Four Weddings. Fiona Lowe

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      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.

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