Part 3 (1/2)

A falsetto version of 'Land of Hope and Glory' blaring from my aunt's phone woke me from my slumber.

'What?' she said. 'Calm down, darling. She's what? Oh dear. We're almost there. Just get some hot towels ready.'

'Pansy's in labour,' she said, picking up speed. 'The vet said it was at least a week or two away. Debs isn't much of a dog person.'

'Are we meeting them at the hospital?'

Daphne laughed. 'It's a home birth.'

I texted Fran.

Arrived safely-thank you for zip-locked travel doc.u.ments. Unfathomably hot. In car with Daphne, en route to Yarra Valley. Her dog is in labour. Love to Clem xo We left the monotony of smooth bitumen for a narrow, rough, dirt road. Branches from wayward silver-leafed trees sc.r.a.ped against the car as we drove uphill through dwarfing eucalypts. Soon, across a vine-lined valley, I could make out the shape of a house with a corrugated-iron roof.

We pulled up and Daphne leaped out of the car. 'Sorry Ruby,' she called over her shoulder. 'Help yourself to a shower and the fridge.'

I dragged my luggage across the gravel, onto the vast deck and into the cool house. Glossy floating timber floors spanned the open s.p.a.ce. Off-white walls were decorated with exotic masks and reclaimed doors. Two beaten, cherry leather chesterfields sat alongside a crisp white egg chair underscored by an intricate Turkish rug.

A statuesque woman padded barefoot down the hall towards me. Debs. She was quite a bit younger than my aunt. Dark, arched eyebrows, huge brown eyes. Her olive skin was wrinkle-free. Glossy, straight black hair cut with deliberate unevenness hovered above her shoulders. 'G'day Ruby.' She rolled up the sleeves of a white tuxedo s.h.i.+rt. 'Let me show you to your room.'

I wasn't prepared for what I saw there. Pansy, a white bull-terrier with a black eye-patch, s.h.i.+vered, shook and gasped for breath, her stomach swollen and writhing. The polished floorboards were slick with thick, kelp-green slime. Pansy was using her front paws to slide around the four-poster bed. Daphne, sitting on the floor, seemed to be facilitating a Lamaze cla.s.s for her pet. It looked like a House & Garden Halloween shoot.

'Ruby,' said Daphne, panting in unison with Pansy. 'Thank G.o.d you're here. Debs is as useless as t.i.ts on a bull. Be a dear. Go to the computer in the study down the hall and find out from the internet if there's anything I need to do to a.s.sist Pansy with the delivery.'

't.i.ts on a bull?'

'I'll get the wine,' said Debs.

Relieved that she hadn't asked me to mop up, I ran to the room at the end of the hall and Googled 'my dog is in labour what should I do?'

'Go to the vet, you moron' was the first result. Then I found something useful. 'Okay,' I yelled, 'the green slime means the placenta has detached and the puppies are about to be born.'

'Go on.'

'Puppies are usually born within twenty minutes of each other but b.i.t.c.hes can have a bit of a break between deliveries.'

'It seems wrong to call a pregnant lady a b.i.t.c.h,' Debs interjected, joining me in the study with two gla.s.ses of chardonnay.

'Shut up, Deborah,' called Daphne, 'you're not helping. Go on, Ruby.'

'Apparently,' I continued yelling, 'the pups will probably come out tail-first, so you should cut your nails and make sure they're filed in case you've got to help pull one out.'

Debs groaned, gulping her wine on the recliner beside me.

'The house is lovely, Debs. How many bedrooms are there?' I had just read a paragraph about the importance of leaving the b.i.t.c.h and her litter undisturbed in their whelping room.

'Just the two,' she said. 'Daph's and mine, and yours and Pansy's.'

'Oh.'

'I think the first pup is coming,' squealed Daphne.

Debs and I scampered back to my bedroom, spilling wine on the way.

'That was a bit of an ordeal,' yawned Debs an hour later. She helped Daphne off the floor, where Pansy was licking three fairy-floss-pink pups in her makes.h.i.+ft nest. We tiptoed out of the birthing suite and onto the vast deck, where we topped up our winegla.s.ses and watched the sun sinking into the Yarra Valley.

Debs' house topped a hill dwarfed by faraway mountains. I could see the undulating ground for miles around us, the landscape dotted with houses, vineyards and the occasional distant steeple. As the light dimmed to a yellower hue, kangaroos sprang like shadow puppets from the darkness, bounding in time, a trio of silhouettes across a distant ridge. 'Look,' I pointed, and my hosts smiled at me the way parents do when their children show them planes in the sky. Over smaller hills to my left, the remaining light formed pathways between symmetrical rows of vines, like a catwalk for the grapes. The sunset collaborated with the sprinkler system to create peach fairy lights in the mist above the garden bed. Then, for the finale, the sky reddened before settling into twilight.

An intoxicating smell pulled me out of my trance. I inhaled. 'What is that?'

'Bread,' said Daphne, breaking its crust against the wooden chopping block she had just carried from the kitchen. 'It's a new sourdough recipe I'm trialling.'

'Smells f.u.c.king incredible,' said Debs, kissing my aunt's cheek.

More people should have bakers for aunts, I thought as I sank my teeth into warm bread dunked in extra virgin olive oil.

's.h.i.+t.' Debs broke the peace. 'We forgot about Benny's party.'

'He'll understand,' said Daphne. 'It's not every day your dog gives birth.'

'Benny?' I asked.

'Benedict Jones,' said Daphne. 'A local winemaker.'

Debs checked her watch. 'I said at least one of us would be there, but with Pansy imploding I completely forgot. I don't feel like going, do you?'

My aunt shook her head. 'Ruby could go in our place,' she suggested.

They both turned to me.

'I'd love to,' I lied, 'but I was thinking about getting some shut-eye, what with the jet lag.' My eyes were having a hard time staying open.

'Great idea.' Debs didn't seem to have listened. 'You're into wines? This guy runs a boutique joint. Bit of a pants man, but not a bad bloke. He'll show you around-might even take you to the vines if you're interested.'

'What does he make?'

'Pinot, mainly,' said Debs. 'Good stuff.'

Don't even think about it, cautioned my head.

'You mustn't think you have to go,' said Daphne, slicing more bread, 'but if you do want to take a nap, the only place is the couch now that Pansy and her brood have taken over your room.'

I squeezed my eyes shut. 'Count me in,' I said in the spirit of spontaneity, my head's disapproval palpable.

'Great,' said Debs. 'I've got a b.l.o.o.d.y work call, but I can easily do it in the car. Let's leave in half an hour. Suit you, Ruby?'