Trouble in Nirvana (24 page)

“What is it?”

The baby coughed and cried. Tom cleaned the little face of blood and mucus and it cried again, eyes tight shut against the light and the shock. He wrapped the towel around it as best he could, lifting it clear of the watery, bloody afterbirth to follow. “We have to cut the cord.” He looked up at her. “I don’t have my pocket knife on me.”

“She’s beautiful.” Primrose was gazing at the baby with such a wondrous look of rapture Tom gulped and blinked sudden tears. She. A girl. He hadn’t noticed. He looked down at the screwed up furiously indignant face. She was beautiful. A treasure.

“It’s a girl,” Primrose called to Nirupam. “A beautiful little girl.” Tears streamed down her face. “She’s perfect.”

“Can I hold her?” Nirupam asked weakly.

“Rose, do you have something to cut the cord?” More insistent. This wasn’t over yet.

She frowned, screwed her face in thought. “Nail scissors?”

“They’ll do, I hope.”

More rummaging in the handbag. The scissors were tiny but sharp and did the job eventually. He handed the towel wrapped baby to Primrose who took her solemnly and walked around the car to lay her on Nirupam’s breast. They whispered and cooed and cried together while Tom watched anxiously for the afterbirth. He thought it all appeared but the hospital could check.

“We have to go. They both need to be examined properly.”

Nirupam raised her head, face shining with a mixture of joy and exhaustion. “Thank you, Tom. You were wonderful.” She sank back onto the seat, clutching her baby to her chest.

“Can you hold the baby while we drive, Nirupam?”

Primrose said, “I’ll get rid of these messy towels first. They can go in the back.” She spread the sheet on a fresh garbage bag under Nirupam’s legs then leaned over to take the baby bundle gently from her arms while Nirupam sat up and rearranged herself. The little eyes were closed, the mouth pursed like a rosebud. So sweet, adorable. Light as a feather.

Nirupam clicked her seatbelt and held out her arms for her daughter. Primrose reluctantly surrendered her treasure and climbed in beside Tom.

“No rush now.” To Primrose’s surprise his hand was shaking as he extended it to turn the key in the ignition. He drew a deep breath, wiped his brow with the back of the other hand. “Okay, let’s go.” He started the engine.

“Look it’s only six,” said Primrose. “Baby must have been born at about ten to. What’s her name, Nirupam?”

“I want to tell Danny first,” she said hoarsely.

“At least we know she won’t be Rupert.” Tom slid a sidelong look at Primrose who laughed, then burst into tears at the same time.

****

“You were fantastic.” Primrose slumped wearily in the blue plastic chair opposite Tom in the only café open and serving breakfast in the main street. He was finishing a plate of eggs and bacon while she nibbled on toast and drank tea, half asleep, emotionally and physically drained. The clock behind the counter said eighteen past seven.

Nirupam and her baby were fast asleep in the maternity ward. Danny hadn’t appeared.

“You did pretty well yourself,” he said between bites.

“I would’ve been totally hopeless without you. I didn’t have a clue.”

“Neither did I, really.” He put his knife and fork neatly on his plate.

“I’m glad you saved that to tell me now rather than on the mountain.” She raised a laugh then fixed him with a penetrating eye. “But you did, didn’t you? Know what to do?”

“Sort of. Most farmers have dealt with animals giving birth.”

“Not much different?” Her smile was cut short by a gigantic yawn.

He shook his head. “Tired?”

“Exhausted and I didn’t do anything. Nirupam must be completely wrecked.”

“They don’t call it labour for nothing.”

“Ellie said it was a perfect birth.” Primrose yawned again, quickly covering her mouth with both hands.

“Except for it being on the mountain in the back seat of a car.” He drained his tea cup and leaned forward. “You’d really love to have a baby, wouldn’t you?”

She froze then dragged in a big, shuddery breath and exhaled it slowly. Her eyes met his, swimming in unshed tears. She nodded. “I’m sorry. It’s just something...”

“It’s natural,” he said. “No need to be sorry.”

“I can’t help it. I’ve wanted a baby for ages. I don’t think I could...”

“You don’t have to. I understand.” He stood up. “Time to go home Aunty Primrose.”

“I am an Aunty, aren’t I? How fabulous.” Primrose pushed her chair back. “They should make you an honorary uncle. Uncle Tom,” she said with a gurgle of laughter then stopped as the thought crashed in that being an uncle was the closest Tom could get to being a father.

Chapter Eleven

The commune was eerily empty when Primrose woke at noon. She showered, dressed, stripped beds then made tea while a load of washing sloshed in the machine. Clean sheets for Nirupam when she came home tomorrow or the day after.

No word from Danny, no sign he’d returned last night or this morning while she slept. If he had he would’ve woken her. She hung out the washing. Soon there’d be nappies on the line.

A tingle of pleasure at the memory of Baby in her arms. So cuddlesome and sweet smelling. Very hard to hand her back. How she’d love one of her own. Definitely worth the pain and drama of childbirth, no question. Primrose wandered into the room they’d prepared. The bassinet was ready with little sheets and a soft blanket. A change table waited with wipes and powder. The stack of nappies sat on the dressing table beside an array of tiny singlets and nightgowns.

She couldn’t stay after Nirupam came home—just long enough to help out until they settled down. Danny and Nirupam needed to establish their little family. Danny wouldn’t want his interfering busybody sister meddling with his baby, upsetting everyone. Strangers in his house were more welcome than his sister. A tear threatened. She clamped her lips together firmly.

This had been a holiday. The break she needed from the stress of playing long running shows back to back in difficult conditions. Plus the Martin fiasco. Losing along with him, a place to live. Everything happened at once. She’d burnt out.

Nirvana was not her home. She’d been fooling herself she could blend into the lifestyle. It wasn’t the way she wanted to live, sharing everything with all and sundry. She’d been too much alone most of her life to change so drastically. Tom had seen it at once. He’d tried to tell her. He knew more about her than she did and if she hadn’t been so defensive something might have developed between them. But she’d rejected him and at the time it felt right. As it transpired it
had
been right.

They didn’t know each other at all when they’d tumbled into his bed so eagerly. She didn’t know he couldn’t father children, although
he
knew she wanted them. When would he have told her? When she’d completely fallen in love with him? When it was too late? So despite his rantings about being used he was using her that night whether he realised or not. He knew he couldn’t give her the children she craved but pretended to be hurt when she cut the liaison off. Pride. Male pride.

It was too confusing, too hard. Men!

Primrose unpacked her flute. She selected a book of technical studies and her favourite Handel sonata, took her music stand and went to work in the living room in the middle of the house. Before long the familiar passion absorbed her, the desire to produce the sound she heard in her head, to execute a perfectly even succession of notes, make no mistakes in the piece she was playing, to bring out the emotion intrinsic in the piece.

After an hour she had a break. When she went to visit Nirupam this evening she’d phone her contacts in Sydney to let them know she’d be available for work. Back to the pressure, the grind. A weight settled on her heart. She loved playing her flute but orchestral playing was not her thing. The truth was, she could admit now, she wasn’t good enough. Sure, she could impress the residents of Nirvana because she did play well, but playing well wasn’t good enough to hold her own as a professional.

She’d have to find some other sort of work. Anything. Boring, mundane work to keep herself afloat. Teaching wouldn’t bring in nearly enough, not regular enough and not fast enough. What choice was there? By forcing Danny to disband the commune she’d inadvertently done herself out of a home. Plus she’d worn out her welcome in record time.

Primrose raised her flute and began the sadly beautiful Handel slow movement. The best way she had of expressing her plight.

****

Tom heard the silvery tone of the flute before he came within sight of the house. Cindy snorted and tossed her head to clear away the flies crawling into her eyes and nose. She pricked soft black ears toward the sound as she followed the dusty track leading up between the gums from the river. Tom let the reins hang slack in his hands.

He’d never heard Primrose play before. Had no idea how good she was. No wonder she looked at him askance when he suggested she could find musical opportunities in the area. She’d go mad with frustration. Like telling Pavarotti he’d be fulfilled singing in the local community choir.

She must think him a total clod. He halted Cindy in the shade near the washing line, listening to the lovely melody floating out to mingle with the cicadas. She stopped abruptly, restarted the phrase. Should he interrupt? Cindy dropped her head and began plucking at the grass around the base of a tree. Rose would want to know about Danny. He swung his leg over the saddle to dismount and looped the reins over a low branch.

He walked to the closed back door and knocked. Even the thought of her made his mouth dry and his heart thud. The flute stopped. Footsteps sounded in the kitchen. The door opened a crack. Primrose peered through the gap holding the door as a barrier.

“G’day.” He removed his hat.

“Oh! Hello.” She flung the door wide with a smile and stepped outside. “I didn’t hear you arrive. I’ve been practising.”

“I rode over.” He swallowed. She was breathtaking. Always beautiful.

She glanced over his shoulder at Cindy. “She’s lovely.”

“She’s okay. How are you? Had a sleep?” He turned the hat over in his hands.

“Yes.” She made no move to invite him in, instead stood there looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak, to explain his presence. Leave.

“Practising for what?” Hadn’t she had enough of music? Said she didn’t want to play anymore?

“For when I go back to Sydney. I can’t stay here after...” She let the sentence hang unfinished.

His lungs almost collapsed. Leaving. Of course she was. Nothing for her here. Nothing to hold her. Not him, that was for sure. He said harshly, “Danny turned up.”

Relief washed over her face followed by a frown. “At your place? He didn’t come here.”

“He went straight to Moruya when I told him.”

She exhaled with a whoosh. “Where had he been?”

“He spent the night at a mate’s place in Cobargo.”

Primrose nodded but made no comment. Tom searched for something to say, found nothing. She was waiting for him to leave so she could continue practising. He stuck his hat on. “I’d better get going.”

“Thanks for coming over.”

“No worries.” He turned and strode down the steps. “See you later.”

“Would you like to come in?” Her voice was offhand, the gesture an afterthought, as though she’d suddenly realised her manners.

He paused, half turned. She was standing on the top step watching him.

“No, thanks, I won’t interrupt you anymore.”

She came down the steps. “I’m going in to visit Nirupam this evening. Would you like to come?”

He cocked his head, considering. “It might be better if you went in alone—being family.” He had thought of driving in himself, tomorrow, to see how they were getting on. Now Danny was there he was relegated to visitor.

Suddenly she was up close, so close he could lean down and kiss her upturned face. He wanted to, frantically. His eyes fixed on her lips as she spoke.

“Nirupam would love to see you. You delivered the baby for heaven’s sake! How much more familiar can you get?” Her mouth curved, the dimples danced in her cheeks. He curled his fingers into fists to stop them touching her face.

He smiled. “We did pretty well, you and I.”

“Yes, we did. But I don’t want to do it again.”

“No.” What if he kissed her? What would she do?

Her expression changed. Serious suddenly. “Thank you, Tom,” she whispered. Next thing she’d pressed her lips on his for a sweet instant. She drew away but his arm was around her somehow, holding her against his body, savouring the feel of her, the scent of her sunwarmed skin, the perfume from her hair. He gazed into her eyes expecting to see annoyance, but what he saw tore the breath from his lungs.

“Rose,” he murmured, swallowed, gulped. More, he wanted more of her. He leaned forward.

“I’m sorry.” She frowned, placed both hands against his chest, warding him off. Mistake. Misread badly. He’d been so ecstatically sure she wanted him the way he wanted her despite her words this morning. Idiot! “Tom, I...” The tip of her tongue ran over her lower lip. She dropped her gaze to his shirt front.

He released his hold. “Sorry. See you later.” He spun on his booted heel, untied Cindy and swung up into the saddle, kicked her into motion and didn’t look back.

****

An hour later Danny’s motorbike roared over the hill. Primrose shaded her eyes, squinting from her position in the hail-damaged vegetable garden. She straightened slowly, clutching the basket with its measly collection of tomatoes and parsley. What kind of greeting would she get? He’d been so furious last night he couldn’t speak. Her persistent nagging had driven him away, separated him from his wife at this very special time in their lives. Caused a rift between a loving, devoted couple.

Danny rode into the shed and by the time she’d walked across, heart pounding, unsure of his mood, unsure of his welcome, he was striding for the verandah steps, helmet in hand.

“Hey, Danny.” He stopped, turned. Smiled.

Primrose dropped the basket at her feet and ran the few last paces into his embrace, face crumpling.