Husband Stay (Husband #2)

by Louise Cusack

  “Yes,” she said wryly. “It’s always full of promise at the start.” Then she gazed at me pensively and I saw something happening behind her eyes, some struggle, and I wanted to ask what was wrong. Did she want to be at home with her children instead of being a breadwinner? Unfortunately, I didn’t know her well enough to intrude.

  At last she added, “So how long are you going go hermit on me?”

  “A year? Maybe more?”

  I wanted to say I was sorry, but I wasn’t.

  “And you’re moving to Western Queensland?”

  “Middle of nowhere.” I nodded. “He thinks I’m a city girl, so I want to change his mind.”

  She shook her head. “All right. But don’t get a job out there, you’ll ruin those beautiful fingernails.”

  I laughed at that. “Ever practical.” Did she imagine there were only shearing sheds and cattle dips out west?

  “You’ve got money coming in,” she went on, and tapped her ever-present tablet. “So give your imagination time to breathe. Write songs. Listen to music. Knit booties.”

  It was my turn to shake my head. “I’ve never written a song.”

  “Maybe you weren’t inspired in the past.” She raised an eyebrow. “But it sounds like you’ve got enough emotional material to fill an album. Or two.” She nodded to herself. “And that reminds me. This Jack. Do you love him?”

  Maybe we did know each other well enough to get personal.

  “Absolutely,” I replied. I could feel that in the warm rush behind my ribs whenever he came into my thoughts.

  But instead of looking reassured, Rosie sucked in a deep breath and let it out slow. “Because you want to be sure about this, Angela. Don’t marry him just to have a father for your child.”

  The haunted look was back in her eyes, and if she’d been one of my girlfriends I’d have dragged the truth out of her. But despite the fact that we’d gone there, we were only business associates, so I forced myself to stick to the topic. “He’s the one. I’d rather be alone than marry anyone else.”

  “Because when we met,” she went on, relentlessly, “You were all about career and babies, if they came along. You didn’t seem to want a man.”

  “I know.” I shrugged. “But I’ve fallen in love.”

  “In a month.” She immediately held up a hand and said, “Okay, I’m sounding like I’m your mother—”

  “No. Trust me, you’re not!”

  “But answer me this.” She leant forward and held up three fingers. “Forget I’m your agent for a second and tell me the truth. Imagine you’ve got three things in your life and you have to give one of them up. Jack. The baby. Your career—”

  “My career.”

  She blinked at me in surprise for a couple of seconds, then she laughed. “You don’t want a nanosecond to think about that?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I wasn’t at all.

  But she simply reached across and patted my hand. “You’re lucky I like you, honey.”

  “I just want to be honest with you, and it won’t be all bad,” I hurried to add. “Hopefully the documentary will boost sales of the album.” She’d put so much work in, I wanted her to earn some commissions for her trouble.

  But she waved that away. “Speaking of the documentary,” she said. “I loved that little town they filmed the ending in.”

  “Gillabinda,” It had been sweet with its neat little houses behind rows of ancient Bottle Trees. Smaller than Dakaroo where I’d grown up, but with an outback dustiness that felt completely familiar.

  “Is that where you’re going?” She picked up her coffee and took another sip, and in that moment, I knew that I would. It was the closest town to Jack’s house. Surely he couldn’t miss me there…

  So I finished the approvals on the album, and wrote a long letter to Jack, explaining how upset I was to have misled him into thinking it was all about sex. But I was honest about the fact that in the beginning, I hadn’t known what it was about, or what his intentions were. I hadn’t actually known what I wanted—out of a man, or out of life.

  Being a mother had always been the most important thing to me, followed closely by singing. In retrospect, I had cared more about those two goals than I had about my marriage, which had probably contributed to my divorce, despite all the ‘good wife’ things I’d done. My heart simply hadn’t been in it.

  Now it was. I finished my pretty yellow two-page explanation with:

  I love you more than I’ve ever loved any man. I hope I can love our child that much. I want us to be together, to be married, raising our child and your nieces with love and laughter.

  I know you think I don’t belong in the country, but I do. Give me the chance to prove it. Phone me.

  I posted it to him at Daven Downs, hoping like hell that he’d read it. Then I went to say my goodbyes to Louella over tea on her back terrace and was surprised when Nick let me in to her Rose Bay mansion. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her if he was living there too, so I filed that away for When I have my own life sorted, I’ll pry into hers.

  The next day Kamal helped me pack, and although it was awkward with neither of us talking about Fritha and that weekend. I was soon on my way, only a week after having left Jack, with my worldly possessions filling my yellow Camry sedan.

  The album would be released the following week along with the documentary which would air with promos on Sunshine, and I didn’t need to do another thing, except grow a happy baby—Rosie’s parting piece of advice.

  So I moved into a furnished cottage in Gillabinda with roses and a herb garden, and became resident number 802, just down the road from Daven Downs. Then following my mother’s example, all those years ago, I set about becoming part of the community, introducing myself as an import from Dakaroo—500 miles south—so the locals wouldn’t classify me as a city girl, because I knew that wouldn’t end well.

  Two days later I was welcomed into the local Country Women’s Association where their previous president had been from Jaipur—talk about luck. All I had to do was name-drop members of my mother’s circle who had won National CWA baking competitions, and I was invited to help with the bake sale that very week.

  Fritha organized for some of the boxes of tropical fruit and veg coming into Bohemian Brew to be re-routed to me, so I had masses of ‘exotic’ ingredients the locals had rarely seen. I set about making traditional Indian delicacies for the bake sale, and some extras to drop off to the pre-school and local nursing home where they welcomed my help with the weekly bingo.

  The librarian, Sara, was a woman my age, and after bonding over her new ragdoll kitten Delores, and Sara’s love of my brightly colored Punjabi suits, she started telling everyone I was the Nigella Lawson from Mumbai. To live up to that reputation, I brought her a Mango Lassi milkshake and a lunchbox of Pani Puri which she’s quickly became addicted to.

  Sara knew everyone in town, from the ‘slutty backpackers’ behind the bar to the gum-chewing girls on the checkout at the grocers and the cheeky delivery boys from the produce store who borrowed computer games and always brought them back late.

  I loved her banter, so I fell into a routine of spending her lunch hour curled into an armchair in the corner of the library to read and cuddle Delores while Sara devoured my food.

  Isabelle’s funeral day came—a private family affair that wasn’t widely reported, and I ached for Jack. Sara talked about them that lunchtime. She’d apparently gone to school with Isabelle, and her recollections made me feel even more upset, particularly when I had to pretend to know nothing about them. After lunch I went home to have a good cry, hating the fact that I lived an hour down the road, and couldn’t see him.

  Having upset his parents once with the film crew, there was no way I was bringing a drama to their door, especially not while they were grieving. So in an effort to pour the pain into something creative, I took Rosie’s advice, and tried to write a song. It wasn’t easy to begin with. My feelings were jumbled and I couldn’t m
ake sense of them, but finally I ended up with this:

  Touch me. Touch my skin

  Burn the pain from deep within

  Wind your fingers in my hair

  Kiss me so I just don’t care

  Take me anywhere you want and love me

  Thaw my heart and warm my bones

  Make me laugh and make me moan

  Lock me in and lose the key

  Wipe away my misery

  You’re the only man who can release me…

  It wasn’t a song, but it was a start, and I promised myself I’d work on it further—when I could write without crying. The next day I was distracted by the Sunshine promotion and the documentary airing that night. Thankfully neither mentioned Jack, but it still created talk around town.

  A couple of the younger guys jibed me about being on television, and about being a sexy singer, but it was all good natured, and soon shut down by Sara who then berated me for being a holdout.

  One week fell into the next.

  By day I cooked and distributed sweet treats like sticky Besan Ladoo balls, wishing Jack was around so I could bewitch him with my culinary skills. By night I read everything I could about babies, desperately hoping I’d be able to share the experience with him. That was my Plan A. But if that plan failed, I had to think about how I’d raise our child alone.

  I’d ruled out living in Sydney with only Louella as my support network. The next option was Dakaroo, with the specter of my mother taking over. But having lived in Gillabinda for a fortnight, I could see it was a supportive community of down-to-earth people, who mostly accepted me, despite my Indian heritage.

  Even if Jack rejected me—which looked likely, as he hadn’t rung—I could make a life here. But I desperately wanted him to phone. And despite the assertions in my letter, it wasn’t all about love. I was in withdrawal physically as well. While I’d been busy packing and moving, I’d managed to subdue my libido, but the longer I was away from him, the more my body craved his touch.

  The books said that once morning sickness settled, hormones could make a woman’s sex drive increase, particularly in the first trimester. Which turned out to be deadly accurate, and masturbation just wasn’t cutting it. I was starting to think I might explode from longing.

  And then, one day, he walked into the library

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  I was curled up in a corner armchair with Delores on my lap, reading a dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, because there’s nothing like a contentious romance when you’re lovesick. And out of the corner of my eye I saw one bright blond head, and then another.

  Children often visited the library while I was there, so I don’t know what sixth sense pulled me out of the story to glance up, but when I did, my breath caught in my throat. The girls had their backs to me, working their way down a shelf of picture books, clearly deciding which ones to take home. And in the next instant Jack came into view, also with his back to me.

  I wasn’t prepared for this, so my pulse jumped, but I had the advantage. If I took control of the situation, I could use surprise to leverage a better outcome. So I put down my book, tucked the kitten against my waist and set off toward them.

  When I was five paces away, Jack turned and idly glanced in my direction.

  “Hello,” I said brightly, closing the distance between us as he recoiled in surprise. “How lovely to see you again.” I stopped right in front of him and smiled—which was hard because he was looking stunned—but I waited him out.

  Eventually, he smoothed his expression and said, “Hello.” Then he looked around, as if he was expecting a film crew. “What are you doing here?” The girls browsed on, oblivious.

  I frowned deliberately. “I live here,” I replied, as if he should have known.

  At that moment, Charley turned with a book in her hands, and her pigtails seemed to stand on end. “Angela!” she squealed. “And a kitten!”

  As if all her Christmases had come at once.

  The books went flying and both girls pounced on me at the same time, hugging my pants with one arm and reaching for the kitten which I held up away from them.

  “Don’t frighten her.” I laughed at their desperation. “She’s only tiny.”

  “Please!”

  “Girls,” Jack said firmly, then he grabbed both questing hands so he could pull them back to his side. “Where are your manners?” There was nothing of crankiness in his tone. He sounded, dazed, if anything, and he’d barely taken his eyes off me, which gave me hope.

  But I was way past mere hope. Seeing him in a casual western shirt with jeans and dusty boots made my libido start ticking like a metronome in overdrive. Presto. Molto Presto!

  I wanted to lick across that acreage, as Fritha had so colorfully put it, and lose myself there. Being able to gaze into his warm brown eyes and imagine kissing those slightly parted lips was making me light-headed.

  But Daisy was still reaching with her free hand. “We said please!” She hadn’t taken her eyes off Delores for a second. “JB, it’s a kitten!”

  “I don’t care if it’s a miniature unicorn.” Jack dragged his attention away from me to frown at her “We don’t grab. Especially not at things that break.”

  “That’s the kitten,” I clarified. “Not me.” I didn’t want them thinking my pregnancy had made me fragile.

  But Jack’s gaze flicked instantly to my wrist, which was almost completely back to normal. Was he feeling guilty? That was the last thing I wanted.

  So I said, “All better,” and gave it a twist. “I’m fine.”

  He nodded, but his expression had sobered.

  Then Daisy piped up, “She’s having a baby, remember?” as if Jack was forgetful.

  We gazed at each other for another few seconds before he said, “Why are you here?”

  “I live here,” I repeated, but he only frowned, as if I was giving him clues to a puzzle he couldn’t work out.

  “Angel-aaaaa,” little Charley wailed, and the one arm Jack wasn’t holding reached up desperately for the kitten.

  I stopped staring at Jack, wishing he’d just kiss me, and turned to Charley. “Okay, but Delores isn’t mine. I’ll have to ask Sara if you can pat her.” The last thing I wanted was to walk away from Jack, but if the kitten bought us time to talk, it would be worth the interruption.

  “Yay!” They started dancing in delight, and I was about to head to the counter to ask Sara, when Jack leaned down to scoop Charlie up into his arms, presumably to restraint her, and I saw a flash of yellow in his pocket.

  The same yellow as the notepaper I’d poured my heart out on.

  The moment he straightened, I pointed at his pocket. “Is that my letter?”

  Still standing beside him, Daisy grinned. “That’s JB’s special letter. We’re not allowed to touch it.” Jack opened his mouth but she chatted on, “He takes it out and reads it all the time, when he thinks we’re not looking. But we are.” She grinned up at him with the self-satisfied expression only a six-year-old can form. And he closed his mouth, settling on staring at me, his cheeks flushed with some inner disturbance.

  But he wasn’t denying it.

  My pulse had already been high, and now it started to race. “Special,” I said to him.

  He just nodded.

  “And yet…you didn’t call me.”

  “It didn’t seem appropriate.”

  Because your sister just died? I wasn’t going to say that with Daisy and Charley listening, so I just said, “I see.” But I was wondering if he meant he’d been planning to call me. Later.

  My over-riding desire was to get him somewhere private where we could speak frankly. But I had to sort the kitten issue and I was terrified that he might think better of the idea and leave.

  So I said, “Stay.” And I pointed at his boots. “Right here.”

  Charley laughed in delight and clapped her hands. “That’s what he tells the dogs.”

  Jack almost cracked a smile then, and my heart fluttered. T
hose white teeth in that tanned face, and those very sexy brown eyes. Sweet Shiva. If I didn’t get the chance to kiss that man again, I might explode. I was getting shakily excited, but I ignored that to walk over to Sara who was finishing up with young Matt from the bakery.

  “Two weeks, remember,” she said, giving the kid her best librarian glare. Then she handed over his Game of Thrones DVD and turned to me. I expected her to make some quip about people not borrowing her kitten, but as soon as the boy turned away her cheeky smile faded into what I thought of as her ‘deathly serious mode’ and she said softly, “You and Jack.”

  How…? I wanted to shake my head, but I didn’t, and after another few seconds she said, “I saw the way he was looking at you. Are you guys an item?”

  I knew Sara would be wondering why I’d never mentioned this, and perhaps wondering if this was the reason I’d come to Gillabindi, but I was in a hurry. “Can the girls pat Delores?”

  Sara frowned, obviously disappointed that I wasn’t opening up to her, but to her credit she looked around herself at the space behind the counter. “If they come in here where I can watch them, they can pat her. I’ll mind them for half an hour while you take Mr. I can’t take my eyes off her ass for a coffee. Or something.” She raised an eyebrow.

  I suddenly remembered I had leftover Pani Puri at home. “Or lunch!” It was a brilliant idea. I could wow him with my cooking while we spoke.

  “Right,” she said dryly. “Because clearly he’s got food on his mind.”

  Despite Sara’s innuendo, Jack had just lost his sister, so I didn’t for a moment imagine he would be looking for a quickie. But if he was willing to talk, I was going to pounce on that opportunity.

  So I handed the dozing kitten to Sara who said, “I’ve got crackers and cheese in the fridge. I’ll make them snacks. Jack…” she acknowledged as he came up behind me. “I’m sorry about Issy.”

  I turned to see him nodding, then I explained Sara’s offer and he said, “Sure,” his gaze barely leaving mine as he hugged Daisy and Charley in turn and then let them go. “Thanks Sara.”

  “We’re fine,” she said and waved us away. The girls rushed around the counter and she asked them to sit before she’d hand over the kitten. It was time for Jack and I to go, but the intensity between us grew thicker, until I was frightened to speak.