Man Drought (10 page)

‘Taste this.’ Cal laid a platter of Mexican nibbles on the bar – corn chips with homemade dips of guacamole, chilli con queso and green salsa. The divine aromas teased Imogen’s tastebuds and distracted her thoughts.

She took a chip and dipped it in the queso, moaning her approval. ‘What did I do to deserve such fabulous staff?’ she asked Cal, before stealing another one. She finished her mouthful, licked her lips and cleared her throat to address the masses.

‘Okay, guys! Time to lay down those brushes, put aside those tools and pick up a drink. The bar is open and Cal’s hors d’oeuvres are to die for.’ Just to prove her point, she swiped another chip – this time with salsa – before taking her place behind the bar. She’d better keep her
distance from that platter or she won’t have room for mains, and she’ll have to run for double her normal time on Monday morning.

Within seconds, the bar was besieged and her arms – already aching from holding up a paintbrush half the day – got a workout at the beer taps. For a brief moment, Imogen wondered if the alcohol she’d have to supply would end up costing her more than it would have to get professionals in to do the painting, sanding and all the other jobs. But even if it did, it was worth it.

Thanks to these eager men, the interior of the pub now had a whole first layer of paint (including the ceiling), the exterior was looking cleaner than ever and the verandah would soon be polished like a dance floor. Five of the accommodation rooms had been completely done over, with the last three on tomorrow’s agenda. All of the new furniture had been constructed and moved inside for the evening’s festivities. But quite aside from the physical work achieved, Imogen had laughed and smiled more today than she had in a long time. So much so that her jaw muscles ached almost as much as her arms. With music blaring from the pub’s ancient stereo while they worked, there’d been numerous times she’d forgotten about the ‘slab’ part of the party and simply relaxed and enjoyed it. It had been an amazing day and the night was only just beginning.

As she passed another beer to one of the volunteers, Imogen scanned the crowd for her friends. Jenna and Guy seemed to have disappeared. She rolled her eyes – no surprises there. They’d been carrying on like lovestruck teenagers all day.

And Amy, darling Amy, was weaving through the new tables, talking to the guys as she topped up platters and collected the empty glasses. Despite her smile, Imogen could tell she was tired. When she trekked back to the bar with her latest load, Imogen took the tray and passed it to Cal, before leading Amy over to a chair to sit. Pulling out another one for her legs, she made Amy stretch out. ‘What can I get you to drink?’

Amy yawned and Imogen mentally kicked herself. So much for not letting her friend overdo it.

‘Are you okay?’

Amy reached out and squeezed Imogen’s hand. ‘Relax, I’m fine. I’ve had a great day. I really think you made the right decision coming here.’

‘Me too.’ Imogen nodded. She’d had the occasional doubt but mostly the pros outweighed the cons.

‘And all the guys are really lovely,’ Amy continued, taking a quick glance around the pub. ‘Not a bad-looking bunch either. Anyone hook your interest yet?’

‘Amy!’ For a second she wondered if she’d heard correctly.

‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’ Guilt swept across Amy’s face. ‘It’s just—-’

‘No. You shouldn’t have.’ Imogen snatched her hand from Amy’s, the anger in her voice more for herself than for her friend. Anger because at Amy’s ludicrous question, she’d thought immediately of Gibson. ‘Orange juice or lemonade?’

‘Orange juice, but—-’ Amy tried to grab Imogen’s hand again but she moved quickly out of reach.

‘It’s okay.’ Imogen faked a smile. ‘I can’t talk about stuff like that now. I’ll be right back.’

She knew her brusqueness had hurt Amy, who, as always, only had Imogen’s happiness at heart, but she didn’t want to move on and she certainly didn’t want to start talking about hot guys as if they were still in high school. Taking a deep breath, she headed to the bar.

Halfway through pouring the juice, a shriek rang out behind her: Amy – she’d recognise that shriek anywhere. Dropping the glass and ignoring the mess as it clattered onto the floor behind her, Imogen rushed back to her friend. She fell to her knees next to Amy and grabbed her hand.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘My waters just broke.’ Amy pressed her free hand against her stomach. ‘At least I think they did.’

Imogen looked down and her heart stopped beating at the sight of liquid trickling from the chair onto the floor. ‘Oh God. Isn’t it too early?’

‘Yes.’ Amy’s calm demeanour collapsed as a tear slid down her cheek.

Good one, Imogen. Way to stress the pregnant lady
. Knowing it was up to her to keep it together, she all but cooed, ‘Everything’s going to be fine.’ She looked behind her to see Pauli on the phone, her instructions loud and clear as she requested an ambulance. Charlie stretched up to turn off the stereo. Cal rushed over with a pillow and a large glass of water. God, she loved her team.

But where the hell was Jenna?

‘I’m scared.’ Amy clutched Imogen’s hand so hard it cut off circulation. ‘I want Ryan.’

‘I know, honey. As soon as the ambulance gets here, I’ll call him.’ She stroked Amy’s head and tucked some hair behind her ear. ‘I’m not leaving you until then.’

‘Do you think we should move her some place more comfortable?’ Pauli asked as soon as she was off the phone. ‘I told the ambulance to park out the back, so maybe we should take her to room 1 while we wait. That’s if you think you can walk,’ she added quickly, looking to Amy.

Amy nodded. ‘Definitely. I feel like a circus clown here.’

Imogen registered the curious eyes of the slab party volunteers peering at the commotion. ‘Good idea,’ she said. With Pauli’s help, she wrapped a towel (for modesty’s sake) round Amy’s waist and helped her stand. The crowd of onlookers stepped back as the trio
headed past the bar and into the foyer, which led to the corridor of lower level hotel rooms.

As they passed it on their right, the store cupboard opened and Jenna and Guy spilled out, giggling.

‘Careful,’ barked Pauli as Jenna almost crashed into them.

Startled, Jenna’s flushed face flashed white as Guy pulled her back out of the way. ‘What’s wrong?’ She shrugged out of his grip. ‘Oh my God. Are you okay, Amy?’

‘Not sure,’ Amy managed, her usually smiley face now etched with worry.

Imogen looked Jenna up and down, raised her eyebrows at the sight of her dishevelled hair and clothing, but stopped short of grilling her. ‘Her waters have broken,’ she explained.

‘Oh my!’ Jenna tagged behind them as they made their way into the room. The three women almost fell over themselves trying to help Amy onto the bed.

Pauli looked to Imogen. ‘Now Jenna’s here, should I get back to the pub to help Charlie and Cal?’

‘Thanks,’ Imogen said, so glad she had help she could rely on. ‘Can you make sure everyone is well fed and watered?’

‘Shall do. Good luck.’ Pauli smiled to Amy as she left.

Imogen turned back to her friend. ‘How are you feeling now?’ she asked, puffing a pillow behind Amy’s head.

‘Like I’m in labour,’ Amy answered, cringing. She screwed up her face and let out a sound Imogen had never heard before. She clutched her belly and froze for a moment. ‘I think I just had my first contraction.’

‘We need to call an ambulance,’ Jenna said, patting her skirt as if looking for her phone.

‘Already done,’ snapped Imogen
. While you were bonking some bloke you only just met.
She didn’t know why she felt aggro at Jenna – she should have been used to her friend’s antics by now – but she did.

‘Excellent.’ Jenna glanced back to Amy. ‘It’s going to be all right, sweetie. Is there anything we can do for you?’

Imogen knelt down on the opposite side of the bed to Jenna and held Amy’s hand.

‘I want Ryan.’ Amy sniffed.

Jenna located a box of tissues and whipped one out. Handing it to her friend, she said, ‘I know, honey. I wish he was here too, but can I get you a drink or something?’

‘More water.’ Amy’s words came out on a quick breath before she winced again. A groan followed.

Imogen and Jenna watched in horror as another contraction took hold.

‘Should we be timing this?’ Jenna hissed.

‘Good idea.’ Imogen glanced at her watch and made a mental note of the start time.

As if eager to get away, Jenna stood. ‘I better go get the water.’ When she returned with a glass and a bottle of water, the contraction had ended and Amy gulped the whole lot down in seconds. Imogen and Jenna looked to each other, their eyebrows raised. Imogen guessed she wasn’t the only one praying the ambulance would hurry.

As Amy tried to relax into the pillows and find a comfortable position again, Imogen tried for small talk. ‘Thank you for everything you organised today Amy, I can’t believe—-’

‘You need to call Ryan!’ Amy pleaded. ‘Give me your phone and I’ll call him.’

But Imogen didn’t know what to say. Ryan would go insane with worry, so she wanted to wait until she had a better idea of what to tell him. Maybe these were Braxton Hicks contractions? Maybe Amy wasn’t really in labour and the ambulance folk would set everything right.
But what about the waters breaking?
asked an annoying voice inside Imogen’s head.

Before she could tell that voice to take a hike, they heard voices down the hallway. Moments later, two men in green St Johns Ambulance uniforms appeared. Imogen had heard stories about ambulances taking forever in the country, and it may have felt that way, but in reality, the Gibson’s Find volunteers were quick.

She looked at the first man, an older farmer who’d only been in the pub once. He smiled warmly and she turned her focus to the other man. Her heart jolted in recognition.

Gibson!
Just her bloody luck. His eyes met hers before he looked away. In those brief seconds, her insides twisted – not unpleasantly – and she had to lick her lips, which all of a sudden felt parched.

As if Imogen weren’t even there, he turned his attention to Amy. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he knelt next to the bed and took her hand. The other officer stood close behind, carrying a medical bag as if on standby for instruction. She’d heard there was often only one qualified officer and a driver to attend call-outs, and it looked as if Gibson were the guy in charge. His focus locked on Amy and he spoke in a soothing voice Imogen would never have imagined him capable of.

‘So, your waters have broken. Any other signs of labour?’

Amy nodded. ‘I’ve just started contractions … Oh fuck!’

Imogen looked to Jenna, who appeared as anxious as she felt. Amy never swore. As their friend screwed up her whole face and rocked forward, groaning as the contraction strengthened, Imogen knelt and offered her hand. Amy snatched it and within seconds Imogen wished she’d offered something plastic instead. She bit her lip, reasoning the pain she felt had to be a fraction of what Amy was feeling.

Finally, Amy’s groaning died down and she released Imogen’s hand. Imogen shook it out a little and looked to Jenna. ‘Your turn next time.’

Catching her breath, Amy said, ‘I haven’t actually been feeling the best the last forty-eight hours. I had lower back pain a bit today.’

Gibson looked up and glared at Imogen. Guessing his thoughts, she couldn’t help but defend herself. ‘She never said a word.’

‘I didn’t,’ Amy said quickly, offering Imogen an apologetic smile. ‘This isn’t Immy’s fault. It’s all mine. I never imagined I was in labour, I just thought I’d overdone it a bit. Oh God, Ryan will never forgive me if something happens to our baby. I’ll never forgive myself.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen.’ Imogen stroked Amy’s hair out of her eyes with her still-functioning hand and squeezed her shoulder. And of course Ryan would forgive her – she’d never seen anyone as devoted to their spouse as Ryan was to Amy. It was gorgeous, sometimes sickeningly so.

‘Okay. How far along are you?’ Gibson asked.

‘Just over thirty-six weeks.’ Amy clutched her belly and sobbed. ‘This is too early.’

‘It’s okay, we’re going to look after you and the baby.’ Gibson squeezed Amy’s hand and then looked up at the other officer. ‘Dave, we’re gonna have to call Comms on this one. We’ll need a plane.’

Dave pulled a phone out of his pocket and started dialling. While he waited for a response, he indicated to Gibson that he was going to the van to get the stretcher ready. Gibson opened up the oxygen equipment and prepared an oxygen mask for Amy, before taking out a blood pressure cuff and wrapping it around her arm. He glanced at his watch. ‘How long since your last contraction?’

Amy glanced to Imogen for direction.

‘It wasn’t anywhere as intense as that one, but I’d say about five minutes.’

‘Okay,’ Gibson mused, as if he were searching through a mental training manual, trying to recall what he knew about childbirth.

‘The Flying Doctor has been notified and we’re a high priority,’ Dave announced, returning to the room. ‘Stretcher is in the hallway and Comms is calling back with their on-call obstetrician ASAP.’

‘Great, thanks Dave.’ Gibson turned back to Amy just as the next contraction hit.

‘Oh God,’ she moaned, positioning herself on all fours. ‘Here comes another one …’

‘It’s all right.’ Gibson moved closer to Amy and this time he rubbed her back.

‘There now, you’re doing a fine job,’ Gibson cooed. ‘Did you have antenatal classes?’

‘Of course I fucking did,’ Amy shrieked, turning her head to glare at him. ‘Do I look like the village idiot?’

Imogen’s eyes widened at Amy’s uncharacteristic language and tone, but Gibson didn’t flinch, continuing to rub his patient’s back. ‘Definitely not,’ he soothed. ‘Did they teach you much about breathing?’

Amy didn’t answer immediately – choosing to summon her wild beast side instead. Imogen heard a collective release of air when she eventually quietened and sank back onto the pillows – she hadn’t been the only one holding her breath.

‘Sorry,’ Amy said, sweat dripping off her brow. ‘We did learn about breathing. I’d totally forgotten. Maybe I am an idiot.’ She sobbed a little and Gibson rushed to contradict her.