From the Ashes

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘I just want it out,’ Carol interrupted. ‘Out and gone. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  Bev asked, ‘You’ve signed papers, haven’t you?’

  Carol nodded.

  ‘Do the new parents know . . . well . . . how you got in the family way?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. Matron did all the arranging. I didn’t want to talk to them. I still don’t. They can just have it.’

  They all stared at her. She sounded like she hated her poor little baby. Pauline wondered if maybe she did.

  Her own baby dropped over the next few days, and what an odd feeling it was when it had settled, though at least she could breathe better now. Whenever the baby moved she could feel it in her bum and fanny, and also, unfortunately, even more in her bladder. Half her time now was spent in the loo. She already wasted enough time in there as it was, trying to crap, but it didn’t matter how many stewed prunes she ate her bowel seemed to have gone on strike. Sister Atwood said the baby was pressing on it, and had given her some senna tea to try. She was supposed to have one small cup at night before bed, but she’d sniffed the leaves in the packet and they smelt so disgusting she hadn’t had any yet.

  She was moaning and whingeing about feeling bloated to Nancy one afternoon, while Nancy was fiddling around giving her a new hairstyle, when Carol came back from the bathroom saying her waters had broken.

  ‘Shit,’ Nancy said, alarmed, ‘that’s a bit early, isn’t it?’

  ‘Three weeks,’ Carol said.

  Pauline asked, ‘Have you told a nurse?’

  ‘No.’

  Nancy handed Pauline the comb. ‘Well, for God’s sake, sit down. I’ll go and get someone.’

  Pauline lit a smoke and offered it to Carol.

  ‘No, thanks, I feel a bit sick.’

  ‘Are you not having any pains?’ Pauline said, smoking the cigarette herself.

  ‘I am, but they’re not bad ones.’

  ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

  Carol shrugged.

  Nancy came charging back with Sister Gordon right behind her.

  ‘Nancy says your waters have broken. Is that true?’ Sister Gordon demanded.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Well, what was it like?’

  ‘Water.’

  Sister Gordon looked like she was about to lose her temper, but that wasn’t unusual. ‘What colour was it?’

  ‘A bit pinky.’

  ‘Was there meconium in it?’

  ‘I don’t know. What’s meconium?’

  ‘Baby’s first bowel motion.’

  Nancy and Pauline looked at each other and made disgusted faces.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘And this was in the bathroom?’

  Carol nodded.

  ‘Did you clean it up?’

  ‘No.’

  Sister Gordon helped Carol heave herself out of the chair. ‘It’s off to the delivery suite for you, I think. And you two can go and sort out the mess in the bathroom.’

  ‘Like hell,’ Pauline exclaimed. ‘I’m not cleaning up someone else’s baby water!’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told, young lady!’ Sister Gordon said over her shoulder as she led Carol away. Nancy and Pauline stayed where they were.

  When Bev appeared a few minutes later, she asked, ‘What’s going on? I just heard Carol’s baby’s started.’

  ‘It has,’ Pauline told her.

  ‘It’s a bit early, isn’t it?’

  Nancy said, ‘That’s what I said.’

  ‘We’re supposed to be cleaning up the mess she made in the bathroom,’ Pauline remarked, lighting another smoke. ‘That’s where her waters broke.’

  ‘Well, why aren’t you?’

  ‘We don’t want to.’

  Bev snorted. ‘Oh, grow up, the pair of you.’

  ‘No one orders me around, ’specially not Grumpy Gordon,’ Pauline said.

  ‘Then why don’t you do it for Carol, as a favour? How much fun do you think she’s having right now? How much fun do you think this whole bloody thing’s been for her? Come on, let’s get the bucket and mop. It won’t take us long.’

  Grumbling, Pauline and Nancy got up and they all took turns swishing water and disinfectant around the bathroom floor, pulling the mop through the ringer in the bucket, then drying the floor with rags under their feet. There was no news about Carol and they didn’t expect there would be for some time. Apparently first deliveries could take ages. Afternoon tea came and went (malt biscuits), then so did supper (cheese and parsley omelettes), and by bedtime they knew she wouldn’t be back that night.

  Pauline changed into her nightie and sat on the side of her bed, eyeing her bulbous stomach with distaste. ‘I feel disgusting,’ she announced.

  ‘You’re not that big,’ Bev said. ‘I’m bigger than you and you’re due before me.’

  ‘It’s not just my belly. I’ve got hideous stretch marks, my belly button’s popped out, my nips have gone all huge and dark, and my arse won’t work and it really hurts.’

  Nancy laughed. ‘Your arse does?’

  ‘Mmm.’ Pauline felt her face redden. This was so embarrassing. ‘I think something might be wrong. It’s got these lumpy things on it.’

  Bev shrieked. ‘You’ve got piles.’

  Giggling like mad, Nancy said, ‘You get them from straining on the loo. It’s sort of like the inside of your bum’s falling out.’

  Pauline was horrified. ‘Will they go away? How do I get rid of them?’

  ‘I think you just have to stop being constipated. And ask Sister Atwood for some pile ointment.’

  Immediately, Pauline opened her bedside drawer, got out the little packet of senna tea and made herself a cup in the kitchenette. It really was foul, but she drank a second cup just to make sure.

  In bed she tried to read a book, but couldn’t focus. Nancy and Bev were also reading, magazines propped against their bellies.

  Interrupting them, she asked, ‘Have you ever thought you might want to keep your babies?’

  Both girls looked at her.

  ‘No,’ Bev said. ‘What’s brought this on?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Nancy said, ‘I haven’t, either. My parents would kill me if I went back home with a baby. It was shameful enough for them with me having to leave town. Everyone knows what that means.’

  ‘Have you thought about it?’ Bev asked.

  ‘No,’ Pauline replied.

  ‘Then why ask?’

  ‘I was just wondering.’

  Nancy frowned. ‘You’ve signed the adoption papers anyway, haven’t you?’

  ‘Last week,’ Pauline said, then looked back at her book. She didn’t want to talk any more: she’d asked her question and got her answers.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Auckland, December 1956

  Three weeks before Christmas Allie and Sonny went round to visit Gina and Awhi. It would be Gina’s first Christmas without her mother and Sonny wasn’t happy about it. Allie, though, felt a little differently.

  ‘I don’t think it matters whether it’s Easter or Christmas or St Patrick’s Day or whichever holiday to Gina,’ she said to Sonny in the truck on the way over. ‘When you’re little, holidays are just about presents and food. I think she probably misses Polly every day.’

  ‘I don’t see why she should. She never saw Polly every day.’

  ‘Well, you know what I mean. She must wonder where she is, why she hasn’t been to see her.’

  ‘I think Mum’s told her she’s gone away.’

  ‘That’s not very helpful, is it?’

  ‘What’s she supposed to tell her? Polly has gone away.’

  ‘I can’t believe no one’s got a clue where she is.’

  ‘I can,’ Sonny said. ‘She was always the best at hide and seek when we were kids at Okahu Bay. Once she hid for two days. She was up on the church roof.’

  ‘She’s been gone longer than two days, though, this time, hasn�
��t she?’

  Sonny said nothing. On Kitemoana Street he parked outside his mother’s place. They’d barely hopped out of the truck before Gina came belting round the side of the house, followed closely by Awhi, shouting, ‘Come back here, you!’

  Poor Awhi, and poor Gina, Allie thought. Awhi hadn’t let her granddaughter out of her sight for a second since the Murdoch episode, and the effort was running her ragged. Perhaps she and Sonny could take Gina for a little while, and give Awhi a break.

  ‘Uncle Sonny! Auntie Allie!’ Gina shrieked, racing for the gate.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart!’ Allie called.

  Sonny stepped over the gate and picked her up, swinging her high into the air until her screams reached an ear-piercing pitch. Allie could see Awhi trying not to wince.

  ‘Put her down, Sonny, your mother’ll have a stroke.’

  ‘Hello, Mum,’ Sonny said, settling Gina on his shoulders, queen of the world.

  ‘Hello, son, Allie.’

  Gina grabbed Sonny’s ears like handles and kicked solidly at his chest with her little bare heels. ‘Giddy-up, horsey!’

  Allie suppressed a smile as Sonny, grimacing, bent at the waist, flipped Gina over his head (more screams) and set her on the ground. ‘No horsies today. Uncle has to talk to Nannie.’

  Undeterred, Gina danced around them, a pixie filled with the energy of five adults.

  ‘I’ve just put the kettle on,’ Awhi said.

  As they headed inside Allie noticed she was limping. ‘Have you hurt yourself?’

  ‘I blimmin’ well slipped going down the back steps chasing that one. It’s nothing.’

  ‘Is it your hip?’ Sonny asked.

  ‘Probably.’

  Allie knew Awhi had had a sore hip on and off for years. ‘Have you been to the doctor?’

  ‘The doctor?’ Awhi said, astonished. ‘I don’t go to the doctor.’

  Allie laughed. ‘You sound just like my nan. She never went to the doctor, either.’

  ‘The one that died?’ Awhi asked.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Ae, well.’

  Sonny helped his mother up the back steps. Inside, Allie made her sit down while she got the tea things together.

  ‘Have you heard anything from Polly?’ Sonny asked.

  It was the same question he asked every time they visited.

  ‘No,’ Awhi replied.

  ‘Mummy’s gone away,’ Gina said.

  ‘I know,’ Sonny said. ‘Where do you think she’s gone, Gina-ballerina?’

  Gina giggled at his name for her. ‘Heaven?’

  Allie nearly spilt boiling water on herself. What had Awhi been telling her?

  Sonny said, ‘Gina, do you know what heaven is?’

  ‘God’s house.’

  ‘And what else does heaven mean?’

  ‘You get free lollies when you get there?’

  Awhi made a rude noise. ‘Ah, it’s those idiot kids from next door, filling her head with rubbish.’

  ‘Sweetie, do you know what dead is?’ Sonny asked.

  ‘Mmm, no,’ Gina replied.

  ‘Well, that’s good.’

  ‘Mummy’s coming back,’ Gina said.

  Allie said, ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘’Cos if she doesn’t, I won’t see her again,’ Gina replied, with perfect logic.

  When Awhi shuffled off to the toilet, Allie whispered to Sonny, ‘Why don’t you suggest we take Gina for a while? Awhi really needs a rest, don’t you think?’

  Grinning hugely, Sonny said, ‘Would you like that?’

  ‘I’d love it. Gina can come to work with me, and if I have to see customers, the Mana ladies can look after her, or I’ll bring her here.’

  Delighted with this idea, Sonny gave Gina her colouring book and crayons so her ears wouldn’t flap, then manoeuvred the conversation in the right direction. Awhi realised fairly quickly what he was suggesting.

  ‘No.’

  ‘You need a break, Mum. She’ll be fine with us, and you can see her whenever you like.’

  ‘I can drive the truck now,’ Allie pointed out. ‘I can bring her over here, or come and pick you up to visit us. Actually, we’re thinking about another part-time knitter for our business. If you were interested, you’d see her a lot because she’d be with me.’

  Awhi flapped a dismissive hand. ‘I don’t want to sit around knitting with a lot of nosy old whaeas, listening to all that gossip.’

  ‘Well, you know,’ Allie said gently, ‘you’d probably be the oldest one there.’

  Sonny laughed.

  ‘Shut up, you,’ Awhi grumbled.

  ‘We do gossip a bit, though,’ Allie admitted.

  Awhi asked, ‘Would I get paid?’

  ‘Not much to start with, but more and more as time goes on. Fingers crossed, that is.’

  ‘And if you took her for a while, you’d give her back?’

  Sonny patted his mother’s hand. ‘’Course we would, Mum. It’s just to give you a rest. Just for a few months.’

  ‘I am tired,’ Awhi said. ‘And nearly all my savings are gone. It’s not cheap, looking after a moko.’

  ‘Well, we’d pay for everything for her, wouldn’t we?’ Allie said to Sonny.

  Sonny nodded. ‘Do you need some money, Mum?’

  ‘No. I just need . . .’ Awhi sighed heavily. ‘All right, you take her. But just for a while, mind. Just till I’m back on my feet again, you hear? That little girl’s my responsibility.’

  ‘She’s not really, Mum. She’s everyone’s. She’s family.’

  Awhi said, ‘But she’s special.’

  Because she’s Polly’s, Allie thought, and Polly’s gone. And you still love her.

  *

  Wellington, December 1956

  Carol gave up her baby as easily as she might offer someone a cigarette. She was born at two-thirty on the morning of 12 December, two weeks and six days early, so a little undercooked, as Carol herself said. Though Carol never actually saw the baby, as she was taken to Karitane Hospital as soon as she was born. She didn’t want to see her, either. Carol stayed on at Bethany for another eight days until her milk dried up, during which time she heard from one of the nurses that the baby was doing well and her new parents were thrilled with her, then she packed her things and went back to Masterton. Bev and Nancy offered to write, but Carol said no thanks, because she probably wouldn’t write back.

  Pauline went into labour on 17 December.

  ‘Trust you to do it right on time,’ Nancy said as Pauline stood looking at a damp patch on her chair in the dining room.

  ‘I thought I was wetting my pants,’ Pauline said. ‘Yuck, it’s still coming out.’

  Bev grabbed a tea towel off the servery and handed it to her. Pauline stuck it between her legs.

  ‘Ew, that could have been anywhere,’ Nancy said.

  Pauline waddled upstairs and lay on her bed. How annoying. It was shepherd’s pie for lunch too. Rancid Riley made a really nice shepherd’s pie. Bev had gone to fetch Sister Atwood, who soon knocked on the bedroom door.

  ‘Pauline, it’s me. Can I come in?’

  No other staff member asked permission to enter — they just barged in.

  ‘’Course you can.’

  Frances Atwood sat on the end of the bed. ‘Have your waters broken?’

  ‘Looks like it.’

  ‘Can I have a feel of your belly and a bit of a look? Can you take your knickers off?’

  Pauline nodded, wrestled her soggy pants down and dropped them on the floor. Sister Atwood carefully felt her stomach, then had a look up her dress.

  ‘Whoops,’ she said after a moment.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How long have you been having contractions?’

  ‘The crampy feelings?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Pauline thought. ‘I don’t know. Since about five this morning?’

  ‘Oh God, Pauline, you twit!’ Bev exclaimed.

  ‘And have they been getting stron
ger?’ Sister Atwood asked.

  ‘They have, actually.’

  ‘Because I think I can see the top of baby’s head.’

  Pauline’s heart nearly leapt out of her mouth. ‘Am I in proper labour?’

  ‘I’ll say you are. Come on, up you get. I’ll get the wheelchair.’

  Pauline was taken straight to the delivery suite. Matron McCormack hurried in a few minutes later, a theatre gown on over her uniform.

  ‘Well, you’re a bobby-dazzler, aren’t you?’

  Pauline had been given a gown of her own to wear. Matron lifted the hem and inspected her nether regions. ‘Yes, definitely on its way. Are the contractions not bothering you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Pauline admitted, because they were now her waters had broken.

  ‘Well, don’t push yet.’ Matron had another look. ‘That’s a fine collection of haemorrhoids you have there. I suspect they’ll be even worse by the time baby’s arrived.’ She turned to Sister Atwood. ‘We won’t have time for an enema or to shave the patient. It’ll be out before you’ve found the razor.’

  Pauline grimaced. ‘Am I supposed to feel like I want to go to the loo?’

  ‘Hopefully it’s just the baby pressing on your back passage,’ Matron said.

  ‘When can I push?’

  ‘Just wait.’

  ‘I really want to push.’

  ‘I said wait. We’re not quite ready. You might not be ready.’

  Pauline grabbed her knees, put her chin on her chest and gave a great, grunting shove. Her vagina felt as though it was being stabbed with flaming knives and the pressure in her pelvic area was immense, but she clearly felt the baby’s head pop out. Matron darted forwards to support it in her hands. ‘Well, you’ll have to deliver the rest now, won’t you?’ she said crossly.

  Panting, Pauline closed her eyes. Then, when the next contraction came, she bore down so forcefully everything went red, she saw gently floating stars and blood pounded in her ears. This time she thought the pressure in her pelvis and bum might explode her spine, but the baby stayed stuck. The dreadful cramp passed and she gathered herself, bore down again mightily with the next one, and with a last burning, stabbing rush, it was out.

  ‘Oh look, you’ve got a little boy,’ Sister Atwood said.

  ‘Sister!’ Matron snapped at her.

  The umbilical cord was cut, the baby dried off, then he was weighed, wrapped and a little blue cap placed on his head.