour. Get in the car.’
‘Labour?’ That can’t be right.
‘What do you think is going on?’ Grace Maud almost pushes her into the back seat.
‘Really?’ Patricia says, still standing on the footpath.
‘Well, I’m not prepared to take the chance that it’s not,’ Grace Maud says. ‘Are you? The hospital is an hour that way.’ She nods to the south. ‘I recommend we leave now.’
‘Um … right. Yes. I see.’ Patricia scurries to the driver’s side and yanks open the door.
In the back seat Dorothy squirms as another pain arrives. ‘I’m sure this is nothing,’ she pants. ‘Just muscular.’
‘You’re right – itismuscular,’ Grace Maud says as Patricia makes a quick U-turn. ‘It’s your muscles getting ready to give birth.’
‘ButI’mnot ready!’ Dorothy wails.
‘No one ever is, darling.’ Grace Maud turns around to smile at her. ‘You’ll be fine.’
Dorothy tries to remember all the breathing they practised in class, more to distract herself than anything. Sandrine told her that focusing on her breathing could help her to not panic, and that panic is the thing to avoid because it delays the labour – something about primal responses and panic meaning the body believes there’s a predator nearby and so will slow down the labour. Which is all very well in theory, but now the baby might actually be about to arrive, and it’s three weeks early and she’s not with Frederick, and she’s never done this before – and what if it’s really three weeks early and that means something’s wrong? Maybe it will be too early for the baby to survive and she’s going to lose another one. But she can’t lose another one. She just can’t. Not after having it inside her for so long, and talking to it and loving it and dreaming about it. And she’s meant to be breathing slowly and not holding her breath, but she can’t help it because her thoughts are racing now and she can’t think about breathing and also think her thoughts and try to work out what’s going on and—
‘You’re going to pass out if you keep hyperventilating like that,’ Grace Maud says.
‘What?’ Dorothy shrieks. Not that it’s reasonable to shriek, but she really can’t help it.
‘I can hear you panting.’
‘I’m not! I’m doing the slow breathing like Sandrine said!’
Patricia laughs nervously. ‘No, Dorothy, you’re panting.’
‘Just count your breathing.’ Grace Maud swivels her head so she’s looking her in the eye. ‘Four counts in, four counts out. Don’t try to breathe deeply because you can’t – there’s a baby in the way. Just count.’
Dorothy nods and closes her eyes.In-two-three-four. Out-two-three-four. In-two—
‘Aaaaahhh!’ she cries, pain shooting up her sides.
‘Count,’ Grace Maud orders, but Dorothy sees her glance at Patricia.
