Читать книгу Four Weddings - Fiona Lowe - Страница 13
ОглавлениеBEC STOOD DWARFED beneath the thirty-seven-metre flagpole, the distinctive red flag with the central yellow star fluttering high and proud above her. She turned one hundred and eighty degrees and stepped back in time.
Built high atop a gated wall, Yin and Yang ceramic roof tiles gave the building its distinctive Chinese-style roof line. Intricate ceramic dragons and phoenixes draped the pitch of the roof, protecting and bringing prosperity. A temple flag, with its distinctive square shape, flew from the middle balcony, surrounded by carved ironwood balustrades. Bec could imagine an emperor in golden robes, holding court.
They were on their way back to Hanoi and Tom had said, ‘No way could you miss Hué.’ Way being the pronunciation of Hué, he’d chuckled at his play on words. He seemed to be very content with his metaphoric tour guide hat on. ‘The citadel was the home of the Nguyen dynasty, the last imperial family of Vietnam. The defending wall encloses ten kilometres and is two metres thick.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘over the centuries, dynasties got rolled quite often by other war-lord families.’
‘My head’s spinning with temples, pagodas, tombs, dates, people and names.’ Bec fanned herself with her hat as the indefatigable heat sapped her concentration.
Tom laughed. ‘That happens to everyone the first time they come here. There’s so much history and fabulous architecture to see. Hué was the central pulse of Vietnam for a long time, full of political intrigue and coups, as well as being the religious and educational capital. It’s a fascinating place but it can wear you down.’
She smiled wanly. ‘I think I just went into temple overload.’
He grabbed her hand. ‘Must be time for ice cream.’
Five minutes later they sat by the Perfume River, sharing the biggest banana split Bec had ever seen. ‘This vanilla ice cream is to die for.’
‘The French left a few great legacies in this country and my favourites are baguettes, gateaux and ice cream.’ He languidly licked his spoon, his tongue savouring the last traces of the creamy confection.
Bec’s breath stalled in her throat as an image of his tongue exploring her body exploded in her mind. Oh, no, don’t go there. She’d thought the knowledge that neither of them wanted a relationship would have nailed the lid closed on these unexpected bursts of hormone-fuelled lust. Especially since they’d made their friendship pact.
She’d been stunned at how easy it was to be his friend. On the surface nothing had changed between them since she’d opened herself up to his friendship, and yet everything had changed.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Tom was still Tom—kind, considerate, laid-back and fun. His respect for her as a colleague remained the same, and they worked together as a team. But it’s a stronger team.
Was that it? Had she relaxed around him? Had he relaxed around her?
There were subtle changes. Like him grabbing her hand to pull her toward the ice-cream stall, a squeeze of her shoulder when she’d dealt with a tough case. There was a camaraderie that had been absent before and it warmed her in a way she’d never known. A secure warmth. A companionable warmth.
Perhaps Tom was right. Perhaps she’d missed out by being too self-contained and independent. She leaned back, full of ice cream but energised by the break in the shade. ‘So what’s next on the tour schedule?’
Tom checked his watch. ‘I want to stop in at the Buddhist nunnery and do a check up on one of the elderly nuns.’
‘A Buddhist nunnery? I had no idea. I’ve heard of Buddhist monks but not nuns.’
‘They don’t wear saffron robes, often they’re brown or grey. But they’re the best vegetarian cooks I’ve ever come across and they’ll want to feed you.’
She rubbed her stomach. ‘Now you tell me. Why did you let me eat such a huge sundae?’
He grinned his bone-melting smile. ‘That’s why we shared.’ He left some notes and coins on the table and ushered her out the door, back to the waiting four-wheel-drive.
The vehicle wound up into the hills behind Hué, the lush greenery contrasting with the dusty road. ‘What’s that?’ Bec pointed to a roadside stall. Shaky wooden racks supported the most amazing display of vivid coloured sticks she’d ever seen. Red, green, purple and yellow sticks were tied together at their bases and fanned out in the shape of an ice cream cone.
‘It’s incense for the temples and it’s big business in this area. Cinnamon and sandalwood trees grow along the banks of the Perfume River and they harvest the scent from the wood shavings. Would you like to see it being made?’ Enthusiasm for the idea danced across his face.
She clapped her hands in delight. ‘I’d love to if we have time.’
Tom gave her an indulgent smile. ‘Sure, we can spare ten minutes.’ He asked the driver to stop and they stepped up to one of the tiny stalls. A woman sat under cover at a small table, holding about thirty thin bamboo sticks, which had been painted red along three quarters of their length. Her hands rapidly rolled the sticks across a pile of fine dust, while she used a trowel with her right hand to scoop more powder over them.
Bec watched, fascinated. ‘How does the scent stick to the bamboo?’
Tom pointed to a large glob of rolled up gooey-looking stuff. ‘That’s glue.’
The woman looked up from under her non la and smiled, pushing some sticks into Bec’s hands.
Confused, Bec accepted them.
Tom laughed at her expression. ‘Do you want to have a go at making some incense?’
Always up for anything new, she nodded. ‘Sure, why not?’
Gripping the sticks with her left hand, she tried to roll the glue on evenly before attempting to dust it in the cinnamon powder. Laughing, she held up a wonky-looking stick. ‘I can’t seem to co-ordinate my hands.’
‘Just as well you’re not a surgeon.’ Tom’s laugh rumbled around her. He moved in, standing behind her, putting his hands over hers. ‘You spin with your left and you push the trowel with your right, like this.’
She tried to concentrate on the motion of the bamboo and how his hands were moving hers. But every skerrick of attention evaporated the moment his body curved against hers. His breath caressed her neck, tickling and enticing, his chest moved up and down against her back, massaging her as he breathed, and his thighs were against her buttocks, fitting snugly.
Longing blazed through her, followed by delicious tingles sparking at every part of her body he touched. She wanted to drop the bamboo and turn in his arms, lay her head on his shoulder and just savour being held.
But that wasn’t on offer. Friendship didn’t cover that.
‘That’s it. Try again.’ Tom’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away, down a long, long tunnel.
With superhuman effort she pulled her concentration back to the incense.
He stepped back, breaking contact.
Her body ached. Every muscle, every fibre, every cell cried out at the loss of his touch.
She rolled the bamboo. She tossed the powder with the trowel and triumphantly held up an evenly coated stick.
‘Hey, you did it.’ He raised his hand above his head and gave her a high five and a wide grin. ‘We’ll buy some incense for the nuns and we better get going.’
They paid for five bunches of incense, each colour a different scent, bowed their thanks and drove the short distance to the nunnery.
Bec stepped out of the vehicle beside a wobbly bamboo fence, which circled a thriving vegetable garden. Somehow it kept out ambling pigs and long-legged chickens. In the distance she could see the quintessential Vietnamese image—an emerald rice paddy with a lone worker up to her waist in green, a conical hat on her head. ‘Why are there graves in the rice paddies?’
Tom slung his medical pack onto his shoulder and walked with her toward the whitewashed building. ‘They like to bury their dead on their property, keep them close. Then at Têt, the Vietnamese New Year, they call the dead back to visit, so it’s easier if they’re close.’
‘Just to visit?’ Bec wrinkled her nose, thinking about live relatives that often outstayed their welcome.
‘Very wisely, they send them back at the end of Têt.’ He gave a wry grin, understanding crossing his face. ‘The nuns here range from fourteen through to eighty. They usually have a few children living here as well and occasionally women who are seeking refuge. The temple is a popular place for couples to visit before they have a baby or if they want to conceive.’
He paused at a fork in the gravel path. ‘You go to the temple with the incense and meet some of the nuns. They’ll show you around while I do the check-up and make sure my stubborn nun has been taking her digoxin.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ She stood for a moment, watching him walk away. She treasured the moments she could watch him unobserved. Admiring how his hair tangled with his collar, the sway of his hips and the way the cotton of his shorts moved across taut buttocks.
She closed her eyes for a moment, forging the memory into her brain. She spun back, the gravel crunching under her sandals, and made her way to the entrance of the temple.
Slipping her feet out of her shoes and hanging her hat on a stand, she swung her leg over the high step into the dark interior of the temple. She bowed to the nun and placed the incense in a basket.
A young couple stood at the altar. They pushed a burning stick of incense into a sand pot which was nestled between a bowl of fruit and a vase of flowers. The woman rested one hand on her lower back and the other on her swollen belly. Her husband stood next to her, his arm across her shoulder, his gaze fixed on her face and a smile of adoration clinging to his lips.
Bec smiled. They would be making the offering for their unborn child and their future as a family—their dreams and hopes so clearly evident in their eyes.
Suddenly an empty feeling opened up inside her, spreading an icy chill through her like cold fingers reaching deep into places she thought she’d sealed off.
She tried to shrug off the feeling. What was wrong with her? ‘Happy families’ wasn’t something she connected with herself. Relationships and her made a toxic combination. She’d never experienced anything good in a relationship.
What about Tom?
She pushed the thought out of her mind. Tom was a friend. Friendship was completely different.
She quickly stepped back into the daylight, leaving the temple and the couple behind her, and followed the neatly raked path toward the main house.
She rounded the corner and found another couple. Except this time the heavily pregnant woman was leaning over a bench, moaning.
A blond-haired man clutched the woman’s arm. ‘Sweetheart, you have to walk to the car.’
The unexpected English words sounded completely out of place in the garden. Bec ran over. ‘Can I help? I’m a midwife.’
The Asian woman’s hand curved around Bec’s wrist, gripping hard and her large almond-shaped eyes implored her to help. ‘Can’t … get … to … hospital.’ Her words shook with fright.
Confusion swamped Bec. The woman looked Vietnamese but sounded Australian. She glanced between husband and wife.
The man caught Bec’s gaze. ‘Oh, thank goodness, you’re Australian!’ The husband’s voice trembled. ‘She insisted on coming to this temple, even though I didn’t want her to. It’s our third baby and now …’
The woman moaned again, her fingernails cutting into Bec’s arm.
‘I’m Bec Monahan and I think we need to get your wife onto a bed so I can examine her.’
‘I’m Mark and my wife is Melissa, and the baby isn’t due for another three weeks.’ His voice rose with worry. ‘I’m working for Glaston International and we’re living in Ho Chi Minh City. We’ve arranged for the delivery to be in the French hospital there, not up here in the middle of nowhere.’ He spoke like a CEO. A man used to being in charge, having his orders obeyed and sticking to a plan. He seemed completely bewildered by the deviation.
Two young nuns ran up on hearing the noise and showed the way to a room. Mark swung Melissa into his arms and carried her there, gently lowering her onto the bed.
Bec spoke to the nuns. ‘Bác s. Doctor.’ She raised her hands to indicate a tall man. ‘Bác s.’
They nodded and ran off to find Tom. Bec hauled out a pair of gloves from her bag. When she’d packed them she’d been thinking they’d be used for doing first aid or the washing-up, not delivering a baby. ‘Melissa, I just want to see how far away you are from having this baby.’
She sucked in her lips and sent up a quick prayer that Melissa was just scared and overreacting to some early contractions. But the fact that this was her third pregnancy, combined with a lot of groaning, had Bec worried.
‘At least in this heat my hands are warm,’ Bec quipped, trying to lighten the tension. Using her hands, she examined the lie of the baby by palpating Melissa’s abdomen. Limbs seemed to be everywhere. She pressed down on top of the uterus, feeling for the baby’s bottom. It felt unusually hard.
She felt again, her fingers transmitting the unwanted information. ‘Melissa, has your doctor mentioned anything about the baby’s position?’
The woman shook her head and grunted.
Grunting wasn’t good. ‘I’m going to do an internal examination now.’ Bec gently inserted two fingers, feeling for the cervix, but she could only detect a lip and bulging forewaters. She couldn’t feel past the bulge to the presenting part. Damn. A fully dilated cervix ruled out getting back to Hué hospital to have the baby.
Not to worry. Babies basically delivered themselves. Melissa and Mark would have a surprise to take home to the family from their outing to the temple.
Melissa grunted as a strong contraction gripped her. Liquid gushed from her vagina.
Bec immediately removed her hand. A black substance stuck to the end of her gloved fingers. Meconium.
Bec’s heart beat faster. ‘I’m sorry, Melissa, I just have to go back one more time to feel the baby’s position.’ Her brain already knew but she needed to feel the presenting part to kick her disbelief out the door.
As her fingers reached she prayed to feel the hard, bony skull of the baby. Her fingers made contact. Soft.
Bec took in a deep breath and felt again. Soft and yielding.
No. She sent up a prayer of help to whoever was out there and listening. They were facing an obstetric emergency and about to deliver a breech baby with no equipment.
‘What’s happening?’ Tom’s cheerful voice reverberated around the room.
Bec glanced around over her shoulder. ‘We’re about to deliver a breech. Ask the nuns to boil water and bring towels.’
Tom stood perfectly still for a moment, his eyes glued to her face. His expression reflected all her emotions—fear, professionalism and relief they could back each other up.
‘Breech! But isn’t that bottom first?’ Mark’s anxiety morphed into terror.
Tom put his hand on the other man’s shoulders. ‘It is. But in an unlucky situation you have the fortune to have a midwife and a doctor here today. I’m Tom and I’m a doctor. You go and hold your wife’s hand and leave the rest to Bec and me.’
Bec was certain his words indicated more control than either of them felt.
Tom hauled open his medical kit, passed a pair of scissors to one of the nuns and asked for them to be boiled. He asked the other nuns to stay. Then he stepped up to Bec, standing very close, his breath stroking her cheek. He spoke softly so only she could hear. ‘How long since you delivered a breech?’
‘About a year ago. You?’
He shook his head. ‘Not since I was a student. You lead, I’ll follow.’
He squeezed her shoulder, his confidence trailing through her, reducing her misgivings.
‘Melissa.’ She touched the woman’s shoulder and fixed her gaze on the woman’s fear-dilated eyes. ‘I need you to listen really carefully. Your baby is coming and it’s bottom first. Together we can deliver this impatient imp but you must do what I say, when I say. We’re going to need patience and co-operation.’
Melissa nodded, her eyes huge. ‘I can do that.’
‘Great. First we’re going to swing you around so you’re lying across the bed. Mark and Tom will have to hold one of your legs each.’
They helped position Melissa so her bottom was on the edge of the bed. One of the nuns sat behind Melissa, cradling her head and supporting her during contractions.
Mark held Melissa’s hand, his face pale and dripping with sweat.
‘I … want … to … push.’ Melissa grunted.
‘Go for it.’ Bec watched, fingers crossed, hoping the buttocks would deliver with the back uppermost. A swollen scrotum announced the birth of a boy.
It was too early to celebrate.
She gently put her fingers into the vagina. ‘His legs are flexed.’ Bec spoke out loud, keeping Tom in the picture.
‘Pressure behind the knees.’
Tom’s quietly spoken words mirrored her thoughts. She gently applied pressure and splinted a leg with her fingers, to draw it down.
‘Warm cloths, I need warm cloths.’ It seemed outrageous to be demanding warm cloths in the stifling heat but a cold breech could send the cord into spasm and cut off the baby’s oxygen supply.
The baby’s legs and trunk were delivered and Bec gently held the baby at the hips, keeping his spine uppermost at all times to allow the head to enter the pelvis in the correct position. Please, don’t get stuck.
‘You’re doing so well, Melissa.’ Bec tried to infuse her words with a sense of calm that she didn’t feel. She gently looped some cord down to prevent compression.
She rotated the baby’s back from one side to the other to encourage the arms to gather in a flexed position across the chest as she delivered the shoulders.
‘Lovsett manoeuvre—well done.’ Tom left his post for a moment and draped the baby in warm cloths. ‘I’ve checked the foetal heart by counting the cord pulsations. He’s doing OK.’
Melissa swallowed hard and glanced at Mark. ‘It will be OK because we’re here at this place.’
Bec’s heart stalled at the belief in Melissa’s voice. The delivery of the head was the hardest and most dangerous part of the breech. She hooked her gaze with Tom’s, expecting to find trepidation and dread to match her own.
Instead, respect shone back at her from deep within his eyes. He mouthed, ‘You can do this.’
Kneeling on the floor, she straddled the baby’s body across her arm, preparing to deliver the head by flexion. With her right fingers flexing the head and her left fingers on the baby’s face, she waited for another contraction.
Nothing happened.
Seconds merged into one minute and then another.
‘Melissa, your baby needs to be born.’ Quiet urgency infused Tom’s words. He sat her up, feeling her abdomen for a contraction.
He nodded to Bec. ‘Now, Melissa. One big push, now.‘
‘Arrgh!’ Melissa pushed, her face puce with effort.
The baby’s head slipped through the pelvis as Bec directed it downward and then up over Melissa’s abdomen, in a large arc.
Purple and unresponsive, the baby lay completely still on his mother’s stomach. No!
Tom quickly tied off the cord with suture thread and cut it with the boiled scissors. He rubbed the baby firmly with the cloth. ‘Come on, little guy.’ His words sounded loud in the painful silence of the room.
Bec wiped the baby’s nose and mouth and tilted the baby downward. ‘We don’t have anything we can use to aspirate.’ She couldn’t hide the panic in her voice.
Tom rubbed the sternum and blew on the little boy’s face in short, sharp puffs.
The baby’s colour deepened to a dusky blue.
Melissa sobbed, gripping Mark’s hand.
A feeble cry broke the stifling silence.
Then a louder, more demanding cry rent the air and purple became pink and pink became an indignant red.
‘Bless him, he’s gloriously grumpy.’ Relief poured through Bec as she watched Tom reverently wrap the baby up until all that could be seen was a shock of black hair, enormous black eyes and his indignant wide-open mouth.
Tom as a baby. The thought thudded through her.
Had he looked like this gorgeous baby with his mixed Eurasian heritage? A stabbing pain rocked her. How it must have tortured his mother to have to abandon him to others’ care.
Bec turned her attention back to Melissa. The placenta was delivered with a minimum of fuss and the nuns, Bec and Tom cleaned everything up and scrubbed the floors. Melissa’s observations were stable and the baby sucked contentedly at his mother’s breast.
‘Bec, Tom, thank you so much.’ Mark pumped Tom’s hand and suddenly he encircled Bec in a hug, pulling her tightly against him.
Bec waited for panic to engulf her, the familiar panic that rendered her rigid with fear when unknown men touched her.
It didn’t come. Instead, she glowed from bringing a child into the world and completing a family. She hugged him back. ‘I’m just so glad it all worked out.’
‘But I knew it would. This place protects children,’ Melissa’s voice broke in. ‘Thank you so much. We shall call him Tom and his middle name shall be the same as Bec’s surname.’
Tom grinned. ‘I’ve never had a namesake before.’
‘You better introduce yourself, then.’ Melissa passed the baby back to Tom.
He looked down at baby Tom, now calm from being at his mother’s breast. The baby stared back at him.
Bec bit her lip at the sight of a tall, dark-haired, chocolate-eyed doctor tenderly cuddling the small, dark-haired, dark-eyed baby against his broad chest. A baby who perhaps looked a lot like a child of his own would have looked.
Tom as a father. The thought sucked the air from her lungs at the precise moment the chill she’d experienced earlier rushed back in. Only this time it stayed like a cold, hard lump.
She didn’t want to think of Tom as a father. He was a colleague and friend. And that was all she wanted, right? Being Tom’s friend suddenly became the hardest thing she’d ever agreed to.
* * *
Tom and Bec sat sipping tea that the nuns had made for them. A plate loaded with local fruits lay between them. Tom especially loved the contrast of colours in the dragon fruit—bright pink exterior with a white pulp, symmetrically dotted with fine black seeds.
Bec peeled a green orange. ‘I’m so glad that’s over. I’ve never been so scared in my professional life as I was then. I had every breech complication screaming at me in my head.’
‘You were sensational.’ He toasted her with his glass of tea.
She blushed at his praise, her eyes sparkling with childlike glee. Just like when she’d clapped her hands at the idea of making the incense.
He’d seen flashes of this sort of enthusiasm when he’d first met her. But back then she’d immediately covered up her natural response. Now she no longer hid her joy. A quiver of wonder vibrated inside him. Had he played a role in that? Had his friendship helped her blossom into the women she should have always been if her father and ex-boyfriend hadn’t thwarted her growth with their regime of fear?
She picked up some jackfruit. ‘You weren’t bad yourself. The brain is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Stuff you think you’ve forgotten comes flooding back.’ She stared at him, her violet eyes blazing with the light of a job well done. ‘You were with me every step of the way. You have no idea how much that helped me.’
He wanted to sink into those eyes, into that passion she had for life. Embrace it. Embrace her. ‘I didn’t do that much. It’s a shame Rebecca isn’t a boy’s name.’
She laughed. ‘I think Tom Monahan Phillips-Lee is a very respectable name for a boy. He has such a great birth story. He’ll grow up being told over and over, “You were born in a Buddhist nunnery.” It will go down in the family annals and be a much more exciting story than the sanitised conditions of the French hospital in Ho Chi Minh City.’
She sighed. ‘My story was pretty dull. Born at one o’clock on a Saturday afternoon at King Edward Hospital. My parents couldn’t even remember what the weather was like.’
‘At least you have a story.’ The words came out uncensored.
She gazed at him, her voice soft but firm. ‘So do you.’
‘How do you figure that?’ Irritation sizzled inside him at her lack of understanding.
‘You’re part of history. You arrived in Australia and your parents chose you. They saw something in you that opened their hearts.’ She leaned forward. ‘I bet they told you over and over when you were little the story of how they came to choose you. Why they bypassed other orphans and loved you.’
‘Yes, they did.’ Her words chafed, their truth diluting his experience. ‘But I don’t have a birth story. I have no idea where I was born.’
‘You know you were born in Vietnam, in the south, during a war. I doubt it was a hospital. I like to imagine it was somewhere like this.’ She reached out and briefly touched his arm, her eyes full of serenity. ‘A peaceful place where your mother found refuge in uncertain times.’
His throat tightened. How had she managed to describe his thoughts? When he’d held baby Tom and stared down into his enormous eyes, which peered at him from under a fuzz of black hair, he’d had a sense of déjà vu. Crazy thoughts. ‘I think you’re having flights of fancy.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘You’ve had the same thoughts. I saw them on your face when you held Tom. You sensed something in his eyes.’ She placed her hands over his. ‘I think that’s fine. If it helps you, believe that.’
He wanted to believe. But he was a scientist and he dealt in facts. He pulled his hands away. ‘The reality is probably far removed from this.’
‘Or it could be really close.’ Her insistent words hammered at him.
His jaw clenched. ‘Facts are the only thing that will help.’
She raised her brows. ‘I disagree. My imagination helped me to survive in my father’s house. If this place helps you then weave it into a set of “possible maybes” for your own birth.’
‘Next you’ll be going all mystical on me.’
‘Hey, you’re sounding very Western and we’re in Asia.’ A cheeky grin streaked across her face. ‘I’m going to light some incense before we leave to mark Tom’s birth.’
An unfamiliar dreamy look floated in the depths of her eyes. ‘He’s so cute. I bet you looked a lot like baby Tom when you were born.’
‘You going all clucky on me, Bec?’ Teasing her was easier than dealing with the strange sensation in his gut when she talked about babies.
She suddenly stiffened. ‘No. Motherhood isn’t for me. I wouldn’t trust a relationship enough to bring a child into it.’
An overwhelming sadness crept through him that this gorgeous woman had settled on being alone and was not reaching out for what every woman deserved. ‘So you’re going to hide from relationships because of your parents and one failed attempt when you were an immature girl?’
Her face blanched, her skin tightening over her cheekbones. ‘That’s pretty rich, coming from you. You’re hiding behind all that “commitment” nonsense. You’ve put your life on hold until you find your mother.’
Indignation surged inside him. ‘It takes a lot of energy to search. It wouldn’t be fair to any woman when my focus can’t be on the relationship.’
Her relentless gaze bored into him. ‘And what if you never find your mother?’
Like bullets from a gun, the truth of eight small words shattered his heart. He refused to think about that.
