Iain McCormick, tackling the Wallaby who’d got to the ball first. Seven inches more height on him, the other man slipping on the slick turf, and the damning sight of Iain’s forearm wrapping around his neck.
The ref, his hand pressed against his ear, head bent to hear the replay official’s decision. A walk toward the captains, who were standing together, hands on hips, their breath coming out in clouds of steam, waiting to hear.
The ref didn’t reach into his pocket for a card. The Wallabies skipper pointed towards the posts, and the Wallabies supporters screamed their opposition, more partisan than logical. It hadn’t been intentional, and Iain wouldn’t be sent off. But they were seventy-five minutes in, the Wallabies were up by three, and they were going for the posts. Going for three more.
Ella said, “Oh, no.”
Nyree took her hand and said, “Just wait,” but kept her eye on the player in the yellow jersey, lined up bang in front, thirty meters out. It was windy, yes, and rainy, too. But he had nearly an eighty percent conversion rate.
Ella said, “Uh… sorry. But I think it’s started.”
Seventy-six minutes. Six points down, and they had to kick off to the Wallabies again.
Marko didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel the wet. He was focused on here. Focused on now.
Nate Torrance, the All Blacks skipper, was shouting to be heard over the noise of the crowd and the storm. “We’ve got this. Keep your position. Make your tackles, and hit them hard. They’re more tired than we are. We get the ball back, we hang onto it, and we bang it on. One phase at a time. We’ve got it. Let’s go.”
Will Tawera kicked off, and he didn’t kick deep. Barely the required ten meters, and Nic Wilkinson, the fullback, one of the fastest on the field and the best man under the high ball, was leaping for it. Jumping impossibly high, careless of his safety in the conditions. He seemed to hang in the air for a long moment, collided with his opposite number with a bang of bodies, and never took his eye off the ball.
Two sets of wet, muddy hands grabbing it. One set hitting the ground with it, and hanging on. Nico’s.
It was what Toro had said, then. A game of inches. One carry at a time, forcing your feet on through the slop and the muck. Like playing in the home paddock with your mates, your favorite All Black’s number applied in peeling electrical tape on your back, your legs churning in the mud for nothing more than the love of the game and the ferocious desire to win.
It was Koti James, in the end. Pretty Boy not looking pretty at all, mud on his face, his grin like a rictus, taking the ball from Toro, slamming his powerful upper body into his opposite number, and going down hard.
And flicking one of his trademark offloads behind his back on the way. To Marko, because he was the one there. And the one with a chance.
He wasn’t good at subtlety, and everyone knew it. They were coming at him head-on, expecting a battering ram and ready for it.
He sidestepped. And then he took off, past where they’d expected him to be and moving fast. Toro running in support, ready for the ball, Koti on his other side, and three more lined up beyond him. With the Wallabies fullback, the last man standing, coming in at an angle.
Marko was a team man. He’d been a team man since he’d been born to a sheepherding family in the Southern Alps, since he’d first held a rugby ball in a match at the age of six, and for every match since. A team man for the Highlanders, a team man for the Blues, and a team man for the All Blacks. Right now, though, he was headed for the tryline, stretching, diving across the white line, hitting the turf hard and bouncing off it with cold water soaking his jersey and shorts and spraying around him.
A team man first, last, and always. And tonight, his team was the winner.
They cut the celebrations short. Too wet, and too cold. Barely five minutes after the whistle had gone, the crowd streaming towards the exits, and the team was jogging into the tunnel, stripping off their sodden jerseys almost before they’d got to the changing room, and heading for the showers.
First, though… Marko knew he shouldn’t care, that winning wasn’t the reason she was with him. He cared anyway. He grabbed his phone from his cubicle, rubbed his wet hands on his wetter shorts, and prepared to text Nyree.
Three green bubbles on the screen.
Ella’s started. Heading out.
Then,
Found a security guard. He’s calling ahead. Too much crowd though.
Finally,
Dunt worry. Said in class that twin labor cn b 12 hrs. Ella says uncmftrbl thats all. Tell Hugh meet a hsptl. Headed to VIP entr
The last one, the garbled one, had been sent nine minutes ago. Marko had hold of Hugh’s bare shoulder already. He’d already stripped all the way down, was headed off toward the showers with his towel in his hand.
“Mate,” Marko said, and showed him the phone. “Time to go.”
“I wish it… wasn’t so far.” Nyree had an arm around Ella, and Josie was holding her up on the other side. Ahead of them, a huge Samoan security officer in a yellow vest, flanked by Ella’s uncle Ander and Tom, were cutting their way through the slow-moving crowd. The officer had his walkie-talkie in one hand, was waving them on with the other one. “We’ll go to the VIP gate,” he’d told them when Josie had run up to him and grabbed his arm. Josie, because she was the most recognizable, the one who’d get action the fastest.
“Tell the security office to ring the team manager,” Josie had said. “Tell him to get word to Hugh Latimer. When we get there, we’ll need a car.”
Nyree had wanted to tell her that it didn’t happen this fast, the same way she’d told Marko. But why did it feel like an emergency?
Should’ve insisted we leave at the break, part of her mind was trying to say. The other part said, Doesn’t matter now. Get out of here.
Hemmed in. Fifty thousand people, and not enough ways out. Jostling, bumping through the barely moving crowd, trying not to trample any kids. Down too-narrow staircases, one after another, and Ella gasping, her face running with sweat.
She didn’t look like twelve hours. She didn’t look like one hour. Nyree had taken those classes with her, had watched the videos of serene women rolling on exercise balls, walking the hallways, having their backs rubbed by soothing-voiced partners while they focused on their careful, measured breathing.
“Ugh,” Ella groaned beside her. “Can I just say… this sucks?”
Nyree laughed. She had to. “Nah, love,” she said, injecting every bit of Kiwi cheerfulness she had into it. “They tell you to walk during labor to speed it up. You’re doing it.”
“Ha… ha,” Ella said. “You never let me be… grumpy enough. Oh, bugger. It’s starting again.”
They got to the bottom of this particular concrete stairway, and the security officer turned back to ask, “All right?”
“Yeh,” Nyree said, because what other answer was there? They had to be close. Marko had better be there when they got there, that was all. He’d better be.
A doorway, and two more security officers in front of it. A ramp leading onto the field.
“Shortcut,” their guide said. “Soon be there. We’ve got an ambulance to meet you. Just in case, eh.”
Nyree wasn’t going to have to drive Ella to the hospital. She’d focus on that wonderful development. And on the security officer’s thought-wave, practically pulsing in the air above his head. Couldn’t you have stayed home and watched on telly? A worthwhile question.
Stop it, she told the bubble of hysteria. Down the ramp, into the rain, bucketing down now like a cyclone, barely letting them see a meter ahead.
Two figures running across the field so fast, they nearly cannoned into them. Two big, bearded men in warmups.
Marko. And Hugh.
They’d had plans, Marko thought as the ambos loaded Ella into the waiting vehicle, Nyree hopping up behind. This hadn’t been in them.
Play what’s in front of you. “Right,” he said, shouting to be heard over the rain and the
siren as the ambulance headed off through the carpark. “New plan.”
“Oh, my God,” Jakinda was saying, ever-helpfully. “Why didn’t they let me go with her? They’ll never get out of the carpark, not in this crowd. Oh, my God. My baby.”
“Don’t be silly,” Marko’s mum snapped, for once not in Cheerful Mode. “Worst case? She’ll have them in the ambulance. She’s a strong girl, and those guys know what they’re doing. It’s their job.”
Marko interrupted whatever Cassandra-like pronouncement would have come next with that most helpful of items: a plan. “Two cars,” he said. “Hugh’s and mine. Fastest to get to. Mum and Dad, Jakinda, I’ve got you. Josie and Tom, go with Hugh.”
A tension-filled ride to the hospital, with Marko’s mum holding his phone, waiting for a text from Nyree that didn’t come until they were nearly there. “Got it!” she finally shouted, nearly causing Marko to hit the wall as he turned into the carpark. “They’re in a room,” she said. “Getting the operating theater ready. They made it.”
Which was good. No, it was brilliant. The babies were both head-down, Ella had been told a few days earlier, and that was meant to be a good thing. But still. They were twins. Cords and oxygen and… He shut that line of thought down fast, found a spot, and led the way inside and up in the lift to Maternity.
Finally, all seven of them were dripping in the waiting area, wrapped in heated blankets supplied by the helpful staff. Hugh said, the captaincy settling over him once more, “A bit too exciting, eh. After all that, it’ll probably be eight hours. Reckon we’ll know more in a bit. Meanwhile, everybody had better have a seat.”
Marko’s mum, still holding his phone, said, “Oh. Wait,” and everybody looked up. “Nyree says that Ella’s decided she wants Josie there. And Hugh, if he wants to come.” She laughed. “Here’s what she actually said. ‘It’ll be, like, totally gross, but maybe Josie will need him there. Tell him he has to stand by my head and not look at anything until the end.’ I’d say she’s doing fine.”
Josie had jumped up already, her face lit up like Christmas, and Hugh had stood with her. “Going now,” she said. “Oh. Hugh. Going where?”
“We’ll ask,” he said, taking her hand. “Come on.”
“She must want me,” Jakinda said. “I’m asking, too.”
Olivia had a hand on her arm. “We’ve gone over this,” she said. “Nyree did the classes with her. The room will be full of people. It’s too many.”
“I’m her mother,” Jakinda insisted. “I’m going. She needs me.”
Marko stood up. In the way. “No,” he said.
“This isn’t yours to say,” Jakinda said.
“No,” he said again. “It’s Ella’s to say. Right now, she’s the mother. And what she says goes.”
Nyree was so not ready for this. The only problem was—neither was Ella.
They were in an operating theater. Enormous, chilly, clean, and crowded. She’d known that there’d be two of everybody here. She just hadn’t expected that to feel so… full.
“I need to… push,” Ella was groaning, as she’d been doing for the past ten minutes.
“Any minute,” the OB promised, rolling closer on his stool, his voice perfectly calm. “We need to get you set in case things take a turn. It’s what we talked about before, Ella. If something happens, it’ll happen very fast, and we need to have you ready. In case I need to turn Baby B, or if we need to go in by C-section to get him. Do you remember that?”
“Of… course,” Ella got out. “I’m not… stupid. Just… having babies.”
Nyree laughed, squeezed her hand, and said, “Good on ya. Doing awesome. Just another minute.”
The anesthesiologist, or one of them, finished taping a tube to Ella’s back. “Got it,” he said. “Good to go.”
“Is Josie… coming?” Ella asked. “I should’ve… said. I didn’t think I’d want people to… see. But… they’re hers.”
“Yeh,” Nyree said. The stupid tears were trying to spring up, now that the first dramatic rush was over. She’d never been more scared in her life, and truth be told, she still was.
The door opened, then, and there she was. Jocelyn Pae Ata, in the garb she’d worn so many times on camera. Blue gown, blue paper cap, blue scrubs, blue booties. Not looking nearly as glamorous as evil Dr. Eva. Looking thrilled, and scared, and so excited. She had Hugh right beside her. Looking like a rugby captain.
A nurse said, “Over here,” and moved them against a wall. Nobody else paid them the slightest attention. The doctor had a hand on Ella’s belly and was saying, “All right, Ella. Just like you practiced. This first one’s not going to be comfortable, but every minute the epidural’s in there, it’ll get better. You’re a strong girl. Time to be strong now. Let’s do it.”
Nyree found out, later, that it had taken fourteen minutes for Baby A to arrive. They felt like forty. Breathing with Ella, keeping her arm behind her head to help her sit up, and chanting along with the nurse. “Push. Push. Push. Come on, Ella. Push.” Until, between contractions, Ella gasped, “I’m pushing, all right? Give it a rest.”
Nyree laughed out loud, hugged Ella’s neck, and said, “You’re doing awesome. You’re doing amazing. You’re having a baby.”
“No,” Ella said, her face starting to twist again. “I’m having a… hippo.” And Nyree had to laugh again.
When Ella was calling out, though, and the doctor was saying, “Head’s coming. We’ve got black hair here. Deep breath, and push him out,” nobody was laughing. Ella’s strong young body strained all the way from her forehead to her feet, her belly pulled taut, and she pushed with everything she had.
In the corner, Josie had her hands to her cheeks, and Hugh had his arm around her. On the bed, Ella was wailing, and Nyree was saying, “Come on. You’ve got this. Come on.” And then the doctor was telling her, “Right. Here we are. Shoulders are coming. One more easy push. Here he comes.”
Noah James Latimer came into the world fighting. Arms waving, legs pedaling, full head of black hair looking like it wanted to spring from his scalp. Eyes screwed shut. And screaming.
Josie was laughing, and Hugh was crying. Ella was lying back again, taking deep, shuddering breaths, trying to smile as the nurse lifted the baby high. And saying, “Look, Josie. Look. It’s your baby.”
Hunter John Latimer came more easily. Calmly, like he’d always meant to be here, sliding smoothly into the doctor’s hands, then curling into the nurse’s. Crying a bit when he was weighed, then apparently deciding that he could leave it to his blanket-wrapped brother, who was being held fast against Josie’s chest, his breathing having passed muster, but still protesting the indignity of it all.
“Five pounds eight ounces,” the nurse announced. “Only a little off his brother. You had a lot of baby in there, love.”
“I know,” Ella said. Drowsily, now, like she was ready to fall asleep. Well, she’d earned it. “I call it… the economy plan.”
Ella moved through the first few days, once she’d been discharged from the hospital, in what seemed to Nyree like a sort of preternatural calm, or maybe suspended animation. Hormones and painful cramps, and the futility of young breasts filling with milk they didn’t need, made for babies they couldn’t feed. The cruelty of nature.
It was what Nyree had told Marko once upon a time. Your mind could make its rational decisions. It took your body longer to catch on.
On Friday night, six days after the birth, with her mum having finally, thankfully, gone home, Marko came into the lounge where Ella was lying on the couch beside Nyree watching Jurassic World with two ice packs on her breasts, Cat on her stomach like a hot-water bottle, and her stockinged feet on the coffee table. Marko picked up the remote, paused the film just as a genetically-enhanced T. Rex was about to chomp down on an unfortunate security guard, and said, “Right. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to Piha. Pack your bags.”
“Excuse me?” Ella asked, twisting her head around to look at him. “Why?”
“For the sea,” Marko answered. “The sky. The stars. The wild. Seeing something bigger than yourself.”
“The rain,” Ella said.
“Could be. I don’t care. Pack a bag. We’re going.”
“For how long?”
“As long as it takes.”
Tom was in the recliner, because Ella had said, when he’d come in bearing cartons of takeaway Thai food and a bonus carton of chocolate ice cream, “I’m kind of disgusting. Leaking all over. You don’t want to sit with me.” Now, he sat up and said, “Sounds like a good plan. Am I invited to visit?”
“Yeh, mate,” Marko said. “You are. Come stay, if you like. Three bedrooms.”
But later on that night, when Nyree was lying beside him in the dark, he said, “I hope I’m right.”
She held him a little tighter, moved a little closer, and said, “You’re right.”
It did help, or maybe Ella’s body was starting to do that catching up. Or both. Her strength began to come back, and her spirit with it. Tom took her for endless walks along wild, windswept west coast beaches, nearly deserted in the winter chill, up the narrow, rocky track on Lion Rock as far as they could go, and down bush tracks to the sea and back up again. Ella came back, day by day, with her cheeks pinker, her eyes brighter, her voice steadier. Tom, Nyree had come to believe, was very good news.
Next week, Ella announced the night before the twelve-day mark, when she could sign the papers relinquishing the babies, she was going back to school. The winter term would end in a couple weeks, and after that, she was headed back to Tekapo. “Time to change again,” she said while the four of them were playing a desultory Saturday-night game of Monopoly at the dining table as the rain beat against the windows of the hillside bach. “Time to go.”
Just Say (Hell) No (Escape to New Zealand Book 11) Page 35