Page 8 of Special Delivery
Above the door, the cheap plastic clock ticked loudly. Poppy wondered how long she’d be here. Would anyone notice she was missing? Certainly no-one would know if she didn’t make it home tonight. She was a wolf pack of one. The realisation sunk her deeper into the starchy mattress. She suddenly craved a double espresso and a shot of whisky. She wished she’d never met Patrick and his stupid sperm-filled penis.
Wenda burst back through the door, looking livid. ‘That silly man has flooded the engine and now I have to go andget him! I told him he should have left earlier—or later—and did he listen?’ She groaned, exasperated. ‘I’m so sorry, pet, but I have to go.’
‘Wh-what?’ stammered Poppy.
‘My husband! Stuck in the storm. Tried to drive through a flooded causeway and now the engine’s cut out. He’s stuck out there, forty k from Bathurst, and roadside assistance can’t get there for four hours because they’re dealing with real problems, not idiot men who’ve decided to take stupid risks. He could have got himself killed!’ She spun around the room, dragging the CTG machine to the power point and piling towels on the end of the bed. ‘One of my colleagues will take over. They’re all lovely, I promise, and they will take good care of you, Poppy. This stuff actually happens all the time.’ She gave a dry laugh. ‘You can never tell when a life disaster and a labouring mother will appear at the same time. I wish I could stay here, pet, but I promise you’re in safe hands.’ She wrapped Poppy in a quick hug and then she was gone.
The door swung shut behind her, muffling the beeps and chatter from outside, cocooning Poppy in silence. What now? The windowless room felt smaller than it had moments before. The white bed was a lonely island on the linoleum and Poppy was stranded. Patrick had walked out without a second glance too. There was a discomfiting pattern emerging here.
‘Incoming,’ called a man in scrubs, pushing the door open with his butt as he reversed into the room. He was wheeling a trolley laden with medical paraphernalia. As he straightened up, back still towards her, Poppy got an eyeful of his thick, dark blond hair.
‘You?’ she cried, pointing at him with an accusing finger. ‘What areyoudoing here?’
‘I work here,’ said the Ken doll, gesturing to his scrubs. ‘I’m here to take over from Wenda. I’m the midwife.’
‘The what?’ cried Poppy. ‘But you’re aman! A fully grown man!’ She waved her hands at his torso. ‘You cannot be my midwife.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Iamyour midwife. My name is James.’
‘No, no, no.’ Poppy shook her head. ‘That’s not possible. You go away and I’ll have the baby when Wenda gets back.’
‘You’ll hold it in?’ he asked, his eyes showing the faintest glimmer of amusement.
Poppy seethed. How dare he almost-laugh at her? ‘I have been practising my Kegels religiously, so you bet I’ll hold it in.’ She glared at him. ‘You can go now.’
‘I can’t actually.’ James started moving around the room, pulling things off his trolley and plugging monitors into power points. ‘I need to put that on.’ He pointed at the CTG machine that he’d moved up next to her bed. ‘It’ll be difficult if you’re not cooperating.’
Poppy glanced down at her dress. He clearly needed to get under there to put the monitor on.Fuuuuuck! This day!
‘You could change first,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘Where’s your hospital bag?’
‘My what?’ Poppy asked. She had the distinct impression this guy thought she was thick.
‘Your hospital bag. You know, with pyjamas, toothbrush, clothes for the baby.’
A sweet arrow of relief shot through Poppy. Mercifully, thankfully,gloriously, she’d packed her hospital bag last week and it had been sitting in the boot of the LandCruiser ever since.
‘It’s in my car. I’ll go get it!’
‘I’m not sure about that, ma’am. The weather is pretty crazy out there. I’ll organise someone to get it for you.’
Poppy bristled. ‘First’—she jabbed a finger at his face—‘donotcall me ma’am. I am not a hundred years old. My name is Poppy. And second, I will do what I want.’
Poppy heaved herself off the bed and marched out of the room.
By the time she reached the main entrance of the hospital, she was sincerely regretting her stubbornness. It was bucketing down. The trees in the distance swayed like drunken clubbers, their leaves being dashed to the ground. Tentatively, she stepped out under the portico and felt the rush of cold air fall damp on her skin. Another twinge of pain spasmed up her back. Of course he would trap her into doing this with his evil reverse psychology. What an absolute dick! Flexing her toes in her Birkenstocks for better grip, Poppy braced for the inevitable.
The rain was hammering down and she could hardly jog for the tension in her lower back. By the time she reached the LandCruiser, she was soaked to the bone. Her hair was plastered to her neck and her skin was covered in goosebumps. She quickly opened the boot, grabbed her bag and turned to head back, when one of her shoes came loose and ricocheted under the car. Poppy’s head roared.DAMN IT!As torrents ofrain attacked her, she crouched next to the wheel and tried in vain to reach her shoe.
‘WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!’ roared a voice behind her. ‘Quick! Take this!’ It was evil-Ken-doll-James, shoving an umbrella into her hand. He flattened himself onto the tarmac and slid under the chassis to retrieve her shoe. ‘Now, move!’ he commanded, standing up. ‘Let’s go!’
He was still fuming as they re-entered the hospital. ‘What were you thinking?! You could have slipped and hurt yourself. Not to mention the baby!’
‘I was being careful,’ Poppy snapped angrily.
‘Is that how your shoe ended up under the car?’ He was as wet as her. His scrubs were clinging to his shoulders and thighs, and his hair was slick with moisture.
‘That was an accident.’
