Ora's Gold Page 19

  Dragon swoops, surprising me out of my reverie. I look up and there is the dark car coming towards us. It slows as it goes by, the occupants blatantly checking us out. My hand in my pocket goes straight to my belly. Sure enough, the car turns around and sidles up next to us.

  ‘Just keep walking,’ Jake says, squeezing my hand. ‘Don’t say anything.’

  I smile in spite of the tension. It feels so good to have Jake beside me.

  The car window comes down and a man in a charcoal shirt leans out of the passenger window. He’s wearing dark glasses and has big hair. I don’t look closely, but I bet his teeth are pearly white.

  ‘Hello Ora and …?’ He sounds friendly. He waits for Jake to give his name but there’s no way that’s going to happen. ‘My name’s Keith Waterhouse,’ the guy continues, ‘and this is Bob Jenkins. We know the SIF have told you not to talk to us, but unlike them, we’re on your side.’

  Dragon lands on the roof of their car, which is keeping pace with our steps.

  ‘Like you, we don’t agree with the birthing system and we want to change things. It’s stories like yours, Ora, that will make people think—and then act. We need the brave ones to speak out. To let people know there are other options.’

  The energy of the man is magnetic. I want to look at him, even if he is doing the hard sell. His words make sense. Our feet scrunch on the unmade road and so do the tyres of the car. They’re keeping tempo with us exactly. I’m glad Jake is between them and me.

  ‘We have another story like your aunt’s, Ora.’ My name sounds different, like he’s rolling the ‘r’. ‘A midwife who’s been practising undercover in another state. The SIF have got her now, but she talked to us before they took her in. It took them months to catch her. They’ll get your aunt too, but you just might save her if you speak now.’

  We carry on walking, looking into the distance.

  ‘Do you know where Dione is, Ora?’

  The man is almost halfway out of the car window by now. His torso is reaching towards us; he is so close. If Jake wanted to, he could hit him. I think he wants to.

  ‘We’ve got a lot of money for you, Ora, if you talk. My boss really wants this story, and when she wants something she pays a high price. Just a chat, Ora? It won’t take long. We could come back later?’

  ‘Tonight,’ I say, turning to look straight at him.

  Jake almost crushes my hand. Dragon flaps her wings. She’s flying just above the car now.

  ‘No!’ I say. ‘Not tonight, tomorrow. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.’

  ‘Great! That’s great. Hey, we could give you a lift, if you like.’ He sounds too friendly. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘She said tomorrow. Now leave us alone,’ Jake snarls at the man.

  The man nods and sits back inside the car.

  ‘Tomorrow then,’ he says, beaming at me. As the car drives off he closes the window.

  I don’t want to look at Jake.

  ‘What did you say that for?’ He is fuming.

  ‘Well, you didn’t say anything, did you?’

  ‘You have to ignore them. I told you that. Now, if they snoop around they’ll see that we’ve left. I can’t believe you just did that!’

  ‘I had to get them to leave, Jake. I am so ready to spill my guts, I can feel it.’

  Jake scowls into the distance. He’s furious.

  ‘It’s all building up inside me. The stress and the anger, being locked up, all the injustice.’ I stop walking and look at him, rage simmering in my belly. ‘Why should I have to run like a criminal just so I can have my baby normally?’

  He keeps quiet. Maybe he can see that I’ll bite his head off if he says anything more. I am the one carrying this baby, carrying the trauma of the SIF, carrying the weight of Dione’s story.

  We don’t say another word until we’re in the city.

  Any other time, a day in the city could have been fun, but killing time is not fun. What money we have, we want to save, so we wander about aimlessly, feeling lost.

  Eventually, we find refuge in a bookshop specialising in architecture and landscape design. There are comfortable armchairs that invite you to sit and read. The books are huge and glossy and I get lost in the images, full of amazing buildings that blend seamlessly with the landscapes. My fingers itch for my pencils and sketchpad.

  Jake comes over and guides me quick-sharp out of the shop.

  ‘The sooner we hide you the better,’ he says, taking my hand. ‘Did you see the way you were sitting?’

  ‘I made sure my belly was hidden. Nobody saw!’

  ‘I did!’

  ‘But you know.’ I sigh and look back at the shop longingly, wondering if this is how it’s going to be forever; never still for long, constantly on the lookout for trouble.

  We decide to head off to the meeting point early, fed up with the bustle and fumes of the city, feeling purposeless among the busy people rushing past.

  The train lulls me with its low-key hum; my eyes grow heavy and I follow my thoughts inside to Gumnut. Whenever I focus on him, he moves, as though in direct response to my attention. I smile and snuggle into Jake, savouring the moment. We should’ve just caught trains all day.

  As we wait for the bus to take us to the reserve, Jake starts whistling. I know it’s his way of dealing with the stress, but it’s tuneless and annoying and the sound really gets to me. It’s like some crazy jingle that goes on and on. I want to tell him to shut up.

  The fumes on the bus make me queasy. I open the window and put my head against the glass, feeling the cold sink into my skin. It’s so good to see the ocean again. Today it’s the deepest blue, beckoning and soothing.

  The muscles around Gumnut start to twitch, like they have a life of their own. It’s the oddest sensation. I put my hands in my coat pockets and then over my belly and feel the skin contract, oddly fascinated by how stretched it is and how clearly I can feel Gumnut’s elbow—or maybe it’s a foot? My whole front is twitching, all tight and hard around his little form!

  ‘Jake! I think Gumnut’s coming.’

  His head whips around and his eyes goggle, making him look like a cartoon character. I want to laugh but then my belly goes into spasm again. I put his hand over Gumnut so he can feel the movement of my muscles. His eyes widen slightly in wonder.

  ‘Does it hurt?’ he asks. I shake my head.

  ‘They’re Braxton Hicks.’ A woman pokes her head between us from the seat behind. We turn to look at her, horrified that she’s broken our cover. ‘I saw when you stood up to open the window. Don’t worry,’ she says quietly, seeing the panic on our faces. ‘I won’t tell. I used to be a midwife … once upon a time.’

  Neither of us says anything. We’re too filled with terror.

  ‘The baby’s not coming yet. You’ll know when it is. Your muscles are just practising.’ She sits back and says a bit louder, ‘I wondered why you were wearing such a big coat on a day like this.’

  ‘’Scuse us,’ Jake says, standing up and taking my hand. ‘This is our stop.’ I open my mouth to say something, close it again and follow him down the aisle. I wave to the woman as the bus goes past.

  ‘Be careful,’ she mouths back at me.

  ‘Shit!’ Jake says. ‘Shit! This is great. We’re probably all over the CCTV in that bookshop, and now we’ve been clocked by the local sticky beak. Great, Ora. Fucking great!’

  ‘It’s not my fault!’ We are shouting. I see an old man across the road stop and stare.

  I balloon my coat out with my hands in the pockets and start walking in the wake of the bus.

  We walk the rest of the way, even though I’m tired and sore and still worried that the baby’s coming.

  31

  The Artemis

  An hour and a half later, hot and bothered, we finally arrive at the meeting point. The nature reserve isn’t far from the beach, and as Tom predicted, no-one’s here. It’s just a piece of land with some trees and lots of birds.

  I am so thirst
y, but we’ve run out of water. We spread my coat out on the ground and sprawl in the afternoon sun. It feels good to be off my feet. I haven’t walked so much in ages, and my legs aren’t used to the extra weight. I’ve gone soft.

  As darkness falls we hear a car approaching. It’s Tom in his four-wheel drive, towing the huge boat on the trailer behind him. How are we ever going to get it into the sea without being seen? I have to force my shoulders down as they tense up towards my ears. I don’t know if we’re going to make it.

  Tom’s big smile helps reassure me. He doesn’t chat, just gives us both a brief hug and says, ‘Right, let’s do it.’

  Sarah leans across the driver’s seat to the open door. ‘We’ll miss you,’ she says, and I feel like flinging myself into her arms.

  ‘I’ll miss you too,’ I say, restraining myself. ‘And you,’ I add, blowing a kiss to Little Tom in the back seat, who waves.

  Tom has got a ladder out of the car and propped it against the back of the boat.

  ‘Come on, you two,’ he says. ‘Onwards and upwards!’

  We follow him to the end of the trailer.

  ‘Now, just stay in the cabin until I bang my fist on the deck. No poking your heads out, d’you hear?’

  Jake and I nod definitely.

  ‘Right.’ Tom holds out his hand to help me onto the ladder. ‘Thank you,’ I say, gratitude thickening my voice. I lean down to give him a big hug, then trundle up the ladder. The rust on the rungs feels prickly under my hands. After I hitch myself clumsily into the boat, Jake passes up my things and follows me. Tom claps him on the back as he goes.

  ‘See you in a bit,’ he says, and turns briskly away.

  *

  The boat—Artemis—is blue and white. At the back, where we’re standing, is a sunken, rectangular cockpit flanked by bench seats covered in faded blue cushions. The tiller reaches a little way into the cockpit and is smooth and well-worn. The outboard motor beside the rudder looks powerful, and I can smell fuel.

  The vertical pole of the mainsail reaches into the sky and the sail itself is wrapped around the boom, which goes from the front of the boat to the back, stretching across the cockpit. There isn’t much space. At all. I want to get off already. How dumb was I? Just because I love the ocean doesn’t mean I love sailing boats. I feel like chucking my guts up, and we haven’t even hit water yet! Oh Gumnut.

  ‘Keep moving,’ Jake says, nodding in the direction of the cabin. A few steps forward and I’m at the entrance of ‘below’. Two timber rails line three steep steps leading into the cabin. A tiny kitchen is on the left and wooden lockers and a door are on the right. Beyond the kitchen there’s a table with seats, flanked by a bench seat with another long blue cushion.

  It’s even more cramped down here. At the end of the cabin, I see through a small doorway a double bed that tapers into a ‘V’, hugging the line of the boat’s bow. Evenly spaced circular windows are at eye level allowing what little light remains to come in. I can just stand, but Jake has to stoop.

  Dione jumps up from the bench seat and gives me a hug. We nearly fall over as the car pulls away, towing us towards the sea. We plonk down. Jake sits at the table sideways, his long legs taking up all the space. A wave of claustrophobia overwhelms me. I want to rush back up to the fresh air, but force myself to stay seated.

  Dione leans forward to greet Jake and smiles at us broadly.

  ‘Oh, it’s good to see you both!’ She looks very much at home down here, but she’s used to small spaces. I’m too caught up in my discomfort to reply. Right now, all my energy is going into keeping me from opening the hatch and throwing myself onto the moving tarmac.

  The car turns left and we all lean accordingly to keep our balance. Jake looks around and says with a nod, ‘You’ve done a great job, Dione.’

  There is so much wood down here, from lockers to table to bench seats. It’s a deep honey colour, shining under the strong-smelling polish.

  ‘Most of the work was on the outside,’ she says. I can see she’s pleased with herself. ‘Patching up scratches, and a chip in the hull. But I got it all done. Cleaning up down here was the fun part.’

  I look around, struggling to believe that this will be my home for the next however long. Jake looks so happy. Is it just me who feels like a factory hen? Gumnut kicks, reminding me of the bus journey.

  ‘I thought the baby was coming,’ I say, looking at Dione, exhaustion pressing in on me. She squeezes my hand.

  ‘A woman on the bus told us she was having early contractions. Braxton Kicks or something?’ Jake adds, looking concerned.

  ‘Braxton Hicks,’ Dione says, frowning. ‘What woman?’

  ‘An ex-midwife,’ I say. ‘She seemed okay.’

  Dione nods. ‘They’re practice contractions, nothing to worry about, but you do look tired. Have you had enough to drink today?’

  I shake my head, feeling thirsty again. Dione heads for the little kitchen, swaying as she goes. The boat is quite steady on the trailer—it feels like we’re on a bus. I watch as she takes out a plastic tumbler from one of the lockers above and pumps the water at a small sink.

  ‘We’ve twenty litres of drinking water under here.’ She points under the bench. ‘And another forty stored at the back of the boat.’

  ‘Does the watermaker still work?’ Jake asks.

  ‘Yep.’ Dione says. ‘It’s old but it works.’

  ‘Watermaker?’

  ‘It’s a hand pump that desalinates the seawater. It takes ages, but it’ll be a life saver,’ Dione says. ‘Who knows where we’ll be able to pick up water for sale?’

  Jake nods. ‘I’ve done my homework. I know all the safe places to stop. Boat ramps and jetties are the quietest. We can go in on the dinghy and catch a bus to the nearest shops, if we have to. If we’re sick of desalinated water, we can buy water there.’

  ‘And blow the budget,’ Dione says.

  Jake shrugs.

  ‘Where’s the toilet?’ I ask, realising I haven’t seen one. Jake nods at the door near the cabin steps, opposite the kitchen.

  ‘That’s the toilet?’

  ‘Just for number twos,’ Dione says chirpily, opening the door. ‘The bucket beside it is for number ones; the wee can be tipped overboard straight away.’

  ‘How glamorous,’ I say.

  ‘Sand is a wonderful thing for getting rid of smells.’ Dione points to the pail and tray on the other side of the portaloo. ‘You just sprinkle it on afterwards, whack the lid back on and you’re sorted.’

  Well, whoopie do. I’m about to say something but the whole boat tilts suddenly. I guess we’re driving down the boat ramp.

  We make a very smooth transition from land to sea and I get to try out Dione’s sand theory straight away, because as soon as we start rocking on the water I have to vomit. Thankfully I make it to the portaloo. Dione is beside me instantly, holding back my hair. I’m sure I’ve gone green.

  Tom starts the outboard and we begin to chug along, which only adds to the frequency of my retching.

  ‘Will Gumnut be alright?’ I wail, feeling like he must be dying with me.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Dione soothes.

  Jake, who’s been pacing, goes to open the hatch but Dione stops him.

  ‘Jake! Not yet!’ He sits down again with a humph. I spend a long time leaning over the little toilet. When I finally crawl back to the seat I notice how dark the cabin has become—we’re not going to turn on any lights until we’re further out to sea.

  I lie the full length of the bench seat and groan. Dione and Jake, who are sitting at the table, take it turns to lean forward and stroke my leg (Jake) and shoulder (Dione). We have to wait whole lifetimes before the signal finally comes from above. Jake is up and out before I’ve made it to my feet. I am stiff, tired and nauseous.

  The cockpit feels slightly roomier somehow, now that we’re surrounded by sea. The dark-blue sail is still wrapped neatly around the boom and something resembling a small surge of excitement distracts
me from the sickness as I imagine it billowing in the wind.

  The engine is off now and we drift gently along, standing and staring out to sea. The sea is calm and inky black against the night sky, which is filled with low-lying clouds lit up by a quarter moon. Words feel too small for all this space.

  Finally, Tom breaks the silence. ‘I saw Sarah pull up on the beach a little way back, so I’ll jump in here and the tide will take me in to her.’

  He takes off his T-shirt and chucks it to Jake, telling him to keep it.

  Tom steps nimbly onto the ladder at the back of the boat. ‘So look after yourselves, orright?’ He looks pointedly at my pregnant belly, and then at Dione and Jake. Then he starts down the rungs.

  ‘Brrr!’ he says, dipping a toe into the sea. ‘The drink’s a bit cold tonight.’ And with that he is gone, swimming strongly towards the shore. I want him to turn around and come back to us. I take Jake’s hand as we watch him getting further away. It’s so far! When we planned this it sounded so easy, but the shore is miles away. What if he doesn’t make it?

  We carry on drifting slowly, listening to the lap of water against the boat. Dione and Jake aren’t saying anything. They’re just looking intensely after Tom’s disappearing strokes.

  ‘Is he going to be alright?’ I sound so anxious. ‘This doesn’t feel right. It’s too far.’

  ‘He’s a good swimmer,’ Jake says, but that’s all. I want to hear him say he’ll be fine.

  ‘When we see Sarah’s headlights come on we’ll know he’s made it,’ Dione says. We are being pulled by the tide towards the beach. ‘That’ll be our signal to get moving.’

  ‘What will we do if they don’t turn on?’ I have to ask. I need them to reassure me. But they just keep staring into the void. ‘Say something!’

  ‘Tom reckoned it would take him half an hour,’ Jake says, checking his watch. ‘It’s been ten minutes.’