Little Wing by Joanne Horniman

swam naked, and the big old tree under which they lay for hours afterwards on the hottest of days.
    Then Emily found all her energy becoming concentrated somehow inside herself – she felt she must be giving it all to the baby. When Matt spoke to her, she found herself responding from a long way away. She wasn’t with him, not really.
    It was vaguely pleasant, this remoteness. She knew that she was storing herself up, gathering herself together, for the big thing that she would have to do.
    Emily had imagined their baby being born somewhere spacious and beautiful and calm, perhaps under the spreading fig tree in the paddock where she and Matt lay after swimming in the creek. She’d wanted something magical and otherworldly.
    The labour room in the hospital was far from her fantasy, even though there was a forest scene on the wall, and the nurses played music that was meant to be soothing. None of it helped. Emily had disappeared inside a small burning circle of pain.
    When she emerged, she was not the same person, and she had a child. The tiny creature had slipped from her in a rush, so that she felt it must be a seal, not a human being.
    Matt had loved the baby at once, unable to take his eyes away, marvelling at her fingers and toes and her perfect little face. His enthusiasm had made Emily smile, but already she was beginning to be afraid.
    She wanted, more than anything, for her mother to come and tell her that everything would be all right.
    Once, she’d contained this baby inside her. Now, the child seemed contained within herself. She must have been that way all along, floating inside Emily with that self-possessed set to her mouth, her eyes tightly closed and inward-looking.
    The baby lay in its crib beside her bed, and Emily had rolled over to face the wall, so she didn’t have to look at it. The baby was self-possessed, yet helpless, and Emily wondered how she – weak, imperfect, headstrong Emily – could ever give her everything she would need.
    Matt’s mother Julie came, and stood beside the crib gazing into the baby’s face with tears in her eyes. ‘She is so beautiful – just so beautiful.’ She reached out one tentative finger to touch the baby’s sleeping face. She’d brought armfuls of flowers from her garden, and so many presents that Emily felt overwhelmed. She was still a little in awe of Julie, who had raised Matt all on her own, and built her house with her own two hands, and had a job as a social worker.
    Emily had waited for her own mother, and waited.

8
    Emily got up and wandered restlessly around Charlotte’s house. She opened the refrigerator and stared into it, but she wasn’t hungry. While she was prowling about, the phone started to ring, and she stood nearby and watched it until the answering machine cut in.
    â€˜Hello, Emily, this is Dad. Just ringing to wish you – and Charlotte of course – a happy Christmas. Mum rang earlier and left a message, but I suppose you were both out – and still are . . .’
    Her father’s voice faltered. He wasn’t used to giving messages to machines.
    â€˜Anyway, love, I hope you’re having a nice day. Give us a ring when you get back? Bye for now.’
    The machine clicked off. Emily, who’d been almost ready to reach out and pick up the receiver, turned and walked out of the house.

9
    When her mother had finally come to the hospital, she’d glanced at the baby in the cradle almost in embarrassment, and planted a dutiful kiss on Emily’s cheek. Then she stood awkwardly, holding a bunch of flowers and a present that Emily didn’t unwrap until long after she’d left.
    For a long time she and Emily had not got along; Emily felt that her mother too often tried to tell her what to do, while at other times she seemed a little afraid. Emily had reacted to both these approaches with a dismissive sigh.
    Her father had been more welcoming. ‘Hello,