by Susan Napier
‘I’ll take him home with me and see if a bone will cheer him up,’ Nina told Ray in a thickened voice.
‘Take more than a bone if you ask me,’ Ray told her, leaning heavily on his cane. ‘You think a nice meal is going to be enough to make you perky?’
The very thought of food made her want to vomit, but it hadn’t been an invitation.
‘Why don’t you go after him, Nina?’ he urged. ‘The ferry’s not due to leave for another twenty minutes. You could still make it if you took the short cut over the track.’
Nina shook her head, wiping the dampness from her cheeks. ‘I need time to think.’
‘What’s to think about? A wife’s place is with her husband.’
For better or for worse.
The strain of the day made her temper snap. ‘These are liberated times, Ray. Sometimes it’s the husband’s place to be with his wife!’
‘Well, I hope that liberated thought keeps you warm these cold nights. Here, give Zorro to me. He’s not going to cheer up with you drooping around him like a wet week!’
She didn’t have the heart to argue, and back in her lonely house, instead of turning to the botanical work she had claimed that she had to do, she sat at the table, sipping hot, sweet coffee just the way Ryan always liked it, leafing through the wedding photos that she had found in the dusty satchel.
They were informal, not the self-consciously posed, airbrushed results of a conventional wedding photographer, but the casual artistry of one of Ryan’s friends, who regularly exhibited his off-beat photographic portraits at the Pacific Rim. He had captured, not just images on paper, but emotions, too.
It had been a gloriously hot day, but windy, and one of the photos showed Nina giggling outside the church as she tried to stop the little fly-away veil on her hat from literally flying away, and Ryan looked particularly devilish in another as he failed to prevent her gauzy cream skirts billowing up to flash her suspender-clad thighs at the blushing vicar.
It had been barely three years ago, and while Nina had been plumper, it was Ryan who had changed more. In one shot, taken across the top of the black Rolls-Royce, the two of them were caught in quiet discussion, and although Ryan’s face was unsmiling, it was also totally unguarded. There were no tiny lines of tension around his eyes, no controlled pull at the corners of his mouth, no shadows in the intent eyes.
In spite of his gravity, he looked carefree, contented, younger than his thirty years. It was the trusting face of a man who had put his faith in the future and was eager for anything it might bring. Ryan wasn’t fearless—he wasn’t that stupid—but he had always had the courage to admit his fears because, as he pointed out, it was difficult to fight an enemy you couldn’t see.
That’s what Nina was trying to do. She was fighting blind against an enemy that she refused to acknowledge even existed. It was a battle she could never win because in the end she was only fighting herself. The result must be an endless stalemate.
She looked at the ring on her finger, the symbol of love and fidelity. Of trust. Ryan had said that sometimes love wasn’t enough. But sometimes it was.
Sometimes all it took was a willingness to put your faith in that love.
Three days later, Nina was miserably clutching the rail of the Auckland-bound ferry as it dipped and rolled on a sullenly unpleasant sea. She didn’t know whether it was the toasted cheese she had had for breakfast, the ghastly apprehension that knotted her stomach or just a simple case of seasickness that was making her feel so queasy. She didn’t care; all she wanted to do was get off the boat!
She would have been travelling three days ago, when the sea had still been calm, if she had obeyed her first impulse. But Ray had persuaded her that, since she had missed her chance to catch Ryan before he left, she might as well take the time to do the whole thing right and proper.
So while the weather was blowing up, she had tied up all her flapping loose ends, closed up her house, packed her belongings, and here she was heading for a surprise visit to her husband. She hadn’t dared let him know that she was on her way. What if she lost her nerve and couldn’t make it? What if she couldn’t force herself to get off the boat once it docked in Auckland? Although the way she was currently feeling, she intended to be first onto dry land!
As the ferry chugged into calmer waters approaching the wharves that fringed the downtown area, Nina shakily stepped back from the rail and sat on the wooden bench running along the outside wall of the cabin. She fumbled in her shoulder-bag and drew out the photographs that had become her talisman.
She drew her thumb across the glossy surface, down the flighty flounces of the multilayered, silk chiffon dress. Her head was resting against Ryan’s shoulder as they both looked at the camera, the rest of her in profile, the wind pressing the thin, cream silk panels lovingly to her body below Ryan’s linking hands under her breasts and revealing an extra curvaceousness that only an artist’s finely discerning eye might notice.
A jolt ripped up Nina’s spine.
I didn’t marry you because I had to, but because I wanted to.
Her eyes narrowed on the photograph, fiercely blinked away the annoying fuzziness that was trying to encroach on her vision. Her face was a little fuller than it was now, and her breasts rounder…her belly…
I didn’t marry you because I had to…
She closed her eyes, her hand creeping to her rocky stomach. Her rocky, flat stomach. Though her hips were wider than she would have liked, she could never remember carrying any extra padding around the front of her tummy.
Except…
Oh, God…oh, God…oh, God…
Her consciousness blinked on and off in time to the chant, a kaleidoscope of confusing images tumbling through her head.
Oh, God…oh, God…oh, God…
More images began to take shape, past blending with present until she didn’t know which was which.
Ryan’s finger tracing the thready silver lines on her skin after they’d made love…
Ryan massaging her swollen belly.
Ryan handing her Zorro—a tiny, warm, living bundle to cradle against her breast…
No, not Zorro…
Oh, no…oh, no…oh, no…
A sharp agony lanced her skull and the light snapped off inside her mind, abruptly shutting down the flow of mental images. Her eyes flew open, and she looked down again at the subtly damning photo.
This time, her conscious intelligence subverted her subconscious attempt to manipulate the evidence of her eyes.
That fashionable, multilayered look had hidden a multitude of sins. Specifically hers and Ryan’s.
The bride had been pregnant!
Still in the first trimester, but far enough along to show a body ripening into motherhood, and a special glow to her eyes and skin that had nothing to do with the excitement of the day.
Ryan had only asked her to marry him after she had told him that she was pregnant.
If it hadn’t been for the baby, he mightn’t have even married her at all.
The baby…
Nina put the photographs away and clenched her hands in her lap, deliberately censoring her thoughts. She couldn’t go back now. The wall had collapsed with a vengeance. Pandora’s box was wide open, and not all the will in the world was going to put the evil safely back inside. With the traumatic return of her memory, all her other memories had returned. Now the most she could do was try to keep the pain at a manageable level until she reached her destination. It was more important now than ever that she not flinch from the task ahead: her journey home.
But, unlike before, this time her repression of harrowing memories took a concentrated effort that exhausted her store of strength. So when it came time to get off the ferry, Nina just allowed herself to be carried along with the rest of the morning commuters, ignoring the cheery apology of the crewman by the gangplank that it must be the fault of the following wind and the captain’s desire to outrun the rain squalls that they were ten minutes earlier than
the scheduled time of arrival.
It had been so long since she’d been in the city that she was immediately assailed on all sides by the sounds, sights and smells of teeming humanity. The wind blowing in off the harbour was almost rain and a light dusting of moisture pearled on Nina’s green woollen sweater and soaked into her slim-fitting black pants. It was rush hour and consequently taxis were in short supply, so Nina struggled across the road and up the block in order to lurk under the canopy of an up-market hotel and snaffle one as it disgorged a passenger, doing it right under the nose of the supercilious doorman.
Each tick of the meter that brought her nearer her goal made her heart beat faster until she was afraid it was going to leap out of her chest. She wanted to scream at the driver to go faster at the same time as she longed to beg him to slow down. When the taxi finally turned into the long, sweeping, tree-lined driveway of the sprawling white house, Nina was almost faint with apprehension, stepping out on jellied legs as the driver unloaded her bags and, seeing how pale she was looking, actually condescended to carry them up the white marble steps and set them down by the imposing front door.
‘You okay, luv?’ he asked as she counted out the dollars with shaking hands. ‘Looking pretty peaky—not pregnant, are you?’ he added with the cheerful insensitivity of a man who made his living chatting to strangers.
‘No.’
Nina didn’t think it was possible that she could feel any fainter than she already did, but suddenly she did.
Oh, God, how did she know that she wasn’t pregnant? If Ryan had been carrying any condoms with him, he certainly hadn’t produced them, and she had been so deep in her state of denial she hadn’t even thought about birth control when they were making love.
She had acted as if sex had no connection with procreation because to connect babies and Ryan in her mind was simply too agonising. The last time she had fallen pregnant it had been the result of that single first volcanic encounter—after which Ryan had always used protection. What chance had such a fertile couple of avoiding conception when they had made love dozens of times on Shearwater without any attempt at prevention?
Oh, God, she couldn’t bear to go through all that again….
As the taxi drove off, Nina fumbled for her key. Ryan had told her that, contrary to commonsense, he hadn’t changed the locks after she left. He had continued to hope that one day he would come home and find her there, waiting for him. Now she knew why. His rage over her betrayal had always been undermined by his compassion.
The large, black-and-white-tiled foyer was empty and Nina drifted like a ghost through the beautifully furnished rooms. Everything was the same as she remembered. Even the fresh-cut flowers in the tall vases were blossoms she recognised from her plantings in the huge garden. Tears stung her eyes. She was home. Nothing had changed.
Everything had changed.
She put her foot on the first step of the sweeping staircase and looked up. A stairway to heaven, she had laughed wickedly the first time Ryan had swept her up to his bedroom.
Now it was a stairway she must climb to face her private hell.
The marble stair rail was cool under her fingertips as she rounded the curve. She was vaguely aware of noises outside and the slamming of doors and voices, but she kept steadily climbing. She was already on the top step when she heard rapid footsteps striding across the ceramic tiles below.
‘Teresa, did you see her come in? Her bags are outside. Nina? Nina?’ The deep, masculine voice lifted an octave at the precise moment he saw her, expressing a soaring relief. ‘Nina!’ This was followed by a tense exclamation of sharpening alarm. ‘Nina? Where are you going?’
She kept moving along the thick cream carpet of the wide hallway. Behind her, she could hear the slap of shoes on the marble stairs, punctuated by grunted breaths as Ryan bounded up them two and three at a time.
‘Nina—wait!’
The doors to most of the rooms off the hallway were ajar, but the fourth one on the left was closed and Nina reached for the white ceramic doorhandle.
A swarthy masculine hand got there first and held the door shut. ‘Nina? What are you doing?’ She looked at him, and he drew a sharp breath at the grim set of her pale face. ‘Ray rang and told me you’d got on the ferry. I went to pick you up from the terminal, but I got held up by a damned traffic accident and must have missed you.’ He was talking quickly to distract her, but his blue eyes were slowly inspecting her, eating her up with his concern.
She cleared her tight throat. ‘Open the door.’
His hand tightened defensively, the knuckles flaring white. He was wearing his wedding ring again, she noticed, a shaft of warm light melting the black chill in her heart. ‘I wanted to be here with you when you arrived. I’ve asked Teresa to make us some coffee. If you come back downstairs, we can—’
‘Open the door.’
His rangy body tensed, his lean face contracting with fear. ‘Nina, you’ve only just got here. Give yourself time to adjust. You don’t have to do this right now—’
‘I’ve had all the time I can bear…’ Her voice broke and she tried again. ‘I remember…I remembered while I was coming over on the ferry. You don’t have to protect me any more, Ryan. I’m tired of being afraid.’ She put her hand over his and applied pressure that was part plea, part command. ‘Just open the door.’
He held her gaze for a long moment, then said quietly, ‘All right…but together. We face everything together. And I’ll never stop wanting to protect you.’
They slowly pushed the door open and entered the room. A room painted eggshell-blue with white trim, and a motif of teddy bears stencilled around the bottom of the walls. Stuffed animals and toys sat along the top of a white bookcase crammed with children’s books and a large teddy bear sat on a white cane chair.
Nina moved slowly around the room, picking up and putting down items, including the teddy bear, which she raised to her face, breathing in faint hints of baby powder. Ryan hovered quietly at her side, his jaw clenched as he watched her pale expression become brittle with grief.
An empty blue cot stood along one wall and over it a mobile of coloured aeroplanes gently rocked in acknowledgment of their presence. Next to the cot, a dresser displayed blue-framed photographs: of Nina and of Ryan, and of the little boy with the curly black hair and blue eyes astride his push-along horse. The photograph she hadn’t wanted to see. Nina picked it up.
‘Liam…’ The name was a sigh on her lips and an ache in her heart. ‘Liam…’
Her son. So bright and full of promise. Her bundle of joy, snatched away so violently, his merry spirits quenched in an instant.
She put the photograph down and touched the upper rail of the cot. ‘We were going to move this out and get him a proper bed because he’d started learning to climb out,’ she said softly. ‘He took his first steps the week before he died. My baby was growing up so fast….’
Ryan moved in behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders. ‘Nina…’
She wrenched away from his touch and spun around. ‘He was only one year old—he didn’t deserve to die!’
Ryan’s face filled with a torment to match her own. ‘No, no, he didn’t. And if I hadn’t suggested we go down to the marina that day—’
‘No!’ Nina flung herself back at him, surrounding him with her arms. ‘God, no—it wasn’t your fault. It was a freak accident. I never blamed you.’
The aluminium-alloy dive tank that had exploded, killing Liam and the marina employee who had just refilled it and injuring several others, had been found to be faulty. But no amount of hindsight or offer of compensation could make up to Nina for the loss of her son.
‘I never blamed you,’ she repeated savagely. ‘You were hurt, too. I thought I had lost you, as well.’ Tears began pouring down her face. ‘I couldn’t bear it—I…I couldn’t have borne to lose you both….’ And suddenly, she was sobbing violently against his chest, hoarse, gut-wrenching sobs that shook both their bodies.
‘Oh, Nina, thank God,’ Ryan murmured in anguished relief as he buried his face in her hair and rocked her from side to side, allowing her the luxury of her long-delayed grief. ‘Thank God you’re back, and safe, and able to cry for our lovely little boy and cherish him in your memory again. You never cried for him after the funeral. You held everything tightly inside you. You tried to be so brave, to pretend for my sake that you were all right, that you were coping better day by day so I wouldn’t worry about you. I tried to believe that, but you weren’t all right. Months crept past and you still weren’t eating or sleeping properly, you couldn’t paint, you didn’t want to talk about Liam except in the most superficial way, you never set foot in this room. I think the accident must have brought your memories of your mother’s death too close to the surface, so you tried to repress them both, and the pressure inside you built up until you just couldn’t take it any more.’
‘So I ran away. In my mind I ran away…and I left you to face this all alone. I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me.’
‘How can I hate my foreign self? Nina, twice in your life you’ve witnessed the death of people you loved in explosions. How could you not find that unbearably traumatising? You were in deep shock yourself, yet you cradled Liam’s body until the ambulance came and still had the presence of mind to put my belt around my leg as a tourniquet. You saved my leg if not my life. I may have been angry and hurt, and frustrated by you, but I never, ever stopped loving you.’
‘He looked so whole and perfect, I couldn’t believe he was gone,’ she whispered against his shuddering heart. ‘There wasn’t even any blood.’
‘It was the concussive shock to the brain that killed him. He wasn’t hit with shrapnel like me. It was a blessing of a kind, darling, being so instant. He didn’t have time to suffer.’
‘Like we have.’ She lifted her head and saw that his olive cheeks, too, were tracked with the glittering evidence of his solitary grief, now shared. ‘I thought…I was afraid…that with Liam gone…He was the reason that you asked me to marry you when you did.’
