She spent the day dragging fallen branches to create a huge bonfire near the dam, brushing out Baby’s mud-streaked coat, and guarding the chickens as she let them peck at the rain-softened ground. Everything took far longer than it should have, and by mid-afternoon she’d had enough of work, her skin turning clammy and sweaty by turns, her head aching and her throat swollen. She sighed and dragged herself up to the back paddock while she still had a little energy, so she could look up the number for the local medical practice and make an appointment for the next morning. She was definitely coming down with something, but she also felt a flutter of excitement at the thought of making the first of her baby visits. She stroked a hand over her belly, flatter than it had ever been thanks to all this physical labour. Roo was her future and her only way to fix—or at least move on from—the past.
As she clambered into the car the next day, she found the letter Tracey had given her sitting on the dash, forgotten in the stress of the storm. Now she was running slightly late for her appointment, so Marian’s latest chat would have to wait. She tucked it into her bag. The anticipation bubbling within her almost pushed back the feverish headache that had kept her awake all night. In a few minutes she would hear her baby’s heartbeat. See pictures, even. Maybe count tiny fingers and toes.
The receptionist in the small cottage that had been refurbished as consulting rooms looked down at her ledger, though a computer sat on the desk. ‘I have you in with Dr Hartmann. Take a seat in the waiting room, it won’t be long.’
The waiting room consisted of five chairs pushed against the corridor wall, three of them empty. Roni smiled at an elderly woman there, then closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness swept her. Maybe morning sickness was finally catching up.
‘Roni, hi. Come on in.’
The voice sounded familiar. Too familiar. She prised her heavy lids open to see a white lab coat swinging loosely over Taylor’s black pants and pinstriped blouse. The receptionist had said Dr Hartmann. God, why hadn’t the name clicked?
Her brain too slow and foggy for full-fledged panic, she followed Taylor into a consulting room.
Taylor sat in a swivel chair, gesturing to a straight-backed one. ‘Take a seat. How’d you fare in the storm? Our power was out for the entire night. Had to bring out some old kerosene lanterns that were in the house when Luke renovated it.’
‘Mine was out, too. Luckily Matt came over and knew where to find Marian’s stash of candles.’
Taylor opened up a screen on her computer. ‘Matt, huh? For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me as much as it probably should, given he’s been such a hermit the past few months. Did the creek flood? It runs through our bottom paddock, but I didn’t get down there to check.’
‘Yeah, it was spectacularly impassable.’
‘So Matt was stuck at yours?’
‘He rode over, so the creek made no difference.’ She liked Taylor, but there was no reason to set tongues wagging. Well, no more than she was about to, anyway. ‘I had no idea you’re a doctor.’
Taylor tapped at the keyboard. ‘After I moved over from the east, I decided to go to medical school. It seemed important I follow a dream.’ The infuriatingly secretive smile ghosted her lips, the look she got whenever she spoke of her past. ‘Two dreams, I guess; meeting Luke and becoming a doctor. Anyway, what can I do for you?’
‘I think I’m coming down with something. Maybe Tracey’s flu.’ Chicken shit. She bit her lip then blurted, ‘And I’m concerned because I’m nearly four months’ pregnant.’
To her credit, Taylor only blinked at the revelation. ‘Okay, well, we’ll take some blood, check you out for the flu. Have you had the scheduled prenatal tests done?’
Guiltily, Roni shook her head. ‘No. I kind of … ran out of time with coming over here.’
‘Not a problem. While I’m doing the vampire bit, I’ll draw extra blood for those.’ She took Roni’s temperature. ‘That’s well up. I’ll write you a script for some symptom relief that’s safe.’ She cuffed Roni’s arm, took her blood pressure, swabbed, and inserted a syringe. ‘Your first pregnancy?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘And it’s going well? Any problems?’
She wanted to brag about how amazing Roo was. ‘Going so well I keep forgetting I’m pregnant. No fatigue. No morning sickness. Not until this morning, anyway.’
‘Four months, did you say?’ Taylor made notes, switching between an index card and the screen.
‘Fifteen-and-a-half weeks.’
‘So, no movement yet.’
‘No. It’s too early, isn’t it?’
‘Very unlikely you’d feel anything yet. Give it another three weeks.’ She smiled. ‘And a couple of months after that you’ll be in here complaining about not being able to sleep because of the kicking.’
Anticipation fizzed and bubbled through Roni, and she couldn’t stop herself grinning back. She was discussing her baby with someone who was almost a friend.
After this, she was going straight over to tell Tracey about Roo. She had a feeling—no, she knew—the older woman would be thrilled. Why on earth had she feared judgment for something that was so wonderful? She caressed her belly. The life growing inside her.
‘Okay, pop up onto the bed, unzip your jeans, and I’ll have a feel.’ Taylor rubbed her hands together to warm them, then gently ran them over Roni’s belly. Slowly, her smile faded. ‘This is a confirmed pregnancy? And you’re sure on the dates?’
‘Positive and positive.’ Sudden fear sat heavy on her chest. ‘It was a home pregnancy test, but I read they’re just as accurate …’
‘Yes, they are,’ Taylor reassured, still palpating her stomach. ‘I’m just going to get the ultrasound; it’ll be easier to see on the screen.’
Roni shoved up on her elbows. ‘Is there something wrong?’ Her voice caught on the words. There couldn’t be anything wrong. This was her entire future.
Taylor squeezed her shoulder. ‘No, I was only feeling for your uterus but you’re very small. We’ll get a heartbeat on the monitor for you, though. Lie there and relax while I grab the equipment from the other office.’
Relax? Her stomach cramped with sudden fear. She grasped the metal sides of the narrow bed, determined to shut off the panic. Roo was simply a small baby, hiding deep and safe in her womb. The ultrasound would find her.
Taylor wheeled in the machine and applied gel to what looked like a massager. ‘I’m afraid the transducer will be cold.’ She squirted gel onto Taylor’s stomach, then rolled the handpiece across as she watched the small television screen on the machine. Her smile faltered.
A shudder rippled through Roni as she tried to contain the black fear blossoming in her chest.
Taylor’s smile turned to a frown.
Roni tried to wet her lips with a dry tongue. ‘What’s wrong?’ She couldn’t make out anything on the screen, but that meant nothing; X-rays never made sense, either.
Taylor looked back at Roni’s belly, shifted the transducer, turned back to the screen, then shook her head. ‘Roni, I’m just going to get Doctor Clarke in here. He has more experience in obstetrics than I have. I could be doing something wrong.’ The deep crease between her eyebrows said it was more than that.
‘No, just tell me. Is there something wrong with Roo—with my baby?’
Taylor exhaled between her teeth, scowling at the screen. ‘It’s just—I can’t find anything.’
Oh God. The walls of the room closed in on her. ‘There’s no heartbeat?’
‘It’s more than that. At fifteen weeks I should be able to see the baby. There’s—nothing. You’re positive about the dates?’
She nodded, the plastic cover on the hard pillow crinkling against her ear. ‘Sixteen weeks on Saturday.’
Taylor turned to the phone. Pressed a few buttons, spoke quietly, and less than a minute later a man in a white coat entered.
‘Roni, this is Doctor Clarke.’
She tried to breathe. To force oxygen to the baby growi
ng inside her.
Dr Clarke took the transducer and went through the same motions as Taylor had just performed. He shook his head. ‘Gestational sac, no embryo.’ He clicked off the machine. ‘Roni, did you have any blood loss early in the pregnancy? Any cramping?’
‘No.’ She spoke through clenched teeth.
‘How many weeks did you think you were when you took the test?’
She didn’t think. She knew. ‘Nine.’
‘And you’ve not tested since?’
She shook her head. There had been no need. She’d felt the connection with Roo.
‘No pregnancy symptoms? Nausea, fatigue, cravings?’
She shook her head again. No, because Roo was the perfect baby.
Dr Clarke glanced at Taylor, who moved to the opposite side of the bed, taking Roni’s hand as the senior doctor sat on a chair alongside. ‘Roni, I’m sorry. What you have is a blighted ovum.’
She was broken, faulty. ‘Will I be able to carry my baby safely to term?’
He pinched at the bridge of his nose. ‘There is no baby. A blighted ovum is when the gestational sac forms but it’s empty. You may have all the symptoms of pregnancy but there’s no baby in there.’
‘No.’ She shoved herself upright on the bed, her feet knocking against the doctor’s knees. ‘No, that’s not right. I know there’s a baby. There has to be.’
Clarke looked across to Taylor. ‘I’ll source some brochures, Doctor Hartmann.’
He left the room abruptly, and Roni turned to Taylor. ‘He’s wrong, isn’t he?’
Taylor’s eyes were liquid, but she shook her head. ‘No, Roni, he isn’t. I’m so sorry. Usually the sac spontaneously aborts before now. You’ll find you miscarry within a few weeks, though I can organise a D&C at Murray Bridge hospital immediately, if you prefer?’
Have her baby ripped out of her? No way.
Taylor was still speaking, but Roni couldn’t hear her over the blood rushing in her ears. She zipped her jeans, snatching the pamphlets Dr Clarke thrust at her as she ran from the clinic.
Fumbled her car door open. Drove too fast through the town, then slowed down; driving carefully, keeping Roo safe.
Her hand moved to caress her baby. Touched her flat belly. Her empty belly. Her barren, useless belly.
She shook her head, bit her lip until she tasted blood. No, the doctors were mistaken. They had to be wrong.
Because without Roo she had nothing.
With no recollection of the journey home, she stripped off her clothes, her belly still smeared with gel, and crawled into bed.
It was the flu, that was all. She was sick, in bed, and her fevered mind was playing tricks. She had been aware of every moment of Roo’s existence. The baby was part of her, part of her plan for the future. Her, Scritches and Roo, their life together was only just beginning.
Wracking chills seized her, and she shivered and trembled beneath the quilt, clutching Scritches for warmth. Her disjointed dreams were filled with babies and nurseries and happy families playing in parks as she drifted in and out of consciousness.
She opened her eyes to find it dark and realised she’d been woken by insistent knocking on the front door.
Taylor’s voice muffled as though she pressed her mouth to the crack of the door. ‘Roni? I brought some flu meds. Your tests came back positive. I’m going to leave the medicine here at the door, okay? I’ll come by again in the morning.’
The pregnancy test was positive?
She smiled. She’d known they were wrong.
Then fear clutched her heart, twisting it in an icy grip; Taylor had only tested for flu.
She squeezed her eyelids tight and rolled over, her back to the door. She needed to go back to her dreams, to where she did everything right, where she kept Roo safe.
She slept fitfully, waking each time to find her face wet with either tears or sweat, the bed crumpled and soaked.
In the darkest, loneliest hours of the night, Roo slid from inside her.
She staggered dizzily to the bathroom, mopping at the dark blood that flowed painlessly down her thighs.
The only pain was in her heart.
Knocking on the door again. She couldn’t get up, even if she wanted to.
She pulled her knees tightly to her chest. No concern about squashing Roo now. Never again.
Taylor’s voice. ‘Roni? I’m really worried about you. Please let me in.’
What the hell for? She didn’t need anyone. Or anything. She should have stayed in Sydney, where it was her and Scritches against the world.
Like it had always been.
She closed her eyes.
Hammering on the door this time. The back door.
Scritches jumped from the bed with his little meow-purr of joy and bolted down the hall.
There was only one other person he would run to.
‘Roni? If you don’t answer I’ll bloody well break the door down.’
Matt. God, no. She couldn’t see him. Couldn’t let him see her.
She forced herself up, aware of more clots, more of Roo’s short life sliding from her as she stood. She made her way down the hall, ricocheting like a pinball from one wall to the other. ‘Matt? I’m fine, but you can’t come in. I have the flu.’
‘Taylor said she’s worried about you.’
Apprehension squeezed her chest. What had Taylor told him?
‘She said she dropped off flu meds for you yesterday, but they’re still at the door. Roni, open up, let me at least make you a cuppa and give you the meds.’
She slumped against the wall. There was no medicine for her pain. Her emptiness. ‘No. Just leave the stuff at the back door, I’ll get it later. I don’t want you to catch anything.’ Don’t want you to catch me.
‘Listen, I’ll take care of the animals. Just get yourself back to bed, okay?’ Matt was still talking, but the grey fog cloaked her brain again and she wandered to the bedroom, crawled back into her cocoon.
Scritches yowled and nudged her with a wet nose, batting a paw against her closed eyes to let her know he was in danger of starving. The harsh waft of ammonia burned her throat.
Crumbs of kitty litter dug into her feet as she dragged herself out of bed and staggered to the kitchen. She shook the cat’s biscuit box, upended it uselessly. Poked around in the cupboard where she kept his food, an arm folded across her cramping stomach, as though she needed to protect it. As though she could hold Roo in there, when even the dream of her baby had now slipped away.
She had meant to buy more cat food when she went into town but had forgotten. Scritches was right, he would starve.
She would let him die. It was all her fault.
Her knees gave out and she slumped on a chair, elbows on the table, head in her hands. Her chest heaved as though she would throw up, her heart squeezing and lungs contracting. The sobs worked their way free from her womb. Dry, wrenching spasms at first, ripping her apart and tearing from her throat.
Finally, the tears came. Tears she hadn’t allowed since she was fourteen, when she’d proven the uselessness of crying. Tears that now would never stop. Tears that held no catharsis, because there was no way to wash away such pain.
She sobbed.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours.
Finally exhausted, with tears still streaming down her face, she opened a can of tuna and offered it to Scritches.
He sniffed and stared balefully at her.
She opened a can of Spam, but he wouldn’t even sniff at it.
Instead, he jumped onto her lap, pressing a wet nose into the side of her neck, a warm body against her broken heart.
Telling her that he depended on her.
Bacon. He liked that, but only cooked. She dragged herself to the freezer. Wiped the back of her hand over her eyes and scrubbed at her nose.
She had to pull herself together. She couldn’t fail Scritches like she had Roo. He was all she had left in the world.
Chapter Twenty-eight
My dearest Vero
nica,
Did you wonder how you came to be called that? I suppose it was the only thing this family ever gave you, until now. You see, your mother knew from childhood it was the name I would choose for my daughter, in the unlikely event I should have one. In fact, in the smaller guest bedroom you will find a tatty, worn teddy bear, whose name is Veronica.
It would be nice to think your mother named you for me, but I know better: she did it to spite me. The funny thing, though, is that it makes it even easier for me to now pretend you are my daughter. How angry Denise would be to learn she had unwittingly done me a favour!
No angrier than she currently is, I suspect, having her secret known to the town. You probably wonder why I used my last weeks to tell everyone at least part of the story of your conception, after so many years of silence. The fact is, I didn’t want it to be a subject for rumour and innuendo when you arrived. Far better the tale was thrust into the open and the initial excitement died down while I was still alive.
I will also admit an unattractive part of me wanted to witness Denise suffer a little for all the years of misery she caused me, along with the harm she caused the Krueger family. To some extent, I blame myself for that tragedy. I should have curbed Denise’s tendencies when she seduced Andrew. I should have banished her from the family, if such a thing is possible. Most certainly, I should not have kept topping up her funds, which can only have encouraged her to stay close to me—close to them. Physically, not emotionally, you understand.
So, you see, although I’m your benefactor, I am far from selfless. Another of my flaws.
Don’t be like me, Veronica, don’t waste time. I learned, too late, to stop being a paradox. I wanted to be happy, yet I allowed negative people in my life. I wanted things to change, yet I did nothing to effect the change.
You must take control. Decide what you want from life, and go and get it. Always remember, Veronica, you can’t reach for anything if your hands are full of the past.
Fine words for a woman disclosing the less-than-salubrious tale of her own past, aren’t they? But you see, having to lay down your story has given me greater clarity than ever before. Along with my joys, I see my shortcomings and mistakes so clearly now.
The Farm at Peppertree Crossing Page 25