by Fiona Lowe
Charlotte had chewed at her lip, her expression dubious. ‘God, what’s happened to my parents? They’re supposed to be the adults but they’re so screwed up. Dad’s been calling and texting for days. He wants to see me tomorrow but I don’t know if I want to see him. Every time I think about what he’s done to all those people, I hate him for it. Just when I’m sure I hate him, I remember all the awesome things he’s done for me and that reminds me how much I love him.’ Her voice had cracked. ‘Then I hate him all over again for wrecking everything.’
Georgie ached for her niece. ‘All those feelings are normal, Charlie. Your father’s betrayed more than just the people he stole money from. He’s betrayed the people who love him. You, your mum, Xara and Steve—all of us.’
‘I’m going to have to tell him about the baby soon though, right? I mean, I told Mum so it’s only fair I tell him too?’
Georgie hadn’t been sure ‘fair’ extended to a man who’d ripped off hard-working people and in the process destroyed his family. ‘Do you trust him?’
‘Yes. No. I want to.’ Charlie had wrung her hands. ‘Crap! I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t trust either of them.’
No matter how stark the truth was, Georgie had decided to tell it. She knew if Harriet said what she was about to say, Charlotte would refuse to believe it so she’d crossed her fingers that her niece would take it on board from her. ‘You know your mum’s worried James wants to use you to improve his image? Well, he might say stuff about the baby that you want to hear just to get back at Harriet.
‘Please know that no matter what he says, no matter what he offers you, he probably doesn’t have any money. Xara says that the amount of money he’s stolen means it’s almost certain he’s going to jail. If he promises you things for when the baby’s born, know that he probably won’t be around to fulfil them. I know it’s hard to understand and accept but no matter how much you want to, you can’t rely on him.’
Charlotte’s eyes had widened into shimmering blue pools that glistened with a film of tears. ‘All of this sucks.’
‘It’s time to be honest with yourself. You know that if you’d told your parents you were pregnant before James blew everything up, neither of them were going to be thrilled about this baby.’
‘Yes, but Daddy would have worked on Mum.’
Georgie had tried not to sigh at the fantasy Charlotte had woven in her head to bolster her decision. ‘No. He wouldn’t have done that. Status is important to James. He was running for preselection and political parties like their candidates to have squeaky-clean families. With or without your father committing these crimes, I’m pretty sure that you’d have ended up out of home and here at Glenora with Mardi.’
Charlotte had bit her lip. ‘She’s been amazing.’
‘Yeah,’ Georgie’d said with a half laugh, half sigh. ‘And we’ve got no idea why, so accept it as the gift it truly is.’
Shadows had flitted across Charlotte’s face as she pulled open the wooden Victorian flywire door. ‘Tell you what,’ Georgie had added, ‘I’ll make popcorn and you and Mardi choose a movie.’
The three of them had sat on the big old leather couch with doonas on their knees and Tsar snuggled up on Charlotte’s lap. Georgie had given thanks for her mother’s choice of movie—one that had required little concentration and even less thought. Given how much her mind was spinning, that had been a blessing.
After saying goodnight and when the sounds of doors closing and water pipes rumbling had faded to silence, Georgie had met Ben at Glenora’s gates. Under a star-studded sky, they’d strolled together—arms around each other’s waists—in the perfume-filled garden. She was always amazed that some of the most unremarkable plants by day could discharge such alluring sweetness into the cool night air. They hadn’t said much as they’d strolled, it had been enough just to be together. An owl had hooted, its eerie call stilling the frogs’ throaty croaks, and in the rare silence, Ben had kissed her.
The world had slowed, every sense heightened, bringing an indefinable feeling that hovered outside of the very definable and easily recognisable lust she had for this man. She’d caught his buoyant smile in the moonlight, absorbed the solid strength of him pressed up against her, breathed in his scent of fresh cologne with a slight tang of sweat and savoured his fresh minty taste. He’d obviously cleaned his teeth just before he’d left the motel and she gave him points for consideration.
He was the first man she’d ever snuck into her room. Not that she’d ever sneaked a boy in, although perhaps she should have as it turned out that her old bedroom window was conveniently large. Ben’s long legs were made for clambering over the wide sandstone sill, and he’d done it with ease. The only snag was that he’d forgotten to duck his head and on the way through had banged it against the sash window.
‘Aren’t we too old for all this sneaking about?’ he’d said ruefully as he’d rubbed his scalp.
‘Sorry. It’s just with everything going on …’
‘It’s okay.’ He’d wrapped his arms around her and she’d leaned into him in a way that was fast becoming normal. ‘I’d rather meet your family at a time when they’re not wondering what the hell is going to happen next.’
‘Only good things are going to happen next,’ she’d said firmly, winding her fingers into his curls, locating the bump on his head. ‘I can get you an icepack for this mini Easter egg. Might make it feel better.’
He’d shaken his head and the pale shaft of moonlight had illuminated a wicked twinkle in his dark caramel eyes. ‘I know another way to make it feel better.’
Her body had leapt, blood pulsing, muscles twitching and excitement throbbing intoxicatingly through her before settling deep down with a pull as strong as the tide. She’d linked her fingers at the back of his neck and pulled his face closer.
‘Do you now?’
‘I do.’
Without taking his gaze off her face, he’d walked her backward until the edge of the mattress had hit the back of her knees. She’d let herself fall, taking him with her, and they’d gone down in a tangle of limbs and clothes. Stifling giggles, they’d pulled and pushed at each other’s garments, kicked off shoes and peeled off socks until skin touched glorious skin. She’d sighed as his warmth infused her and for a moment, amid the freneticism that had built between them fuelled by a week of longing, she was filled with a sense of belonging with this man. It buoyed her and scared her in equal measure.
She’d gripped his face and kissed him hard, driving out the hopes and fears and concentrating on the here and now. On him. His body. On not making any noise and on the precarious balancing act of sex in a single bed.
Now satiated and wedged between the wall of her bedroom and the warm solid wall that was Ben, she felt every breath he took in and released, every muscle twitch in his body, and every laugh.
‘This is crazy,’ he whispered, kissing her nose. ‘Amazing but crazy.’
Her cheeks ached from smiling so widely but she was powerless to stop her almost permanent grin. ‘There’s definitely something erotic about having to keep quiet.’
He raised a brow. ‘That’s one word for the bite mark on my hand.’
‘Sorry.’ She flicked out her tongue and licked the dented skin, tasting salt and sweat.
He tensed and she felt him harden against her thigh. A banner of joy unfurled inside her and she gloried in it. It had been a very long time since she’d believed in her allure and power as a woman. When her body had failed Eliza—and by default herself—she’d lost faith in it. She’d hated it; hated the red-raw slash above her pubic bone and the pink stretch marks on her breasts that falsely claimed she’d suckled and nurtured a baby. She loathed the emptiness of her uterus that echoed loudly around her body, never letting her forget what she’d lost. Who she’d let down so badly.
During the death throes of her relationship with Jason she’d felt like an empty vessel unable to give and too numb to receive. During sex she’d feel Jason inside her, f
eel his sweat against her skin and hear the panting of his breath in her ear, but she was absent. Her thoughts were with her baby girl; instead of holding her close to her chest where she belonged, she’d had to bury her. Georgie’s lack of response during sex had precipitated the end. Jason had needed sex to feel close to her again; she’d needed his love and understanding. For months after they’d separated she hadn’t missed sex. She hadn’t even thought about it but more recently, every now and then, she’d notice the occasional flicker of sensation whenever she was watching a love scene in a movie. When Ben had flirted with her at school it was like he’d flicked a switch on her libido.
He trailed a finger lazily between her breasts and she shivered at the delicious swoop of sensation that followed its trajectory. He circled her belly button twice and then with a sweeping zigzag motion, he crossed her belly until the pad of his finger traced the length of her scar.
She involuntarily tensed, the action so sharp it jerked her body against his.
He whipped his hand away. ‘Sorry. Did that hurt?’
She shook her head.
He gazed down at her. ‘It’s a long scar. What happened?’
Her throat suddenly tightened. The first time they’d had sex she’d been on edge, expecting him to ask about the scar. He hadn’t said a word. Nor had he mentioned it the second or the third time. Confident he wasn’t going to ask, she’d let down her guard. Now, all snuggled up in her cocoon of bliss and totally unprepared, the question hit her like a sniper’s bullet. It tore through her, ripping, burning, brutal.
She raised her hand to a faint, white scar that ran across the top of his eyebrow. ‘What happened here?’
‘One of my sisters dropped me on my head when I was three.’
‘That explains a lot,’ she teased.
‘You’re a comedian too? Who knew?’ The light caught his impish grin. ‘Apparently there was blood everywhere and I was rushed to hospital. I needed eight stitches. Mum always said Josie was more traumatised by it than I was. Big sis has spent thirty years vowing it was an accident but I’m not so sure. I mean, with these curls, I was pretty damn cute as kid. And what with being the long awaited son and all, I guess her jealousy was just too much.’
‘Hang on.’ She tapped his chest with her fingers. ‘I thought you said you were an accident.’ Like me.
‘I don’t recall my parents ever telling me I was an accident or a mistake. I mean, look at me …’ He winked and gave her a double thumbs-up. ‘I have three older sisters and I’m the only son of an Italian mother. In a lot of ways I’m the epitome of the indulged youngest child.’
‘I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight, including that modesty is one of your character strengths.’
He laughed, the sound deep and enticing. She basked in it but shushed him all the same. The walls of Glenora were thick but Charlotte’s room was close and she really didn’t want to have to deal with being discovered with a man in her bed.
He looked at her expectantly and tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve told you my war story so now you have to tell me yours.’
Her stomach lurched. She’d hoped her teasing would have distracted him from her scar. She’d have to try something else so she defaulted to deflection, aiming for every bloke’s Achilles heel. Drawing on years of experience with men, she knew exactly how to end the conversation quickly and cleanly. She quietly cleared her throat.
‘Women’s business.’
He didn’t even blink. ‘Endometriosis? Ovarian cysts?’
Stunned, she stared at him. ‘Who are you?’
‘I’ve got sisters. I hear things.’ He gave a mock shudder. ‘I get told things.’
She giggled softly and then turned her head, pressing a kiss to his chest and flicking his nipple with her tongue. In the past when she’d done that he’d forgotten everything except the fact that he wanted her.
He let out a puff of air—the soft sigh of a moan—and then he pressed a kiss into her hair. ‘People who are getting to know each other generally share information about themselves.’
At his slightly censuring tone she pulled her tongue back into her mouth and dragged in a deep breath. ‘I thought we’re having fun.’
He frowned. ‘I thought we were dating.’
‘We are. The two aren’t mutually exclusive are they?’ Her voice betrayed her by ending on a rising inflection. Damn it.
He was still for a moment, those dark eyes of his illuminated by the churning cogs of his brain. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for some fun but I’ve been there and done that. I’m not twenty-five anymore, Georgie. I’m here for more than just sex.’
His words should have made her deliciously happy. Wasn’t that what every single woman in her thirties wanted to hear? A seemingly normal guy looking to commit? ‘It’s still early days.’
‘So? Have you got some sort of information-release system?’ For the first time in all their conversations, she heard irritation weaving into his voice. ‘A mathematically predetermined date circled on the calendar for disclosures? X number of days or weeks have to pass before you’ll tell me?’
Oh God. Was he inside her head?
His usual laid back demeanour had vanished. ‘If you won’t tell me about some surgery now, exactly how far in do you mention the big things like a criminal record?’
‘I don’t have a criminal record,’ she said, shooting for a light and breezy tone despite feeling hammered by his question. ‘Although I did get pulled over once for speeding.’ She sat up, needing some space but instantly missed his heat as the chilly night air swept in over her Ben-warmed skin.
‘Georgie …’ His hand lightly touched her back.
Ignoring the plea in his voice, she pulled away and clambered across him. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and felt the smooth and familiar boards under her feet. As she bent down and picked up her pyjama pants, she noticed her hand was trembling.
‘I’ve upset you.’ He sounded sad as he sat up and placed his feet on the floor, the sheet spilling across his lap. ‘I’d apologise but I can’t do that until I understand why I’ve upset you.’
She picked up his shirt; the one she’d popped a button off earlier when she’d been desperate to lay her palms against his broad chest and feel the play of muscles under her fingers. She decided she’d hand it to him as a hint that it was time for him to leave but instead of passing it over, she found herself staring at it. Moonlight turned its colour to sepia and her thoughts lurched this way and that. If Ben left now, with his question unanswered, she doubted he’d let it slide away quietly. No, it would sit between them, large, imposing and with sharp corners, demanding an answer the next time they met. It meant they’d never reach her imagined point of her being ready to tell him what had happened or him being ready to hear it. Truth was, she was never ready to talk about Eliza, so why did she think she’d be happy to do it in a week’s or a month’s time?
Still holding the shirt, her gaze slid to her toes, which peeked out from under her pyjama pants. Her thoughts rolled back to the time her toes had peeked out from under Ben’s tracksuit pants when he’d lent her his clothes after the rain had drowned her. The evening she’d had her suspicions confirmed that he was kind, funny and sexy as hell. Was she really going to walk away from him now because he was asking her a question she didn’t want to answer? Walk away to avoid telling a story that was part of who she was? Walk before she’d worked out if this thing between them was more than just lust and given it a chance to grow? Given him a chance?
‘That time I got pulled over for speeding …’ she glanced sideways at him from under her hair, ‘I was driving myself to hospital.’
He didn’t say a word but he laced his fingers into hers as if he sensed the story was big and she needed his support. She dropped her eyes back to her toes and idly thought she should paint tiny eggs on them for tomorrow. Today. Tasha would get a kick out of it.
‘That scar’s my permanent reminder
that I was once a mother for three hours.’
‘Oh, fuck.’ Horror and embarrassment wove themselves into his voice and she glanced up as he added, ‘Jesus. Georgie. I’m sorry.’ Stricken, he dragged his free hand through his hair before dropping it to her cheek. ‘When did this happen?’
‘Some days it feels like yesterday and other days it’s like I dreamed it all.’ She saw the lines creasing his forehead and remembered he was a bloke. Blokes needed real dates. ‘It will be two years this July.’
He nodded slowly as if he was processing all the information. ‘Did you have a son or a daughter?’
Her heart rolled not so much in grief for Eliza but in appreciation that Ben had thought to ask. Most people didn’t. Most people got so embarrassed when they discovered her child had died that they immediately shifted the conversation to something trite and inane. But happy; always happy. Generally, the only people who enquired about her baby were other grieving parents, which was why she’d found the SANDS support group so helpful.
‘I had a little girl. Eliza Jane. She was born at twenty-six weeks because—’ She stopped. She wasn’t at a support group meeting now. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘You can tell me if you want to.’ His thumb stroked her cheek and his mouth tweaked up. ‘You won’t freak me out. I’ve got sisters who tell me stuff, remember?’
A laugh bubbled up from nowhere and then she was leaning into him like he was a quiet cove on a dark and stormy sea. He wrapped his arms around her and together they fell back on the bed, only this time it was nothing to do with sex and everything to do with comfort. She told him about the undiagnosed placenta praevia, the terrifying and soaking amounts of blood, the emergency caesarean section and waking up to a baby who was so tiny she was scared to hold her in case she crushed her. When the inevitable tears rolled down her face, Ben didn’t say anything, just wiped them away with the sheet.
The owl hooted again, the sound loud and spine chilling in the quiet room. ‘Did you do all this on your own?’ Ben asked.
