Wanting Mr Wrong

by Avril Tremayne

  ‘Okay, I promise I’ll try to hang in there.’ Try. Not exactly iron clad. I didn’t know how Jack could take any comfort from that, because how could either of us know what the situation would be tomorrow, next week, next month …?

  Three more phone calls, funny and sweet and cajoling – and tinged with desperation.

  I said all the right things, and eventually started to believe them.

  It really would all work out, I told myself, over and over. I could learn how to dress, how to smile, how to look like the right match for Jack so that I didn’t draw excessive attention to myself. Jack was the media target, not me, and any interest in me would fade quickly. It would be like water off a duck’s back – no big deal – and we would eventually be left in peace. We would just need to orchestrate our ‘coming out’ in a calm, measured way when he was back in Sydney. It would work.

  All the right things. Sensible, sane arguments.

  The case for ‘yes’.

  And then, the next morning, I woke, put my feet on the floor and was hit by a sudden wave of nausea.

  I raced for the bathroom.

  As I threw up, two facts crashed together in my mind. I’d missed my period. And I was pregnant.

  The case for ‘no’.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Heart racing, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. My face – nothing different there. Except for the white-hot shock.

  I stripped. Looked at my body.

  My breasts – fuller. (Ugh! Heading towards the full Dolly.) And they were a little tender, now I thought about it.

  I ran trembling hands over my stomach. Turned side-on and looked in the mirror again. No change there. No suggestion there was a baby inside. My baby.

  Mine and Jack’s.

  I felt a burst of dazzling joy.

  An equally dazzling jolt of fear.

  It was hard to think. What? How? Next? When?

  A home pregnancy test. A doctor’s appointment.

  Telling Jack.

  And then there was only one thought: the sharp and awful knowledge of what would happen when Jack knew. Because Jack, already reluctant to keep our relationship under wraps, was not going to keep his child a secret.

  And that meant headlines.

  Way to make the news – snare Jackson J Stevens and get knocked up by him in one fell swoop.

  My heart was pumping so hard, I had to grab onto the sink to steady myself.

  Back to what? How? Next? When?

  So … did I have to tell Jack?

  Well, yes, of course I had to. Aside from anything else, Drew would know, and that was one secret Drew would not keep. Nor would I expect him to.

  But did I have to tell Jack right away?

  No, I didn’t.

  I hadn’t had a test. I had a day or so to mull things over. Maybe longer. Jack wouldn’t be around to witness the morning sickness. It would take a while for my stomach to start swelling.

  The phone rang and I jumped. Listened as the answering machine picked up the call.

  ‘Evie?’ Pause. ‘Evie, are you there?’ Pause. ‘Okay, obviously not. Am I allowed to leave messages? I thought –’ Quick laugh. ‘I wasn’t sure, because you might come home with someone and hit the message button and have whoever was with you hear me telling you I’M CRAZY ABOUT YOU. I forgot to ask if you had rules for that.’ Another laugh. ‘Call me!’

  He sounded so wonderful and adorable and happy. So happy.

  Then I heard my mobile phone start to ring. I waited for the ringing to stop, for voicemail to take over.

  Because aside from the whole What? How? Next? When? dilemma, there was one thing I knew with utter certainty: I could not communicate with Jack and not tell him about the baby – my morals weren’t quite that bankrupt. But that meant, basically, that I couldn’t communicate with him at all until I was ready to tell him.

  Big, big problem. Because it meant I couldn’t answer his calls or emails; and I couldn’t call or email him.

  He was going to think I’d dumped him after all.

  And maybe … Maybe I was dumping him.

  I replayed the message on my answering machine.

  And wasn’t entirely surprised to find that I was crying.

  ‘So what does Jack say?’ Drew asked, when I phoned him and stammered out the news about the baby.

  ‘Um …’ Seriously, you’d think I would have worked out the answer to that very obvious question, but that was the best I could do.

  ‘Evie?’

  ‘Well …’

  ‘You’re not going to tell me he doesn’t know, are you?’

  I swallowed. Shook my head, remembered Drew couldn’t see me, and managed to find my voice long enough to get out: ‘That’s what I’m telling you.’

  Silence. Then, tentatively, ‘Is this good news or bad news? About the baby? I mean … are you keeping it?’

  ‘Yes, of course I’m keeping the baby,’ I said.

  I heard Drew take a deep, long breath. ‘There’s no “of course” in these matters, Evie, but thank God, because I have no idea what I would have done if … Well, no matter.’ Another deep breath. ‘So then, you and Jack. He said you’d got it all sorted, right – and you can thank me whenever you want, by the way.’

  ‘Thank you?’

  ‘Me and Chloe.’

  ‘What have you got to do with it?’

  ‘Oh, just how we so carefully stopped mentioning his name. Got you thinking, huh?’

  Talk about a doh moment. But, ‘That wasn’t exactly the clincher,’ I said.

  ‘Hey – we did our bit. Lachlan did his, and got to keep his eyelids because I was so happy about the way that worked out. And Jack, one assumes, did the rest brilliantly, as any brother of mine would.’

  Silence. This was harder than I’d thought it would be.

  ‘Evie? You have got the romance sorted, haven’t you? Because that will be important now.’

  ‘We … We sort of decided to see how things went. But he believed – I let him believe we would … Oh God.’

  ‘Let him believe?’

  ‘Just think about it,’ I said. ‘I’m pregnant. To Jackson J Stevens.’

  ‘Evie, for God’s sa–’

  ‘Don’t tell me it doesn’t matter that he’s famous because it does,’ I said, and the words that had been jammed up somewhere inside me came flooding out. ‘We were going to ease into something together. We can’t do that if I’m pregnant. The pregnancy changes everything. Can you imagine the media feeding frenzy?’ I shuddered. ‘There’d be no easing into anything. No backing out with nobody the wiser if it doesn’t work out. It’ll be like an archaeological expedition on steroids. They’ll be digging so hard, they’ll tap a molten core of freaking lava! And its name will be Evangeline Parker!’

  ‘Okay. You’re scaring me with the Evangeline. Calm down. Or do I need to send for a doctor?’

  ‘I’m petrified. Petrified, Drew.’

  ‘There is only one salient fact here: you and Jack are going to be parents. Actually two salient facts – I’m going to be an uncle. Crap – three – can’t forget the olds. And your olds. And Lise. Chloe, too. Crikey. Look – let’s start easy. Just. Tell. Jack.’

  ‘A few days …’ It was my turn for a deep breath. ‘Just a few days while I get my thoughts together.’

  ‘I don’t see what thoughts there are to get together. But if you need the calm before the storm … okay. I guess. However, if you don’t tell him …? Sorry, Evie, but I will.’

  Three days later, I still hadn’t managed the all-important call to Jack.

  I had my excuses. In the mornings I was too ill. In the evenings, I was too tired. In the middle of the day, I was too busy.

  Jack had called, and called, and called. At first leaving messages, which progressed from adorable to bemused to terse. And then just hang-ups when I didn’t answer.

  And my reprieve was over, because Drew had laid down the law. He was contacting Jack tomorrow. Which meant I would have
to set up the call for tonight.

  I opened my email. Put my fingers on the keyboard. Waited for inspiration.

  Hello Jack. I hope things are going well over there.

  Oh, great start!

  Sorry we’ve missed each other the last few days – time zone hell.

  Cringe-worthy.

  I’m going to try to call you 10am your time – tonight for me. Hope that’s okay.

  Too stilted, too cool. Nothing like the way I was feeling.

  My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

  I’ve missed you.

  I stared at the last three words.

  I’d been studiously avoiding communicating with Jack ever since he’d left. How hypocritical those last words would seem – even though they were true. I deleted the last sentence. Added, simply, Evie, as a sign off, and hit send before I could change my mind.

  Now I had set a deadline. I would have to speak to him, even if I still had no idea what I was going to say. It might be ‘Let’s play happy families’ or it might be ‘Sorry, but it’s not going to work out’ or it might be – well, anything, really.

  The nausea roiled in my stomach.

  Drew called me a few hours later to tell me Jack’s Your World Today interview – the one Jack had pre-recorded before he flew out – was airing that night. The program started at seven and Jack had passed on a message – via Drew, since I ‘wouldn’t pick up the goddamn phone’ – that he was expecting me to see it.

  When I arrived at Drew’s, with only two minutes to spare, he yanked me inside and sped me to the living room.

  ‘You look ghastly,’ he said as he flopped onto the couch beside me. ‘Conscience getting the better of you?’

  ‘Shut up, Drew, or I swear I will vomit on you.’

  ‘Ah, so nice to see active hormones at play.’

  ‘I’m calling Jack tonight. I emailed him. So there!’ And then the program’s opening music started and I went to jelly. ‘But I don’t know if I can watch this, Drew. I really don’t think I can.’

  Drew chafed my hands. ‘Come on, Evie, relax. It’s just an interview.’

  ‘Jack told Rowan he was in a relationship – what if she’s been digging to find out who it is? What if she knows it’s me?’

  ‘If she knew, she would have already had a camera stuck in your face,’ Drew said. ‘Evie, this is part of his life. If you’re going to be – No, just listen. If you’re going to be with him – and let’s assume for now that you are, if only to humour me – you have to come to terms with this stuff. Now shhh, it’s starting.’

  Rowan smiled out at us from the screen, giving a brisk rundown of the night’s stories. The interview with Jack, of course. An exposé of poor hygiene at a chain of fast food restaurants. A piece on childcare for working mothers. The challenge of eradicating tuberculosis.

  I was momentarily startled out of my misgivings. ‘Oh. Lachlan’s project. He finally got her to do it.’

  And then there was Jack. I sucked in a sharp, almost painful breath. Ohhhh, he looked good. Handsome. Happy. With that almost hypnotic intensity that seemed to emanate from him like a force field. It felt like he was looking directly at me and only me. Did every woman sitting in front of a television feel that?

  He was effortlessly charming. Talking about the new film, about the play. The importance of his family. The myths about the sexual smorgasbord laid out for handsome actors, a subject Rowan raised in a light-hearted moment.

  ‘I’m definitely a monogamist,’ Jack answered. ‘Which will be a relief to my girlfriend.’ He looked directly at the camera. ‘Who I hope is watching.’

  He used that quicksilver smile – and I realised, very suddenly, that he used that particular smile when he was uncertain. As he was with me so often. And then, there was that other look again, the intent one, along with the sensation he was looking only at me, like there was nobody else in the world.

  I reached out blindly and grabbed Drew’s hand, swamped with tenderness.

  ‘Is that the look?’ Drew asked.

  Nod.

  ‘Okay, I get it,’ Drew said. ‘He’s nuts about you. He really is a masochist at heart.’

  I hardly dared breathe through the rest of the interview, and sat statue-like, staring at Drew’s state-of-the-art screen. Jack’s gorgeous face felt close enough, real enough, to touch.

  The interview ended and I breathed a sigh of relief. I smiled at Drew, letting go of his hand. ‘Not so bad,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, you were very brave,’ Drew commended with affectionate irony.

  He grabbed my hand again and nodded at the screen, threading our fingers together. ‘Shhhh. Here’s Lachlan. Looking sharp and sexy – although I hate to admit that. And a live interview! Good for him.’

  Lachlan did look good. He was also confident, persuasive, laying out the issues with clarity and compassion. He talked about the solutions his organisation was pursuing, discussed the need for communication. Yes, good for him. He deserved all the positive publicity he could get.

  And then Lachlan casually referred to the support he’d had from Jackson J Stevens for a key communication initiative, a documentary – since Jack had been on the program, he thought it might interest Rowan to know that.

  Rowan, of course, asked for details and Lachlan obligingly provided them.

  Drew and I watched the screen with dawning horror. We had no idea where Rowan would lead Lachlan, now he’d raised Jack’s name.

  Rowan’s nostrils flared slightly. Scenting blood? ‘You and Jack Stevens are friends.’ It was a simple statement, but it invited more.

  I cast an anguished glance at Drew, but he was staring at the screen.

  Torture. Not knowing if the axe would fall … and yet knowing, somehow, that it would.

  Lachlan squirmed in his seat. ‘You could say that.’

  Rowan’s eyes sharpened. ‘Sounds intriguing.’

  A whimper escaped me. Doom, disaster, inevitable.

  Drew’s hand gripped mine, almost painfully now.

  ‘We –’ Lachlan stopped, gave a slight cough.

  Rowan leaned towards him conspiratorially. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s more like we have friends in common.’

  ‘So have you met Jack’s girlfriend?’

  Lachlan’s eyes widened slightly and he got a pinched look around his mouth. ‘I – Well – Actually, yes, I do – I have. But could we get back –’

  ‘Care to share?’

  Drew was on the edge of his seat. ‘What? He knows?’ he asked me.

  ‘He saw Jack, at my place. I think … I think he guessed.’

  ‘Mincemeat,’ Drew said. ‘She’s going to make mincemeat out of him.’

  I closed my eyes. Opened them. Closed them. My blood was making whooshing sounds in my eardrums.

  Lachlan was stammering, blushing, frowning, obviously concentrating on not saying the wrong thing. But Rowan was too good. Too experienced. Whatever Lachlan’s intentions, he didn’t stand a chance.

  The phone rang and Drew jumped to his feet, agitated, to answer it.

  ‘Chloe,’ he said to me, covering the mouthpiece. Then, into the phone, ‘She’s here. I know. Tenterhooks.’

  I was only vaguely aware of the continued frantic conversation between the two of them. I was too focused on what was being said in the television studio, and straining my ears over the sound of my own thundering heart.

  Drew came back to sit beside me, the phone clutched to his ear, as Lachlan was stammering about having got to know Jack through … through …

  I doubled forward, head in my lap, groaning.

  And then I heard Lachlan trying to backtrack. No, he wasn’t sure – No, it was more that Evie was – No, he meant –

  Aaaarrrrggghh. My name. He’d said my name. Hyperventilation.

  ‘Evie? Evie … Parker?’ Rowan asked, clearly stunned.

  I heard Chloe’s screech over the phone. Drew let out a long and fluid string of curses.

  I was still doubled ove
r.

  Life as I knew it was over.

  Over. Over. Over.

  Drew hung up and turned off the television. ‘She’ll talk to Rowan – give her a blistering earful.’

  ‘It’s too late.’ I looked up at Drew. ‘And I think I have my answer about Jack.’ I felt bloodless. Numb. ‘I just don’t think I can do it, Drew.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ‘He’s coming home, Evie. Day after tomorrow, he’ll be here.’

  I was lying back against the cushions on Drew’s sofa, shivering in reaction to the shock as Drew carried on a heated telephone discussion with Jack, which had come to a very abrupt and unfriendly end.

  I’d heard Jack – yelling down the line, demanding to know where I was, why I wouldn’t speak to him, what I’d meant by sending him such a pathetic email.

  Drew – poor, loyal Drew – had lied for me.

  ‘He’s been fielding calls in between trying to reach you,’ he said. ‘Media. Friends. Media. Jacinta. More media. Mum – and she’s ready to annihilate him, you know, for not telling her.’

  I scrubbed my hands over my face.

  ‘And he’s right about the email. What were you thinking, Evie? After so long incommunicado, that was the best you could do?’

  ‘I just – I just – I don’t know what I’m doing, I’ve never known what I’m doing, with him.’

  ‘Evie, he’s going out of his mind. Call him.’

  ‘And say what? That we can make it work? That we can’t make it work? I don’t know what to say.’

  Drew came to sit beside me. ‘Once you speak to Jack, it won’t seem so complicated.’

  ‘He’ll talk me around. He makes it seem easy with all his talk of fixing things, but it’s not easy and he can’t fix everything. Everything that’s wrong with his world. Everything that’s wrong with me so that I can fit into it.’

  ‘He doesn’t want to fix you. He loves you, and I love you, the way you are – obnoxious personality, rampant idealism, inferiority complexes and all. Okay – maybe not the inferiority complexes, because they have to go.’

  ‘But, Drew, think about how I’m going to look,’ I said starkly. ‘A pregnant sluttish nobody who doesn’t deserve Jackson J Stevens.’