by Lily Malone
‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’ She gives me a wide, generous smile. ‘Please sign here.’
She holds out a device with a screen and a pen. Tucked under her other arm is a tall, clear, cylinder containing a single, perfect, yellow rose.
I sign, and she hands over the rose and the card and wishes me a lovely day before she runs to her delivery van.
Valentines’ Day. I hadn’t given it a thought.
In the kitchen, I open the cylinder and put the stem in the tallest glass I can find.
My fingers fumble as they prise open the card.
Jenn,
I always thought a yellow rose about to open was the most beautiful thing in the world.
Then I found you.
Brayden
I read those words for a very long time, stunned by the simplicity, the beauty — by the way the note unfolds so much more than paper and ink to me.
The ridges and valleys embossed on the card are smooth beneath my fingers. It’s almost surreal, matching the florist’s feminine, fluid handwriting with Brayden’s rocky voice as I say the words in my head.
Carefully, I take the stem in my fingers and bend my nose to the bloom. The perfume is subtle, fruity — peaches, I think — the petals cling tight to their secrets.
***
Brayden Culhane can keep a secret too.
I’m sitting on the porch steps two days later. It’s Friday and I’m playing Hungry Dinosaurs with Seb — both of us pressing levers to make our Dinosaurs eat bellyfulls of brightly coloured balls — when Brayden’s black Pajero turns into the beach house drive.
He never mentioned anything about a visit and I’m on my feet so fast my purple dinosaur burps its balls out, instead of sucking them in.
Chapter 28
‘You’re not supposed to be here for another week,’ I say, bouncing across the grass, launching myself through the driver’s side window he opens.
The kiss wasn’t meant to linger. It was just supposed to be a fun way to say hello, but when I lean in Brayden’s car, it’s like I’m inhaling heaven.
The door warms my stomach and the engine clicks at us as it cools. He jiggles a bit while he unhooks his seatbelt, but his lips don’t leave mine. His groan flutters against my mouth, and it’s as if that small sound of his need sets off a buzzer inside me. My heartbeat goes crazy.
Eventually, raggedly, Brayden pulls away. The corners of his blue eyes crinkle as he smiles at me. ‘If I knew I’d get this kind of reception, you couldn’t have paid me to stay away for a month.’
I open the door for him and he climbs out, all tall, broad and lean. I get dizzy just looking. ‘Didn’t you say the twenty-third of February was the end of your shift?’
‘Yeah. I did.’ He opens the back door, leans in and takes out his bag. Two bags. Swings them both over his shoulders like they weigh nothing and starts walking. He turns to look at me and when he sees I’m not coming, says, ‘I quit my job.’
‘You what?’ My feet trip after him.
‘I quit. Bugger doing that anymore. I’m through. I want to be with you.’
This stops me dead in my tracks trying to make sense of everything.
Joy surges through me, but it’s tempered by concern for him, that he’s made the right choice. Already my mind races through what this means for me, for Seb, for us.
Over-thinking.
‘Emmy said the court case could cost you fifty thousand dollars, Brayden. How will you pay for that if you’re not working?’
He grins, eyes laughing. ‘I sold my house.’
‘You’re selling your house you mean.’ My feet are working again, and I’m level with him now, looking up into his face.
‘No.’ Brayden leans in to me, plants a swift kiss on my lips. ‘I mean, I sold it.’
Seb watches us from the steps. He’s frowning, as if he’s trying to place Brayden in the memory map of his mind. His expression probably mirrors mine. I can’t make Brayden’s words fit right in my head.
‘You sold it?’
‘Yep. There’s a few conditions attached — they want a pest inspection, stuff like that, but the agent seems to think it’s pretty much a done deal.’ He starts walking again.
‘Wow.’
He drops both bags on the porch, scooting them behind Sebby. Then he kneels so he’s nearer to my son’s height, and says hello. Sebby hugs the wall. Brayden digs in his pocket and pulls out a chocolate frog. It’s a little bent, but intact. Peeling the foil from it, he holds the treat to Seb.
Sebby grabs for the chocolate, so excited, his hands shake.
‘Trying bribery and corruption on my son now?’
Brayden spins — surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man, swift as a jungle cat. ‘It always worked on his mother.’
His breath is warm on my face and my cheeks. I’m wrapped in his arms, hugged so tight it’s like his body is stamped on mine. It’s fierce and hard and my bones rattle. I think I even squeak. Maybe I do, because he softens.
I get a brush of whiskers as his lips find mine, and this kiss is so sweet, a champagne burst of love rises inside me. Little bubbles of pleasure, till I think I might float away.
***
Brayden and Seb play Hungry Dinosaur while I sort out Seb’s dinner, and Seb wins over and over again. Later, while Seb is in the bath, Brayden drives out to collect Italian takeout, because we both feel like pasta and neither of us want to cook.
I chose chicken, mint and rocket cannelloni. He picked veal in a white-wine sauce and a side order of pumpkin gnocchi. Seb tries the gnocchi — cut in toddler-size bites — but he won’t touch the cannelloni. There’s too much tomato sauce drizzled over the top.
‘Here’s to selling your house,’ I say, clinking my Corona against his.
‘Here’s to SeaScribe,’ he responds.
‘Here’s to quitting your job and being broke like me.’ We clink again.
‘Here’s to us,’ Brayden holds my gaze a long time, making me burn all over.
After Seb’s in bed and we’ve stacked and rinsed — but not washed — the dishes, we drag the two-seater lounge out to the porch. The night is too magic to stay inside. There’s a sliver of moon through the big peppi tree and a galaxy of stars overhead. No breeze.
I turn off the porch light. Then I set a match to the mosquito coils and the ends glow orange, spaced across the front of the porch like mini reflectors, sending up curls of citronella-tinted smoke.
Brayden has a shot glass of Wild Turkey balanced on his thigh. I’ve made peppermint tea, but it’s too hot to hold. The scent of peppermint steam and citronella smoke mingle. It feels very woodsy.
The night hums around us: traffic far away, frogs nearer, and the murmur of music from the Caravan Park.
‘Emmy’s coming down tomorrow,’ Brayden says.
I snuggle my cheek into his shirt, feel the warmth of him like a toaster-oven as he raises his arm to tuck me closer.
‘Will Pope be with her this time?’
His thumb strokes my arm. ‘She didn’t say anything. He would have let me know.’
‘What’s with those two anyway? Are they sleeping together, do you think?’
‘Nah,’ he says, disbelieving. Then more carefully, ‘I don’t think so.’ Then with attitude, ‘What makes you think that?’
‘You sound like such a big brother.’ I laugh. I can’t help it. ‘Emmy says there’s an unwritten law with men, about not dating their mates’ sisters, or ex-girlfriends.’
He shifts, recrosses his ankles. ‘Yeah. I guess so. I mean, I wouldn’t go for Leisl on principle.’
‘I hope not. She’s sixteen!’
He puts his glass on the porch timbers, unfinished, and turns to me. ‘How about we not talk about Pope and little sisters?’
I get that quick hit of heat inside, and my pulse does a rubber-ball bounce.
Brayden’s fingers explore my shoulders. My head falls back against the lounge seat and his lips trail across my exposed throat.
Abruptly, he pulls me closer, leaning back and taking me with him so that I slide across his thighs. I can feel the thrilling pressure of him — that hard, hot ridge of flesh beneath me. He holds me there, our breathing shallow and fast.
Then his mouth opens beneath mine, and I moan deep in my throat. Our tongues taste and stroke, his lips plunder, and I open my mouth wider. His tongue delves into that wet, warm union, getting me hotter by the second. My breasts flatten against his chest and my nipples ache for his touch.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ I breathe, when he gives me space to think.
‘Believe it. I’m not going anywhere.’ His lips touch mine gently, slowing me down. ‘I want you. I want to know every part of you.’
And I stiffen.
He senses it immediately.
‘What is it, Jenn?’ Brayden’s voice is deeper than normal, husky with need and concern.
Fear grips my stomach. Not fear of Brayden, but of what I need to tell him.
‘I need to sit up.’
He helps me rearrange my limbs. Adjusting the front of his shorts, he shunts his backside sideways beside me. I like that he makes sure we still touch. It makes me feel connected to him.
‘You’re killing me here, Jenn. What just happened?’
I pick up my now-lukewarm peppermint tea and take a sip. It’s bitter, but that’s okay. It takes the intoxicating flavour of bourbon and Brayden from my tongue. I need a clear head.
‘I’m so sorry for stopping.’ Letting out a breath, I suck in another, and put the mug of tea on the porch. ‘I didn’t mean to tease. I need to tell you something, and it’s not much fun.’
His hand sneaks to the nape of my neck and rubs, once, twice. ‘I can handle it.’
Please let him understand.
I take another breath for luck, and begin. ‘I haven’t had sex — not properly — in almost eight months. Ever since I had Seb, there’s something physically wrong with me, down there…’ I squirm a little inside over the words, ‘…something wrong with my vagina. The doctors haven’t been able to sort it out, but when I’ve tried to have sex, I can’t. It hurts too much. It’s why Jack…’ another breath that’s more like a shudder, ‘…it’s why Jack cheated on me.’
‘Don’t blame yourself for his choices.’
‘I thought he was happy enough doing… other things. I mean — ’ oh this is mortifying — ‘there are other ways to be intimate, if you get my drift.’
‘I get your drift, and however you put it, he’s still a wanker. You always had a thing for arseholes.’
‘There was a reason for that. The arseholes didn’t remind me of you.’
‘I should have never let you go eight years ago. I should have kept you with me.’ Brayden rubs his fingers at the nape of my neck, plays with my hair. If I’ve put him off at all with my revelation, he’s not showing it. ‘You said you’ve seen the doctor? What did he say?’
‘She. Don’t be sexist.’
He huffs impatiently. ‘What did she say?’
‘I’ve seen two women doctors. It took them a while to work through the other possibilities, like — ’ is it even possible to blush harder? ‘…urinary infections. I had some tests a few weeks ago, and I was clear for all those things. I’m referred in to see a gynaecologist but I can’t get in till April.’
‘Is it to do with your labour when you had Seb or something? Women can tear when they give birth, can’t they?’
‘I had an emergency caesarean with Seb. It’s not that.’ I give a nervous giggle. ‘Gosh, listen to me. I’m all about the sexy conversation aren’t I?’
‘It’s not your standard pillow talk.’ He lifts my hand to his and kisses my wrist before he places our linked hands across our thighs. ‘Why did it take so long for the doctors to do something about it? Surely they should have been on top of it — ’
‘Don’t blame the doctors. I mean… it took me a while to realise there was even a problem. I had a newborn baby. It wasn’t like I wanted to swing from the chandeliers every night — ’
‘You swing from chandeliers?’ If it wasn’t so dark, I’m sure I’d see his wink.
He’s trying to make this easier for me — that’s what Brayden does. It works. My cheeks aren’t so hot now and I’m more relaxed. I’ve been so worried about having this conversation with him, and he’s taking it so well. I’m not sure why I ever thought he wouldn’t.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t say anything to you earlier. It’s not exactly water-cooler conversation.’
‘Not exactly.’ He rubs my arm. ‘So what do they think the problem is?’
‘The GPs don’t know. Dr Garner gave me a cream to use. It seems to help. When it’s really bad, I can’t even wear jeans without them irritating me.’
‘And this is why you’ve been freezing up every time we’ve been getting it on?’
‘What’s with this “wanna neck” and “getting it on?” Next thing I know you’ll ask me for a snog.’
He’s quiet for a minute. ‘Snogging doesn’t hurt, right?’
I’m still giggling. ‘Snogging doesn’t hurt.’
He leans into me on the couch and says, very close to my ear, ‘Wanna snog?’
‘Sure. As long as you don’t mind getting all worked up with nowhere to go.’
‘I’m kinda interested in those other ways you know to be intimate,’ he says, as he pulls me into his lap again and his hands get busy.
‘Those? Yeah. But I don’t think I quite know you well enough.’
‘I can’t catch a break.’
And about then, I kiss him, and that stops both of us talking.
Chapter 29
The household awakes around seven next morning. After we share a lazy breakfast, Brayden says he has a bit of running around to do and he’ll be gone a while.
‘Do you want company?’
He shakes his head. ‘I’m catching up with that friend of mine who has the dogs, so maybe not, and anyway, Emmy said she’d be here before lunch. Probably best if one of us sticks around.’
His eyes evade mine, and a warning bell goes off in my head. ‘What are you up to?’
‘Me?’ He touches his chest. ‘Nothing. I’ll be back before you know I’ve gone.’
He’s like a puppy caught with the slipper in its mouth. I know he’s up to something.
***
I take Seb to the beach while we wait for Emmy. It’s not a great day. There’s too much wind and it’s coming straight off the ocean with an autumn chill.
While the sun’s out, it’s warm enough, and I find a spot in the dunes where Seb can play. Raisin-like dried bubbles of seaweed blow across the sand and the ammonia smell is strong.
We don’t stay long. Some gusts are fierce enough to make the sand sting.
Emmy pulls into the driveway not long after Seb and I return from the beach. The Mazda crawls along the goat-track, although it isn’t such a goat-track now — I’ve come and gone along it too many times, and I’ve pruned the shrubs. Still, Emmy seems to be taking it extremely slow and careful.
I make tea for myself and a coffee for her — ignoring her grimace that it’s instant — and we take our cups to the porch. I don’t know if she’s seen or heard from Brayden, and I’m busting to share the news with her.
‘Brayden’s sold his house already, Em. And he’s quit his job.’
‘I know.’ She doesn’t elaborate.
‘That’s it? You know? I thought it was pretty momentous.’
Emmy takes a sip of her coffee and quirks an eyebrow at me. ‘There’s bigger news.’
‘Bigger news?’
‘Yep. But my lips are sealed.’ She makes a show of zipping them.
‘That’s not fair!’
‘I’m sworn to secrecy. You’ll just have to wait.’
I sputter about what a rotten friend she is, but Emmy doesn’t care. She just looks at me with an all-knowing expression in her hazel eyes and if I get too insistent, she jumps off the porch to play
with Seb.
Every time we hear a car engine she glances out to the road, and soon I’m so jittery, I’m ready to explode.
It’s a relief when Brayden returns.
He pecks Emmy’s cheek in a hello, and they start this crazy conversation which tells me nothing, and drives me mad.
Brayden: ‘You got them?’
Emmy: ‘Yep. All good with you?’
Brayden: ‘Yeah.’
Emmy: ‘Can I watch when you — ’ her eyes flick to me and she adds, ‘you know.’
I’m about ready to stamp my foot like a petulant child. ‘That’s enough. You’re both freaking me out. What’s going on?’
Emmy says, ‘We better tell her. She might pop a blood vessel otherwise. You know how she gets.’
Brayden turns to me. ‘Get your golf shoes, Jenn. You and I are having a game of golf.’
I stare at both of them, hard. Emmy is all but bouncing on the soles of her feet, and Brayden’s face is flushed beneath his tan.
‘Golf.’ I spell it out slowly, like I’m talking to a pair of two year olds. ‘All this is about a game of golf?’
‘I’m looking after Seb,’ Emmy volunteers fast. ‘I thought I might take him to the park or something while you’re gone.’
‘Go change, Jenn,’ Brayden says.
There’s something more going on here, I know it.
With one more narrow-eyed look at the plotters, I head up the steps and inside. I’m pulling my shoes on when a car door slams out the front of the house. Tying my shoe laces in record time, I get back to the porch and see Brayden striding toward the house with a sparkling white and blue golf bag slung over his shoulder. It takes a few seconds before I make out the logo on the bag and when I do, the jolt of recognition shivers up my spine.
Cobra Sapphires.
Emmy’s head swivels between Brayden and me — a beaming smile lights her face.
‘What’s going on?’ I say. ‘Don’t tell me you bought those?’
‘They’re yours, Jenn,’ he says, slinging the clubs loosely from his shoulder and standing them with a rattle on the grass at my feet.
My voice shoots through an octave. ‘What do you mean they’re mine?’
Brayden holds his hand out to me and automatically, I reach for his. He drops a metal object — something pleasantly smooth, warm and heavy — into my hand.
