Nine Month Countdown

by Leah Ashton

  ‘Agreed,’ he said.

  But still it took some effort to leave his half-drunk beer with a comment that he needed to drive home, and to make his exit only a few minutes later.

  It would’ve been far too easy to stay.

  ELEVEN

  ‘You bought a new car?’

  Angus stood in front of Ivy on her driveway, dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt, squinting—somehow attractively—just a little in the bright early afternoon sun.

  Ivy smiled, running a hand along the neat Volkswagen hatchback’s glossy silver hood. ‘Yes. I thought it was better to learn in a smaller car, rather than your giant four-wheel drive. Also, apparently it’s better to learn to drive a manual.’

  ‘So you bought a new car,’ Angus repeated, shaking his head.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t think it’s that big a deal.’

  Ivy had embraced this ‘learn to drive’ project a little more zealously than was necessary, she knew. She’d read the books Angus had left her, done a couple of online mock learner’s quizzes, then gone in to sit her learner’s test at the local licensing centre during her lunch break the very next day.

  Buying the car had been surprisingly fun. She’d never really given any car a second thought, but suddenly she was reading motoring reviews, going out for test drives with her assistant, and picking out her favourite colour.

  She was enjoying the distraction; it meant she had something else to think about whenever her day wasn’t wall-to-wall Molyneux Mining that wasn’t her pregnancy, or Angus.

  And cars were a lot less scary to think about than what on earth she was going to tell her mother and sisters that night at dinner.

  Or so she’d thought.

  It was one thing to agree with Angus’s irritatingly accurate logic and to get her learner’s permit. But quite another to actually, physically drive.

  Angus theatrically opened the driver’s door for her. ‘After you, m’lady.’

  With a deep breath, Ivy slid into her seat. Once seated and strapped in, she focused on her breathing.

  One in, two out, three in, four out, five in, six out...

  It was the first time in weeks she’d counted anything, although it wasn’t all that surprising.

  The breathing had helped when she’d first got in a car again when she was nineteen. So had the counting.

  In fact, that was when the counting had started. All those years ago, as she shook with nerves in the passenger seat of her mother’s car.

  Seven in, eight out, nine in...

  Angus was explaining something. ‘So from left to right it goes clutch, brake, accelerator,’ Angus said, pointing at the pedals at her feet. ‘Remember it’s just ABC, in reverse.’

  Ivy nodded, although it was a bit difficult to focus on what he was saying beyond her mental counting.

  He then talked her through how to use her mirrors, and Ivy managed to follow his instructions well enough to adjust both the rear-view and side mirrors sufficiently.

  Then she fussed around quite a bit adjusting her seat.

  Too far forwards. Too far back. Too far forwards again.

  Seat-back was too upright. Too reclined.

  Then she found she could lift the seat up and down. So she did that a bit too, the little motor whirring away as she pushed the up and down buttons.

  But eventually she’d adjusted as much as was possible, so had to sit still.

  ‘Don’t be nervous,’ Angus said. ‘You’ll be fine.’

  It was lucky Ivy was wearing sunglasses, because otherwise Angus wouldn’t be so sure. She’d tried this once before, years ago.

  She remembered how she’d looked then, in that mirror behind the sun visor. She’d flipped it down and stared into her own eyes as she’d given herself a little lecture:

  You can do this, Ivy. Everyone learns how to drive. Don’t be so pathetic.

  It hadn’t worked then, but surely now—twelve years later—she would’ve got over it all?

  Surely?

  ‘Ivy?’ Angus asked gently. ‘Can you start the car? Foot on clutch, gear in first. The handbrake is still on, so we won’t go anywhere.’

  Ivy guessed he’d given her these instructions more than once, but they might as well have been gobbledegook.

  Regardless, she put her left hand on the gear stick, and shoved her left foot down hard on the clutch. With a wiggle that was probably too rough, she put the car into first gear.

  There.

  A ghost of a smile curved her lips. Maybe she would do it this time?

  Hand back on the wheel, she reached with her right hand for the keys.

  All she had to do was twist the key forward and...

  She couldn’t do it.

  She snatched her hand away—why she wasn’t sure—and the key dropped to the ground, landing with a thud on the soft carpeted floor.

  ‘Ivy?’

  But she didn’t wait; instead Ivy threw open her door and leapt from the car, running up her front steps two at a time.

  At her door she realised she’d left her handbag—and house keys—in the back seat of her new car.

  When she pivoted back to the car, Angus was right there—only a metre or two away. He’d taken his sunglasses off, and concern was obvious in his gaze.

  Ivy kept hers on, despite the shade of the veranda.

  ‘You’re not just nervous,’ Angus said.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  ‘And the reason you don’t have a licence is nothing to do with being a spoilt little rich girl who couldn’t be bothered.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you tell me the real reason?’

  No.

  ‘I was in a car accident when I was nineteen.’

  That was more than she’d told anyone, ever. More than anyone else, but her mother, knew.

  Oddly, even though she hadn’t meant to say the words, it felt good to say them.

  ‘Were you hurt?’

  Ivy shook her head. She didn’t want to say this bit. This bit wouldn’t feel good to say.

  ‘A few bruises, a big one from the seat belt,’ she said. ‘But nothing, not really.’

  She’d often felt it would’ve been better if she had been injured. A gash to her face that everyone noticed. A scar on her skin, and not just on her insides.

  ‘You were the passenger?’

  Angus had stepped closer. His hand moved, and for a second Ivy thought he was reaching for her, but then the moment was gone.

  ‘My boyfriend was driving us home. He’d taken me to this club, a pretty seedy private one, upstairs somewhere in Northbridge. He’d been drinking, a lot, but he insisted on driving home.’ Now she’d started talking, the words wouldn’t stop. ‘I’d only been seeing him for a few weeks. He was really tall, with overlong brown hair and an eyebrow ring. He had tattoo sleeves up both arms, but one was only half inked in. I thought it so cool. I thought he was so cool. He wasn’t like any guy I’d met before. He wasn’t rich. He wasn’t poor, either, but I kind of pretended he was—like he was the kid from the wrong side of the tracks and I was the sweet rich girl he was going to corrupt.’

  ‘He was your rebellious phase,’ Angus said.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Ivy said. ‘I wanted to rebel so badly that I grabbed the first vaguely disreputable guy I could find and held on tight. We barely knew each other, really. All we did was go out drinking and clubbing. But I thought I was in love, you know? I’d spent my whole life being the perfect firstborn daughter, and now I wasn’t. Although I wasn’t all that brave. I told my family I was with girlfriends. So I was kind of rebelling on the sly.’

  Ivy smiled without humour. She knew she was saying too much, and all jumbled in the incorrect order—but she couldn’t stop.

 
‘So Toby drove me home. I knew he’d had too much to drink, and I told him I’d call one of the family drivers to come pick us up. Or I’d pay for a taxi. And honestly, he looked at me like I’d just suggested we take ballroom-dancing classes.’ She shook her head. ‘I knew he shouldn’t drive. I mean, I didn’t even have a sip of alcohol until I turned eighteen. I’m that person. I’m the annoyingly sensible one. But that night I decided I wasn’t. That I was cool and relaxed. But I wasn’t. I couldn’t relax. I basically held onto my seat for dear life, and Toby noticed, and got angry, and told me I had to trust him.’ Ivy kept entwining and untwining her fingers, again and again. ‘And he drove faster. And faster. And I told him not to, at first I tried to sound relaxed but then I was literally screaming at him as he thundered down the street.’ A long pause. ‘Then he lost control, hit a tree, and was killed instantly.’

  The simple words, in a way, reflected that night. In the end, it was so simple. One moment Toby was there, beside her: loud and arrogant and drunk. Then—gone. Just like that.

  ‘What an idiot,’ Angus said.

  ‘He paid a high price for his mistake,’ Ivy pointed out.

  ‘But he almost took you with him.’

  Ivy couldn’t argue with that. ‘The whole driver’s side of the car caved in. I had to be cut out of the wreckage, but I was okay. Totally okay. I walked away.’

  That night was still mostly a blur. She’d had a few drinks herself, although she’d been far from drunk.

  Her memories were more little snapshots from the night: Toby’s smile when she’d walked into the bar and he’d checked out her too-short skirt; putting her mobile phone back into her bag, without making that call for a driver; the click of her seat belt when she strapped herself in; Toby’s frenzied, ugly, manic expression when she’d pleaded with him to slow down, to stop, to let her out...

  Then the impossible arrangement of Toby’s seat and the steering wheel after impact. The feel of his pulseless wrist beneath her fingertips.

  Ivy hadn’t realised she’d closed her eyes until she felt her sunglasses being lifted from her face.

  She blinked up at Angus. He was very close, but not touching her.

  ‘But you weren’t okay,’ Angus said. ‘No one is okay after something like that.’

  Ivy bit her lip, and ignored him. ‘When the police arrived, they found drugs in the car. I was so stupid and naïve I’d had no idea. I didn’t even know what drugs they were. I still don’t. And the worst bit is that even if I had known, I was so caught up in Toby and his tattoos and being an edgier version of myself it probably would’ve only added to Toby’s mystique. The police questioned me at the hospital, but then my mum arrived, and it all went away.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ he asked. He still stood close. Too close, probably, but Ivy didn’t mind. It helped, actually.

  ‘It means what I said. My mum made it all go away. I don’t know what she did. I didn’t ask. Maybe I wouldn’t have been in trouble, anyway? Who knows? All I know is that when I went home, my sisters didn’t know I’d been in a car accident. When I read about the crash in the papers the next day, there was no mention of me. It’s like I was erased from the whole incident.’ She paused, thinking. ‘It wouldn’t be all that hard. I know the right people to call, now, should I want a story pulled. For Molyneux Mining, it’s important to have a close relationship with the media. Bad publicity can be so damaging.’

  ‘But what about the damage to a teenager?’ Angus asked, his words harsh.

  Ivy had been staring at the print on the front of his T-shirt, but now her gaze shot up to meet with his. ‘I would’ve been a lot more damaged if the story had got out,’ she said. ‘It would’ve followed me for ever. It was difficult at the time, but I’m grateful for what my mum did. It turned me around, set me back on track.’

  ‘On track to take over Molyneux Mining next year.’

  Ivy nodded sharply. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you never made another mistake again.’

  ‘Yes,’ Ivy said, automatically. ‘I mean, no, of course I’ve made mistakes. I make mistakes all the time.’

  ‘But nothing big. Nothing that would ever have anyone question Ivy Molyneux’s competence, or business sense, or suitability to take over the company.’

  ‘No one would dare do that,’ Ivy said, getting annoyed. ‘I would never do anything to jeopardise Molyneux Mining. I learnt my lesson.’

  Angus studied her, his gaze tracing her eyes, nose and lips, then returning to meet her gaze. ‘I get it now,’ he said. ‘The marriage proposal, the contract. Your rabid need to fix everything, to control everything.’

  Ivy bristled, but he didn’t let her speak.

  ‘It’s because you actually think it’s possible, don’t you? That you can do what your mother did all those years ago, and sweep it up—make everything uncomfortable, messy and awkward just disappear. Just go away without any consequences.’

  ‘It is possible,’ Ivy said, stubborn enough to argue. ‘And there are always consequences. Like how I can’t drive.’

  That poor attempt at a joke received only a look of derision.

  ‘It’s about minimising damage,’ she continued. ‘About controlling the...’

  But she heard what she was saying and knew she was going around in circles.

  Suddenly she was standing too close to Angus. She stepped around him, intended to go and get her bag out of the car. There wasn’t going to be a driving lesson today.

  She should get inside. Get some work done.

  But Angus grabbed her hand.

  Ivy spun around to face him, snatching her hand away. ‘But you won’t go away, will you?’ she said. ‘No matter how I ask you, or what I say, or what I offer...’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  One simple word, but it made her want to scream.

  But scream at what?

  That, as he’d told her before, she couldn’t control him?

  Or scream at the fact that she didn’t really want him to go away at all?

  Ivy’s shoulders slumped.

  She couldn’t pretend any more. She wasn’t miraculously going to come up with a plan. She wasn’t going to fix this. This wasn’t going to go away.

  ‘I’m telling my family tonight,’ she said, very quietly.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to come,’ she said.

  ‘You never would,’ he said, stepping closer to her again. ‘But I’d like to be there. Maybe it would help.’

  Ivy was absolutely sure it wouldn’t. He would only complicate the most complicated of situations.

  And yet...

  ‘Okay,’ she said.

  She’d told herself she didn’t want him to come, but couldn’t quite make herself believe it.

  He took another step closer, and she tilted her chin upwards. Then, before she really knew what was happening, he kissed her.

  A soft kiss, a gentle kiss.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, against her lips.

  She stood stock-still as he skirted around her and walked to his car.

  ‘What time should I pick you up?’ he asked.

  ‘Six-thirty,’ she said.

  And then he was gone.

  * * *

  Of course, it wasn’t a surprise that Ivy’s mother lived in a palatial mansion. Angus had expected nothing less.

  The dining room was very grand. The table was long enough to allow space for two chandeliers above it, and the table was set like something from a magazine, with white flowers everywhere.

  Ivy’s sisters sat at the table. The pair had been chattering loudly as they’d walked into the room, but when they saw him they instantly fell silent.

  Through another door, Ivy’s mother entered the room with a bottle of champag
ne.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, her gaze flicking over him. ‘I’d better get another table setting.’

  Then she turned on her heel, and walked out.

  Ivy was incredibly tense beside him. Very, very softly, she was counting under her breath.

  His instinct was to put his arm around her, but he knew that wouldn’t help.

  Although, in fact, his true instinct was not to be here at all.

  He hadn’t done this before—this ‘meeting the family’ thing. So far, he wasn’t much of a fan.

  ‘Thirty-seven...thirty-eight...’

  He reached out and wrapped his hand around Ivy’s.

  Maybe it wouldn’t help, but maybe it would.

  Ivy glanced up at him, and attempted a smile.

  There was a clink and clatter at the table as Ivy’s mum returned and set a place for Angus.

  She walked to him, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Irene.’

  He needed to drop Ivy’s hand to shake Irene’s, and instantly Ivy stepped away. She rushed to the table, and dropped into her seat as if they’d been playing musical chairs.

  ‘Angus Barlow,’ he said.

  Irene’s handshake was firm, but that was no surprise. She studied him with care, distrust flickering in her blue eyes.

  This also was no surprise. He’d bet his house that Ivy hadn’t brought another man to Sunday dinner before.

  A minute later they were all seated. Irene’s personal chef came out to talk them through the upcoming courses, and shortly afterwards their entrées arrived. A tiny stack of vegetables and salmon, with a sauce smeared theatrically across the plate.

  April and Mila remained silent, seated across from them, as if waiting for Ivy to speak. They snuck curious glances in his direction, and the tiniest of encouraging smiles.

  Irene sat at the head of the table, to Angus’s right. Her lips were formed into a perfectly flat line.

  But she was waiting, too.

  No one touched their cutlery. No one picked up their glass of champagne.

  And the tension just continued, and continued to build.

  Ivy took a long, deep breath.

  Then she shifted in her chair so that she faced her mother.