Blooming Women

12. Balance

'AMBER! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!'

Cloud was trying hard to get her head through the gap of a lowering car window faster than the window was making space for her.

Her stomach was begun its daily rebellion and she had left her husband and a couple of late-partying guests, following the waking call of an Elvis Sandwich. She had her full attention on the road and took Black Spot bend easily, although the dff-dff-dff-dff-dff of the anti-lock braking system as she slammed her foot down nearly made her raise her foot again in surprise.

Amber, a pair of awkwardly-buttoned jeans doing ungainly things to her hips beneath her dress, her coat done all the way up to her chin, peered out of its hood at her irate friend, music pumping from Tiffany's speakers.

'Well duh. It's the Macarena, Cloud! Want to join us? This is Hazel, by the way.'

Cloud wrenched on the handbrake, then decided against climbing out of the car; her seatbelt, carefully tucked, its patent pregnancy belt-adjuster adjusted, had just got comfortable and there was nothing like the added authority the height of her car gave her.

The first Cloud Characteristic Thing had been that, after the first shouted query, Cloud had barely been interested in why Amber was dancing in the middle of the road with an under-dressed and rather gaunt girl; the Second Cloud Characteristic Thing was that Cloud was annoyed, not because Amber had left a car near a known, dangerous, bend but that Amber had left a car near a known dangerous bend when a pregnant woman was likely to come round the corner at snail's pace, and what about the baby?

It had not mattered that, yesterday, she and Amber had been dancing around the kitchen; the shock of finding a parked car unexpectedly could telegraph itself far into His, THE BABY'S, future and cause who-knew-what psychological damage? A fear of bends in the road, of cars, of ice! And suppose he was going to be a champion skier? Or a racing driver?

Amber rode the tirade happily and failed to add 'What, not a premier league road mender?'

In other circumstances, she'd have told her friend (kindly, because it was Cloud, after all) to get a grip, but, if this new, shouty, Mother Cloud was going to be anything like Amber's own mother, the trick would be to let Cloud run herself out of steam and then sidle off before she realised that none of the important questions, such as 'so why ARE you dancing in the road with a woman who looks like she needs a good meal, if not counselling for her eating disorder?' had been answered.

It took a few minutes, Amber still shivering in her extra clothes, for Cloud to calm down, then Amber slid into the conversation, taking gentle control and finishing with a gentle prompt for Cloud to get moving, giving herself time to deal with Hazel.

'So – great. If you carry on, I'll be right behind you – you need your breakfast, I know – and I'm buying, no argument. See you there?'

There was going to be hell to pay when Cloud had calmed down and had a daily Elvis Sandwich insider her, and Amber was not looking forward to being seen in the garden centre after yesterday's breakages, but, at the moment, anything that got her off the road into a warm car, got her some food and helped her get her hastily conceived Project 'Stop The Killer Dryad' off the ground was going to be good.

Cloud was agreeing with Amber before she knew it and pulled her car around Tiffany, whose hazard lights were still flashing an out-of-sync disco beat to the music.
In her turn, Amber scooped up Hazel, who had stopped to stare with large eyes at the blonde woman for the duration of the harangue. It took a little ingenuity to seat and buckle Hazel safely into Tiffany's passenger seat, because Hazel couldn't get the idea that the seat belts stuck if you moved too quickly and Amber was afraid that Hazel would just keep tugging until the belt gave way; watching her replace the road signs and crash barrier and tighten the nuts and bolts with her bare fingers had made it obvious that, if Hazel had ever decided that violence rather than patience had been the way to kill, the local forensics team would have been picking bones out of the branches of trees quite some way off, and six bearers would have been four too many at the following funeral. Hazel took the power of a tree root to drive through a wall over the space of a year or two and condensed it into seconds; it was no wonder that Amber had been unable to break Hazel's grip.

'Your friend balances you'.

'What?' Amber turned the music down, her warming fingers stiff and aching as blood began to push back into them; if the unpleasant throbbing sensations were anything to go by, she was going to have to drive very carefully.

'Your friend is filled with life; you are filled with death. She's carrying her young, ready for birth in spring.' A faint frown pulled her eyebrows together. 'And one day you will give birth to death.'

Amber's throat made a sort of gluuhh sound and then clicked as she swallowed.

'I hope not? I'm told things will be better when I get married? You know – 'find a mate'? I'll be much more... alive then.'

'Ohhh.' Hazel nodded with what could not have been understanding and then calmly watched the frozen countryside rushing by outside her window for a few moments.

'So mating would stop you having death in you?' She turned to look at Amber, a sudden, bright, helpful expression on her face. 'Would self pollination help?'