Chapter 1
Present day — June eighteen
I woke alone this morning. Unfortunately this was how my life was playing out at the moment. You would think that I would have adjusted to it by now, but I would never become accustomed to the solitude.
As my sleeping brain caught up with my waking body, I remembered what today meant, and slowly I stretched my body under the cosy covers in my bedroom, not unlike a feline coaxing a rub from her adoring owner. A Cheshire-esque smile pulled on the corners of my mouth, because I knew that this was the last morning that the other side of my king-sized bed would lie cold and bare beside me.
The plot that I’d spent months concocting, the finely tuned plan that I required to win back the man that I loved, was finally going to be executed today, and I had a renewed spring in my step, or at least I would once the anticipatory nausea in the pit of my stomach subsided and I could force myself to actually get out of bed.
An hour later, and feeling all the calmer after a long, vanilla scented bath, I made my way down stairs. I stood, with a cup of camomile tea rolling between my palms, at my kitchen window that amply gave view to the expansive livelihood we had built together, and as if on cue, the inky June clouds parted, allowing a short burst of unseasonal sun, equally providing an exquisite glisten to the dew drops that blanketed the property as it warmed my face like a long awaited kiss.
I gazed out at our vineyard, at our five star restaurant that my exhaustless husband had built on our estate with his own two hands. Off to my left I eyed the small — only by comparison to the vast surrounds of the building — sandstone office that had day by day become his sleeping, eating and, basically, escaping-from-his-wife, quarters. I wondered, if not in there, or disturbing the shadowy surroundings of our property with his morning run, was my husband once again creating unnecessary work for himself in order to avoid coming up to the homestead, to his wife who loved him no matter what?
God, I missed him.
It had been three months since I had last been naked with him, and the time before that, I’d have to consult a calendar to calculate his abstinence. Three months since I’d felt his skin pressed against mine, since I’d felt his murmuring breath on my neck as he sent rippling shivers over my entire body, enticing pleas of mercy as he teased my orgasm from me…
I took another sip of tea and attempted to refocus. Though my neglected body ached for his touch, today was not about making love. It was not at all about renewing our delicious physical relationship, although that would be utterly splendid. What today was about, though, was breaking down the wall that he had built up to shut me out. Years ago he began constructing it, and though he’d fortified it with stubbornness along with unparalleled control that he’d convinced himself was an act of nobility rather than of frustrating foolishness, I had no other option than to believe that it was not impenetrable. I had to believe that I had it within me to put an end to his forced detachment from me.
I was about to step away from the window and initiate this plan of mine when something out of the window and to the left caught my eye. The office door opened and I watched as my husband rolled his head to stretch out his aching neck before pulling the cords on the hood of his jumper tighter around his face. My heart skipped a beat when at first I thought that he had looked up at me, but then I realised he was taking in the wide view of the depressing sky. The sun had been once again been stolen by gloom. Ignoring the cold sprinkling of rain he set off running toward the national park, and away from me.
I’d had enough of this. I loved him. He loved me, I knew he did. Even if he crushed my heart with his singular intention to reject me until I broke, I could never just shrug and walk away from what we once had.
With determination that matched his detachment I rinsed my unfinished tea down the sink and reached for my recipe books that stood like soldiers above the fridge. And in my classically designed kitchen that was built all of those years ago with the sole purpose of making me happy, I began obsessing over the perfect, celebratory dinner that would save us.
It took me the whole of the day of fussing and prepping, and at six thirty when my husband finally entered the house, I was carefully placing the finishing dollops of sour cream onto our entrée; roasted pumpkin and garlic soup was one of his absolute favourites.
I didn’t realise how tense my entire body had been until I looked at him as he stood at the wide threshold between the open planned dining room and kitchen, every muscle calming immeasurably at the sight of him; my husband, the most breathtaking man I’d ever seen.
Even though he should have had ample time to shower considering he’d left for his run over ten hours ago, he was still wearing his sweat pants and hoodie. His wavy, chocolate brown hair that framed his withdrawn expression was tousled and matted as if he’d run a marathon, and, given the time fame, perhaps he had.
The relief that I felt at this first sight of him always led me to believe that nothing could ever be this unbearably wrong between us. My chest still burst exquisitely whenever he entered a room, even after a life-time of knowing him. Even if nothing else existed on his adorable face — that at times gone by had revealed sexy, hungry grin whenever he looked at me — I would still have the same, deep tugging reaction to the way he beheld me; as if to him I was all that existed. He was the literal boy-next-door, and I loved him more than I ever thought that I would be capable of.
I stood motionless, awkward even, in a home that had long since ceased to feel like one, as we stared at each other, and in that split second, within the very first moments of being in the same room with him, I felt a rush of hope that I would be blessed with requited love. Of course, after that initial glimpse of him lingered on, my stomach fell heavily as it had for the past few years when I’d hoped for an open smile but instead was confronted by a desolate frown. Just as inevitability dictated that my perfect dinner was always going to be nothing but a figment of my cruel imagination, so was a kiss or a wink or an implicating squeeze of my bottom to replace his perpetual impassive expression.
But I wasn’t giving up. I could not give up.
I did note something unusual about him, something that threw me a little as I eyed him with curiosity. He looked as he always did but there was something new, something out of place that he’d brought in with him. A smell, no, a scent; one that was I was familiar with but which was too indistinct to immediately place.
I forced a smile that only reached my mouth in an attempt to push the undercurrent of apprehension deeper, and with a match I began lighting the candles that I’d arranged around the kitchen and dining room. He eyed the cooling pie on the granite counter.
‘It’s apple,’ I brightly answered his unspoken question.
‘Looks like you’ve had a busy day,’ he muttered despondently as he finally came into the kitchen.
‘I’m never too busy to please you.’ I managed a flirty tone though my insides were sickeningly flipping on each other.
He leaned back on the counter and crossed his arms, closing himself off; the gesture representing the figurative wall between us. Oh, how I loathed his crossed arms. ‘What are you trying to do, Cate?’
‘Surprise you.’ His eyes carried to the bubbling pot on the cook top and I followed his gaze. ‘It’s linguini.’
‘For chicken and asparagus?’
I reached for the grater because I figured if I kept my hands busy he may not notice my trembling fingers. ‘Do you even need to ask? I’m about to start with the parmesan.’
‘Finely?’
‘Everything will be just how you like it.’
With what seemed like tempered patience, he stepped up and took the grater from me. My body instinctively reacted with giddy flip-flopping to his closeness, though I recognised the expression seeping across his face. He replaced the grater back on the counter, soundlessly telling me not to waste my time with him. He was not staying. ‘You shouldn’t have done this.’
If breaking your wife’s heart was an Olympic sport, Nick would be the proud owner of a trophy cabinet bursting with gold medals.
I smiled briefly at him, lingering on his ashen expression for a moment. He was a big man; a footballer would envy his strong, wide shoulders and height. But standing hunched, wilting under the weight of our life together, he was the epitome of weak misery.
He held my gaze and then expelled a breath that he seemed to be holding for an eternity, the sound of it representing the last fraying thread of our marriage letting go. I ignored the truth, along with the faint scent that still mockingly lingered within our rare close proximity, instead breaking his hold on me as I busied myself with the al dentè pasta.
‘Here,’ he said as he stepped closer to me, taking the steaming pot from me before I scalded myself with it. Knowing that I couldn’t concentrate on a single thing other than my husband slipping away, I let him help me.
Ambiguously I muttered, ‘I didn’t think that I’d make such a terrible mess of this.’
I instinctively pursed my lips, probably in an attempt to prevent my mouth from suddenly blurting my secret out. Though Nick had an unwavering ability to remain calm and quiet, coaxing me, waiting for me to tell him anything, I’d been rehearsing indifference and now it was time to discover whether it would pay off.
I swallowed hard. ‘What’s going on?’ I asked in what I congratulated myself was a strained but passable air of nonchalance.
He nodded towards the breakfast bar. ‘Will you come and sit with me?’
I wanted to scream, ‘No!’ I wanted to beg him not to go through with this. But this conversation had to start somewhere. I would just need to revise the direction that I had scripted in my head.
I could barely sit still as I picked at my sensibly short finger nails. He shifted uncomfortably on his chair two seats away from me, both of us quiet, measuring up the situation. I dragged in another deep breath and calmed my nerves as much as my freight train of a heart would allow me. I lifted my eyes to his and thought forget the romantic dinner and just tell him now!!! I opened my mouth in an attempt to tell him what I’d been hiding…
Before a sound had the chance to leave my mouth, Lucy swung the side door open, and oozing from her body was the scent that I could now unequivocally pinpoint.
‘There you are, Nick. You rushed off so quickly. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ She chimed her ownership as if she were not speaking to her married employer. I don’t care how good a friend she was to him before she came to work for us, she shouldn’t barge into a home that was not her own demanding my husband’s attention.
Lucy waited expectantly at the entrance as his eyes darted from her and then to me, his resolute gaze stopping my heart all together. I understood that his attempt to end us had just walked through the door.
Chapter 2
To understand how we found ourselves in such an arm wrestle for our marriage, I need to start this story from where it all began, from when we were five years old and I found in Nick the best friend that I would ever have.
We lived where we still do now, in a little secluded town called Shady Valley situated at the foot of the Blue Mountains; and when the sun shone around these parts it was well known that you take every advantage of the warmth. So that’s why Nick and I had found ourselves enjoying the bright outdoors one early November morning. I had been chasing butterflies, in my favourite yellow dress, as they fluttered and floated between the lavender and gorgeous daphne in my back garden. Nick had come over and asked me if I wanted to help him build a cubby under the lilac bushes that bordered my home from his. He was a nice boy, was always friendly toward me — not like his boisterous older brothers — so of course I was delighted to spend time with him.
We sat obscured, cross-legged in the lilac bushes, giggling and quarrelling about my sixth birthday that was only three sleeps away. I wanted a Spice Girl-themed party while Nick rolled his eyes and groaned, assuring me that an X-men dress up would be heaps more fun. I knew he was itching to wear his Wolverine costume any time he got the chance so we decided to compromise. I’d allow him to come as a super hero — or whatever Wolverine was — and he wouldn’t complain, not even once, if I came as Baby Spice to his sixth birthday, which pretty much followed mine. Pinky swear. The deal was done. We always had such fun together.
Delight soon halted at the sound of smashing and screaming that came from inside my home. We remained unmoving, frozen in shock as we sat cross-legged in our cubby.
I began to cry, because for the very first time my father yelled at my mother and she screamed back at him. I attempted to crawl out and to run home but Nick held my arm and stopped me.
‘Please stay here,’ he urged.
I nodded as tears streamed down my face.
Finally, the yelling and screaming from inside my home faded and the screen door snapped angrily shut behind my mother as she stormed out, dragging after her a heavy suitcase and the stained face of a helpless woman, her tiny frame hauling both of them with great effort into the family car. My mother waited behind the wheel, staring at the screen door, as Nick and I silently watched her. Then, as if leaving the trembling girl in the lilac bushes behind was of no importance, my mother simply turned the key and drove away, taking any semblance of love, worth and belonging with her.
That was the last time that I ever saw her. And it was then that I completely shut down. Every birthday since then I wished that she would return, and Nick would sit with me on my front porch, sometimes as Wolverine as he attempted to save my world, and sometimes not, as I waited for my only birthday wish to come true.
‘She probably just needs a holiday,’ Nick offered.
‘From me?’ I cried.
‘No. Not from you.’
‘Then what from?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
The years passed at a snail’s pace for me…
At seventeen, after leaving eleven years earlier, my mother completely finished me off.
There had been two revelations the night that I was told that she had died. The first had brought me to my knees. The car had impacted the concrete highway barrier with such force that the woman who used to be Mrs Alexander had been killed instantly. My mother was dead, taking with her any of the hope that I had kept veiled with misery since she had left us. I had felt hollow for most of my life, but upon learning that I would never get the chance to tell my mother how she had stripped me of my deserved right to a mum, I was completely destroyed. I would never have the opportunity to yell and scream and cry and have my mother tell me how sorry she was. I would never hear her explain or take everything back, to have my life feel full and the world feel right again, just like it was when I was six years old; to feel normal and to not have the memory of Nick and I in the lilacs where she left me. Now that there would be no closure, I actually understood just how dead a person can feel, and I kind of envied the fact that she was the one buried in the ground, relieved from the pain.
The second revelation that kicked me while I was down had been that she had been travelling with her two teenage children. They had survived the night but had both slipped from life in the early hours of the following day.
To give myself a reason to get up and function each day of my life, I had convinced myself, desperately romanticised it, if you will, that my mother was a free spirit and that being tied down with a family was a life that she couldn’t conform to. I could forgive that, maybe one day. But knowing that she traded in the life that she had for another husband, other children, effectively discarding me and my Dad like old trash, it was obvious to me that my mother wanted a family, just not the one that she already had.
I was so confused. How could I figure this out if the only person who had all of the answers was dead? How could I get back any feeling of belonging if the person who stole it from me had buried it with her?
The only consolation on the night that I learned the truth was that I had Nick, the only constantly empathetic person in my life. So, on that warm summer night that contrasted the cold storm in my heart, I sat with him, with someone who might actually love me, and drenched my despair with anesthetising wine.
It hadn’t been planned, but after sitting on the porch of the work shed down at his family’s winery, Nick had kept me comforted and consoled as I cried drunkenly onto his shoulder. One thing had led to another and I had placed my bottle of Merlot — filched from the conveniently unlocked cellar — on the top step, leaving it behind as I indulged my hot feet in the cool, sprawling lawn. I gazed up at the huge full moon that seemed close enough to reach up and touch with my fingertips, and, as if mesmerised by it, the moon’s proximity affirming that I was actually part of the world and not a worthless piece of rubbish, I unabashedly removed my fuchsia camisole, slowly followed by my short denim skirt and then... From the corner of my eye, I watched Nick as he gazed at me, awestruck, as my naked body swayed tipsily in the gentle breeze, audibly catching his breath when my last stitch of clothing had been aimlessly abandoned. I began dancing naked in the moonlight as if the ritual would exorcize the deep pain of rejection. Then I had beckoned him with a persuasive finger.
‘You’re drunk,’ he concluded as he approached me, shrugging out of his pale blue shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. He wrapped the shirt around me in an attempt to keep my modesty intact. I remember gaping at his perfect body in absolute bewilderment, and I wondered why I had at all times held him at arms’ length. ‘Come and sit down.’
I didn’t move. ‘I need this, Nick. Prove to me that I’m lovable.’
When he finally kissed me it was if my soul was reaching its fingers out to his entire body, magnetically pulling his mouth to mine.
‘Please,’ I whimpered when he tried one last time to step away. But his herculean efforts proved futile, just like I hoped they would.
‘I love you, Cate Alexander,’ he murmured, and as soon as the words left his lips I took advantage of his closeness and pressed my lips against his soft, warm mouth. I couldn’t believe he’d finally admitted it; to come out and actually vocalise his feelings for me after keeping them protectively voiceless for so long. His mouth moulded perfectly against mine as he used such an intimate act to articulate the way he felt.
He’d made love to me that night with reckless, unprepared passion, throwing caution to the wind. He laid me down in the plush green grass underneath the blossoms as we both gifted our first sexual experiences to each other. He was gentle and considerate, holding himself on his forearms above me, softly crooning my name and gazing with breathtaking reverence into my eyes. I believed every word that he said.
‘Have I taken advantage of you?’ He was mortified when I cried afterwards.
‘No.’ I pressed my salty, tear-stained mouth to his. ‘I’m crying because I’ve never felt anything like that before. I’m crying because you’ve given me hope.’
Nick was the only one that I could count on for even the smallest, seemingly insignificant things. He was kind, considerate, and within the lifetime that I’d known him, I’d learned that he was the most trustworthy, secure person that I would ever know. He was tall, dark, and handsome, not unlike in the fairy tales that I’d given up reading as a child. He was a real life Prince Charming, and my heart couldn’t help but to flip flop on occasions when he’d have the courage to smile or wink at me. And patience, well, Nick’s ability to wait his turn was nothing short of remarkable. Maybe it had something to do with being the youngest of five brothers; he really had no other choice in the matter. He truly was perfect. I could never say enough good things about him, which only compounded my confusion as I realised that it was me taking advantage of him and not the other way around.
But then Roy Ellis came along, and because the thought of being with Nick scared the shit out of me, I opted to spend my time with someone who would break my heart but would do so with obvious predictability.
He was useless. Well, not entirely useless, but when it came down to the all-important, can’t-live-without necessities, requirements, or whatever you want call the relationship deal-breakers — he was useless. He was always late. It was only a small thing, but it maddened me no end, and, if he did shock me with punctuality, he’d be either drunk or high. He was a great deal older than me, by that I mean mid-twenties, so he had earned the prerogative to make his own choices, even if they disregarded anything that may involve me.
Though he wasn’t my only option, I found myself clinging to him like wet moss to a tree. Roy, with mysterious dark eyes, leather jacket and stick-it-to-the-world tattoos, distracted me from the adolescent life that I refused to remember. He was a dangerous contrast to the sheltered life that I was idling within, to the fluffy, reassuring, suffocating-though-well-intentioned families that I was stifled by within this cold mountain town. He was my only sanctuary from teenage angst that was too overwhelming to deal with on my own and I appreciated him beyond words for drawing me away from myself. I was especially appreciative that he’d noticed plain old me amongst every other girl around town that threw themselves at him.
I knew that Nick had been in love with me since we had played together in my shady overgrown cottage garden, or, as we grew, had lazed shoulder to shoulder against the pink blossoms, daydreaming at the winery…or maybe I had concocted a cruel fantasy that somebody as amazing as Nick could love somebody as disposable as me. At least then I’d have something to fall back on. That fanciful notion was worth clinging on to while I messed up the rest of my life with Roy, who wanted what he wanted and would go for it at any cost, sometimes at the expense of my wilting self-esteem.
So even though I knew that Nick was the sensible choice, I convinced myself that Roy Ellis was actually the one for me. He was fun and adventurous. He never tired of exploring his surroundings, and never said no to a good party. I had never experienced the kind of social life that Roy had introduced me to, and as a teenager with a quietly drunken and grieving single Dad, I was grateful for the distraction. I was grateful not only to him, but to the little white pills that he provided. Teamed together, they abetted my escape from a world that didn’t consist of crying into my pillow each night as I begged for sleep to take me to some place better than this.
Roy had barely been in town two seconds when he’d made more friends than I had made in the seventeen years that I had lived in Shady Valley. It had really only been Nick, his friend, Lucy, and me, behaving the way that was expected of us; being sensible and responsible was how the three of us lived and learned. But with Roy I had popularity, albeit shallow, and, what I thought at the time, real fun and a real life.
I always assumed that Shady Valley was a serene, humble little town hours from anywhere that resembled a night life, but I came to realise very quickly that there was a huge underground party scene that was kept well hidden. If you weren’t into partying, you wouldn’t even know that it existed, which is why, up until Roy blew into town like a whirlwind, I spent my nights watching the latest DVD releases or having sleep-overs with Nick and Lucy, playing board games followed by actual sleeping, if you can believe it. No spin-the-bottle, no drinking games, no nuddy runs in the snow. It never occurred to us to sneak out to find the nearest party hot spot because such a thing simply didn’t exist.
Roy exposed me to a new world, and once he was soaked into my life, I never wanted him drained from it. Until, after the better half of a year of being his girlfriend he regularly expunged himself. Out of self-preserving desperation and because gluttony was a deadly sin that I possessed, I always allowed him to come crawling back — or did he let me come back?
But as I fell heavily from the drug-induced highs, and after his idea of a fun night escalated from relatively innocent house parties to crashing parties and initiating fights with anybody and everybody, including me, my tolerance waned and bitter reality dawned on me like a blinding ray of light.
One Sunday morning when I was barely eighteen, after I’d come to on the back lawn of my Dad’s cottage wearing only a short skirt and a hot pink, lacy bra, snippets of the self-harming scene of the night before had throbbed in my aching head.
I barely remembered a house tucked in the back end of town, loud dance music, pill-popping and a pole in the middle of the room...then all I could remember was Roy taking me by the hand and leading me to a back bedroom where a friend of his was inhaling smoke from a long glass apparatus that I’d never seen before.
‘You want some?’ Roy asked me. ‘It’ll take the edge off.’
His words were sweetness to my ears. He always knew the right things to say.
I’d sat with the two men and continued wasting my life away. But who cared, I didn’t feel the pain, and that was the point, wasn’t it?
‘Do you want to kiss him?’ Roy had asked through a cloud of smoke.
I coughed and spluttered at the unexpected question. ‘Who? Martin?’
He’d nodded.
Why not?
And so I did. I kissed Martin, and tasted his sour-with-a hint-of sweet-mouth, and then I kissed Roy, who tasted no different…or perhaps it was my own mouth that had tasted sickly.
Before I knew what I was doing — or more to the point was too inebriated and just didn’t care what I was doing — I slipped my underwear to my ankles and let Roy and then Martin have their experienced, adult way with me.
In the light of day, I always knew that my behaviour was horridly unacceptable, but back then I was beyond caring about anything, because in those hazy moments I would forget the one thing that would otherwise have consumed my brain. Here I was with not one, but two adult men who had their pick of any girl but wanted to spend the night only touching me. What more could I want?
I didn’t know how I got to the freezing, wet-with-mist lawn with half of my clothes missing. I could recall some things that happened in that back bedroom, but not when it ended or how I managed to get myself home. My brain was still affected by traces of whatever I’d taken and I stared with heavy eyes down at my shivering, grotty hands…and I began to drift.
My head snapped up and my eyes darted to the back door when the toilet flushed from inside my Dad’s cottage, followed by the closing of a door.
Oh God, I mouthed as I looked down and caught sight of my despicable half-naked self. I knew that my Dad would be out for a cigarette any second.
Fuck.
‘Cate.’ A whispered voice gained my attention. Nick slipped through the gate concealed by lilacs and he held out his hand to me. ‘Hurry.’
I took hold of it and he pulled me up, ushering me through the gate with a stabilising arm around my bare waist. He closed the gate behind us just as my Dad stretched the screen door open.
Nick led me to the back of the garden and helped me up the few rungs of a ladder made of old fence palings and into his cubby house that we hadn’t been in since we were twelve.
‘Wait here,’ he told me once he was satisfied that I was seated as comfortably as I could be on a cold wooden floor.
Alone in a space that I’d spent countless afternoons playing within, my eyes travelled around the cubby as I waited for Nick to return. My attention became transfixed by a dusty pile of comics. Life was so completely messed up now. How great would it be if we could go back to dress-ups and role playing instead of actually having to play a real life role?
After a few minutes Nick returned and handed me one of his hoodies — that was several sizes too big for me — and a woollen blanket that I recognised from the many times I’d sat on his bed while we’d talked and snacked and played silly fun games together. I felt the warmth of his sleep as I wrapped it around myself.
I noted his sweat pants and the thin sheen of sweat over his skin.
‘Did you enjoy your run this morning?’ I asked.
‘Helps clear the head,’ he grinned as he sat with me. He truly was adorable. He eyed my grubby, blood-scraped feet. ‘They must hurt.’
I looked down at them and blushed. ‘I lost my shoes.’
An awkward beat passed.
‘Did Ellis bring you home?’
I lifted my eyes from my feet and gave Nick a long, abashed look. I shrugged slowly.
‘He doesn’t take very good care of you.’
My shoulders lifted and fell again. ‘It was the anniversary of my mother’s death yesterday.’
‘Is that your excuse?’ he said almost inaudibly.
‘Are you mad at me?’ I said defensively and somewhat taken aback by his question, however accurate it was. He said nothing. ‘Because if that’s the case, I’d rather get an earful of my Dad’s disappointment than yours.’
I shoved the blanket from my shoulders and moved to stand, despite the fact that I was instantly freezing again and didn’t want to leave my best friend’s warm haven. The immense relief I felt when Nick reached his hand out to stop me kept me sitting in place.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said and meant it. ‘Can I rephrase?’
I resettled myself, replacing the warm blanket around my shoulders. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Do you feel any differently about her this year?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I still hate her.’
‘How’s your Dad?’
My words came out as if they tasted as bitter as the bile that threatened to rise at any minute. ‘He still loves her.’
‘Sometimes we have no choice in the matter, do we? Do you remember the night that you found out that she had died?’
I swallowed hard as the memories circled in my head.
‘As much as I want to forget that night, there are parts that I will gladly remember forever,’ I said as I pulled Nick’s blanket snug around me. Despite the fact that my face flamed in memory of Nick’s naked body, I was still shivering. ‘And I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I’m sorry that Roy came to town and that I made you think that what we did meant nothing to me. I’m sorry that I am the person that I am and that I treated you in no way that you deserved. I’m just…’ I stopped because my lips were cold and trembling and I couldn’t get the words out. Nick pulled me into the crook of his arm.
‘You know, your life won’t always be like this. One day, you’ll see yourself for the beautiful, graceful and exquisite person that you are; the way that everyone else sees you. Well, almost everyone else,’ he amended.
I snapped my head up to see him through my wet eyes, my brows knitted in defence. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I’m just saying that some people don’t appreciate you for who you are, and that disappoints me more than you can imagine. You deserve to be free.’
‘I am free. Besides, it’s not as if anybody cares enough to stop me, you know, if anyone thinks that I’m harming myself in some way, you’d think that that someone would try and help me.’
Nick laughed once.
‘What?’
‘You’re nothing if not oblivious.’
I peered up at him. ‘You still love me, don’t you?’
‘I try not to be, but I’m nothing if not obvious.’
I looked down at my dishevelled self. ‘I bet you wish that you didn’t?’
He swallowed hard. ‘Honestly, sometimes, yes. But it will always remain true.’
‘I wish I had enough sense…bravery…’
‘It’s fine, I’m fine. Sometimes it just doesn’t work out, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t ever. Who knows what’s around the corner for the two of us; together or apart, as friends or as something else? Maybe after school finishes in a few months we won’t even keep in touch.’
‘Maybe,’ I said, knowing that any scenario that involved us being apart, at any level, would never, ever happen. We held each other’s gaze as we each thought about it; a silent, unspoken understanding resonating between us that we would always be, at the least, friends.
I shifted closer into Nick’s unmoving hold on me because it felt nice to be in the company of someone who effortlessly made me feel as if I belonged. ‘So I won’t always feel like there’s a black hole waiting to swallow me up?’
He held me tighter, if that were possible, and when he spoke his voice was heavily sombre. ‘It’s already swallowing you, Cate.’
A few quiet moments passed as we listened to my Dad in the yard next door. Finally, he stretched the screen door open and went back inside, telling me that it was safe for me to safely leave if I wanted to. By now, my Dad would have replanted himself in the lounge chair watching Sunday morning news, so, if I really wanted to, I could easily sneak in unnoticed. But I fit so perfectly into the crook of Nick’s arm and when I was in his presence, and he could feel my imminent departure, he would just about do or say anything to keep me close. And I would gratefully indulge him.
‘You can tell me whatever you want to about him, about what you’re going through. I want to help you,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘You’re nothing if not exceedingly generous.’
He shrugged. ‘You’re my best friend. Tell me anything.’
So I told him. I rambled for the next hour about Roy and how impossible it would be to steer him in my direction, rather than his downward spiral. I told him that I knew that I was losing the will to fight for him any longer, and that lately I remembered the limited plans that I’d had for my life that I’d had forgotten since Roy had come to town…but I didn’t tell Nick everything. There were some things that I’d never tell another living soul. No matter how much I trusted them.
Determined not to wander aimlessly through my young life, and determined to bury the irreversible things that I’d done, over the next three years I cleaned up my act. I discarded the pointless pain-relief that I was terrified that I’d become too dependent on, and prayed that Roy would follow suit. We moved into a place of our own and, with Roy flying tandem, we set off on the journey of life.
Disappointingly, though, Roy wasn’t very good at living up to my expectations. Before he left for the last time three years later, the plan had been for us to find a place to live on the coast, line up jobs, and then we’d be all set up to get married and start a family. We’d live happily ever after, loving it up in the sun until it made us old and wrinkly. Instead, he’d ignored me that night, not counting the abrupt grunts that were indirectly thrown my way, and packed everything that he felt important enough to take with him, which apparently wasn’t me. I had sat on the edge of our bed, initially confounded by Roy’s sudden backflip, but then I shook myself back to reality.
I am disposable.
‘Will you at least tell me why this time?’ I asked him, pointlessly. I didn’t expect that I would get an explanation; he never bothered to give me one any of the other times of the past, I guess, all up, five years, that he’d behaved this way. So, when he’d stopped in the door way that he was about to walk out of and turned slowly back toward me, glaring at me as I sat anxiously, I held my breath, begging him to give me something, just a hint of how I could make him change his mind. And only after his eyes burned a scarring hole in my heart, did he answer my perfectly reasonable question.
‘I’m twenty-eight and you’re barely twenty-two, Cate. I’m just sick of feeling so fucking old.’ He let out a deep resigned sigh and held my astonished gaze for a second. Then he left, closing the door to our flat, and to me, and moved to the coast on his own. And once again Nick was steadfast at my side, openly willing to give me anything that I needed.
Chapter 3
About a month or so later on a cold Wednesday morning in April, I fell to my knees in the bathroom, vomiting so hard that I thought my spleen would be next to splash into the toilet. Staring down at what I hoped were the last remnants of my stomach floating in the bottom of the porcelain bowl, I tasted the sour aftermath and shuddered at the bitterness. As I tried to decide whether or not the vomiting had subsided — and as disgusting as it was to see regurgitated raisin toast in the Caroma — I read the regurgitation like tea leaves. I began thinking about my life and how, after Roy had left me, I had found myself in this less than ideal, but not at all unwanted, situation.
By now you know enough about me to understand that I wasn’t very good at making the “right” choices. In all honesty, Roy had pushed me toward dependable, trustworthy, ambitious Nick, to finally repeat the perfect performance of five years earlier. It’s not like I cheated on Roy when I’d spent those nights wrapped up in Nick’s arms, wrapped up in his body, creating this baby that made me throw up every ounce of food that I was lucky enough to feel like eating. So why, now that Roy had returned from the sunny coast a few days ago, begging for my forgiveness, did I feel as if I had betrayed him?
I wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist before flushing, and pushed myself up from my knees. After taking a short sip of water from the bathroom tap, I took a long hard look at myself in the small cabinet mirror in the small bathroom of the small cottage that I still shared with my alcohol-dependant Dad. I wouldn’t dare call him an alcoholic; we Alexanders never admitted defeat. What we did do, though, was bury our truths deep, covering them with tid-bit nonsense that distracted the people that we knew; watch our right hands sing and dance while our left hands wilt lifelessly. Dad muted himself with alcohol to disguise the loss that tore him to shreds, and I would do anything, sacrifice anything, to keep anyone in my life who loved me, all the while pretending that I didn’t care for love at all.
I peered closer into my reflection and tried to envisage myself with Roy years from now. I tried to imagine him without his innate ability to make me feel worthless, and I didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that the image just refused be conjured. It just wasn’t there. And so that only left Nick’s face, remaining the only certainty as to how my life could play out. But could I use whatever affection that he had for me as a means to get what I want? Could I use the only person who said nice things to me like that?
I watched my face as my brows crinkled with indecision and I shook my head free of the clouded mess. The only matter that left no room for discussion right now was that I was starving for a crispy bacon sandwich smothered in tomato sauce. The rest could wait until I’d had enough perspective to make the right life-changing decision, which at twenty-two was a daunting position to be in.
I spanned my fingers over my abdomen and instantly a smile spread across my lips. Roy or Nick, as harsh as I sound I didn’t really care. My baby was alive and growing within me and that was all that mattered.
* * *
I was living with my dad again now that I no longer had my flat that I had shared with Roy; that had been re-leased to other tenants the Monday after he left.
I sat out on the ageing, creaky, back steps as I watched the wildflowers in my dad’s garden sway lightly in the winter breeze, and tried to enjoy my morning juice — which would have usually been coffee but maternal instincts had prevailed and I’d had given that up.
The sun was shining down on me and I lifted my face to it and closed my eyes, trying to imagine if this was how it would have felt to wake up a month ago, when I should have lived about 600 kilometres away from where I was right now. More than being disappointed with the fact that my life had been unexpectedly and selfishly turned upside down, what had hurt most that night when Roy had left was that he had taken back his promise to give me what I wanted more than anything else. He’d promised me that he’d make up for everything that he had put me through. He’d make up for all of the ugly fights and ugly words and ugly demands. He’d promised to make me a mother, and he’d been very convincing. He’d bought a conception book and everything. But like all of his whims, Roy was onto the next big idea in a flash and the book began gathering dust within the first few months. The changing of his mind so flippantly was more crushing to me than I could have imagined.
My dad stretched the squeaky screen door open, allowing it to snap closed with a homely thud as he lowered himself next to me. ‘Bacon’s ready, love.’
‘Thanks Dad.’
I passed on the warmth of the sun to my much loved dad by way of a wide smile as I took the plate from him, indulging in my first satisfyingly devouring bite.
Jim Alexander sat next to his only family, sucking in a deep morning breath of nicotine, and then frantically waved his hands around, redirecting the poisonous cloud of smoke from me. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised sincerely as he stood and took a few steps down the stony path.
He was a man of few words, but when Dad did speak you knew that it meant something of value. He refused to waste his own time, or anybody else’s, with useless drivel. If what you were going to say didn’t mean anything worthwhile, then you would be warned with a short grunt not to waste your breath. I remembered my dad always being this straightforward, but since my mother had left I wished that I could have a conversation with him that didn’t have to be thoroughly thought through. I wished we could just have a chat about something wistfully daydreamy, and not have our only communication to be about what was for dinner or what was on TV that night or why he couldn’t have another beer despite the fact that he’d had twelve already. Other than when he’d get his next alcohol fix, the only topic that Dad seemed to get animated about was Roy. But ironically that was a subject that I refused to talk to him about.
So we co-existed in habitual quietness. It was peaceful but frustrating to me at times; my distracting right hand danced considerably more than his. I was hoping that just this one time he would be open for a discussion.
‘Nick asked me to marry him,’ I casually ventured between mouthfuls of breakfast. Truthfully, it was not a marriage proposal as such; there was no down-on-one-knee with a ring out stretched before him. It was more of a casual request, a blasé idea even, that I could take or leave. Perhaps it was just the nerves that Nick had pointlessly tried to hide from me that had made it seem like an indifferent postulation, and it left me wondering why he couldn’t say what he really felt, like he had once before. Did he share my fear of rejection?
Dad took the last drag of his cigarette before dropping it to the ground to smother it under his foot, and slowly blew out the last of the morning ritual. It was the only time he smoked, foolishly believing that his body actually needed this routine just so that he could get through the rest of the day, that, and a beer or twenty-four on the back porch after dinner.
He sat next to me on the step again, but he remained quiet for a minute or two before speaking. I hoped he would give me what I needed.
‘Your mother made me the happiest man in the world when she said yes to me,’ he obliged without looking my way, as if speaking to an unseen person in the mid-distance. He thumbed his gold band, slowly turning it on his third finger. It was heartbreakingly sad to watch just how much he still missed his wife. After everything horrid that she’d put him through, he was still lost in her. ‘At first, she didn’t love me like I loved her, but she married me anyway.’ He finally glanced my way, smiling briefly.
‘Are you saying that I should accept, then? You think I’d be happy?’ I called his bluff. He pondered.
‘I think that it’s foolish to believe that love is the only tie that holds two people together. Unlike your mother and me, you and the Mathieson boy are friends first, and that’s the most important way to start something like this, otherwise…’ he paused and drew in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly, ‘…otherwise…’ he couldn’t continue as his eyes welled. It was at such heart-rending times as this that I hated my mother more than I thought I was capable of hating anything. I hated her for still having a hold on my dad, for torturously stealing away my only family and his loyal heart; she is, or was, in no way deserved of such an honour. Even after all of the years of trying to figure it all out, of trying to comprehend why he couldn’t finally let her go, I was still at a complete loss.
Dad was a catch in his day. I’d found boxes of photos in the roof one year while I was retrieving the Christmas decorations. Before the sorrow lines dragged his mouth into a concrete frown and his eyes drooped as if they had been crying for a lifetime — maybe they had — he was quite dashing. With looks like that I was convinced that he could have had his pick of any beautiful, heart-of-gold type of women. Instead, he was dealt a joker, a dud. And now, watching him still mourning in the back garden that had not changed since she had left, my hatred, for a mother that never was, still grew.
Dad let out another deep sigh and stood before holding out his hand. ‘I’ll wash that for you, love.’ I gave him the empty plate to him and then I heard the light thud of the door closing behind him.
I closed my eyes and lifted my face to the sun again and thought about what would hold me to Nick if it wasn’t love. And the only answer to that question was the possibility of the big family that I’d always dreamed of, and, to this lonely heart of mine, that was more important to me than anything else.
* * *
The Alexander/Mathieson wedding was planned for June eighteenth, so with less than one week to go there were still many final preparations to get organised. Putting a wedding together in less than eight weeks was a big enough task as it was.
Day five of the countdown meant that I was having my final alterations done on my dress, which brought me to a pedestal in the Mathieson’s living room, being poked and prodded with dress pins that seemed to be magnetically attracted to my skin.
Lucy, my only bridesmaid, stifled her laughter from the cushioned La-Z-Boy in the corner of the room as a flash of light sparked from her Nikon, capturing me as I bit my lower lip attempting to divert the stinging pain from my ankles.
I couldn’t quite pinpoint my reasoning, but Lucy irritated me more often than not, which made trying to be her friend, well, a little trying. I did consider that perhaps she irritated me because she insisted on calling me Catey instead of my much preferred Cate. But I wasn’t known to be that petty. All I knew was that it really, really bugged me. It’s a respect thing, you know? I’d asked her to call me a particular name and she obviously refused. Irritating!!
Nick, Lucy, and I all attended the same high school, and the three of us hung out a lot, but in her huggy, air-kissy way that she was with only Nick, Lucy always made me feel like I was the third wheel. To be completely fair, besides gluttony, being paranoid is a trait that I would probably use most to describe myself, so perhaps our stand-offish relationship was more a reflection of me rather than her. It was safe to say that she was mostly Nick’s friend, and I didn’t really have any of my own, so Lucy was my only choice for a girl in a pretty dress to stand next to me while I became Mrs Mathieson.
Lucy made a modest living out of creating timeless memories for people, and I had begrudgingly allowed her overzealousness to have free reign on what should be etched in history and what should be left to speculation. We obviously had differing opinions about what served as a fondly smiled-upon memory to bore the grandchildren with in the years to come, and what should most definitely be burnt at the first possible chance. This lip-biting pic, in my opinion, was already ash as far as I was concerned.
‘Not pinning you, am I love?’ Nick’s mother asked as she continued to efficiently work.
‘No, Mrs Mathieson,’ I said brightly before begging inwardly for mercy. Lucy snorted and I threw her a rueful ‘you’re next’ look, which wiped the smile swiftly from her pixie face.
Even though it was a given that Lucy would be responsible for digitally capturing our nuptials, Nick’s mum had been instrumental in the planning of the other million details of the wedding: creating a breathtaking dress, organising the celebrant, and offering the winery’s wistful allure as a lovely backdrop for the momentous day. Then there were the flowers, the jewellery, the suits, the ring, the invites and the other million and three things that all needed to be coordinated if this day was to be perfect.
The matriarch of the Mathiesons had obstinately hinted for the past twenty-two years that Nick and I partner up, so now that it was finally happening she had unleashed the exhilaration that had been building for a lifetime. It wasn’t a completely unreasonable assumption to make; Nick and I always gotten along well and, most importantly to the family orientated population of Shady Valley, for the most part our moral compasses pointed in the same direction. We believed that above all else, family must always remain at the forefront of our focus. But despite our compatibility, I had told her, and Mrs Mathieson begrudgingly agreed with a deep sigh, that when it’s forced it just won’t work. So for the past five or so years she’d only made subtle quips about how perfect it would be if her dreams came to fruition.
Mrs Mathieson was never obscure about what she wanted, or afraid to broadcast our engagement to the entire country; apparently announcing it to even the national papers seemed a completely appropriate response to the news. I was surprised that CNN hadn’t run a five minute story at prime time. But since then, Nick had had a few gentle, carefully chosen words with her and Mrs Mathieson had thankfully kept her ecstatic ideas relatively curtailed. Her presence could be overbearing at times and I had to remind myself that Mrs Mathieson had never had a daughter of her own, and all of her daughters-in-law lived interstate. The fact that I was marrying into the family, and that we were going to live locally, was the answer to not only Nick’s prayers but his mother’s as well.
‘And stop calling me Mrs Mathieson. Please call me Mum,’ she went on through thin lips, pressing the pins between them.
‘Ok, Mum,’ I obeyed. Mrs Mathieson stopped hemming, holding her position as if she was frozen in place. Then she looked up at me, her eyes brimming with tears.
‘What is it?’ I investigated my champagne silk, strapless, baby-doll dress that accentuated my full breasts and then fell elegantly to my feet. Had I bled from my pin-cushion legs and ruined the masterpiece?
‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to be so…so…Mrs Mathieson is fine, or just Beth.’ She elegantly lifted her petite, sixty-year-old frame from the floor. Lucy handed her a tissue and she dabbed her lightly made-up face.
‘It’s ok,’ I gently reassured her. ‘I really don’t mind.’
‘No. I should never have been so rude as to suggest such a presumptuous thing,’ Beth apologised through sorrowful sobs. I lifted my dress and stood down from the pedestal of a timber stool, making me a good foot shorter that I had just been. I stood in front of Beth and took hold of her hand.
‘You have been more of a mother to me than anyone else. So please believe that I don’t mind,’ I said. I loathed the fact that I people-pleased, but better to do that than have them dislike me.
Beth hugged me, gently though; the dress was a delicately embroidered piece. ‘Oh, Catherine, thank you.’
‘It’s ok.’ I threw Lucy a mischievous grin. ‘Now, come on, let’s get this dress finished so that Lucy can have her turn.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Beth said excitedly. ‘I can’t wait to see how that mulberry silk looks against your stunning ruby red hair.’
From the La-Z-Boy, Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘I’m beside myself with anticipation.’
* * *
After Beth had closed the door behind us, farewelling us with some left-over casserole to supplement my dad’s lack of healthy cuisine, I could feel Lucy watching me inquisitively as we strolled down the lavender-lined path.
‘How are your ankles?’ I asked her.
‘I’m thankful that my dress is floor length, I can tell you that much; she’s a fucking sadist!’
I laughed out loud but then replaced my light expression with mock offence. ‘That’s my mother-in-law you are talking about, you know?’
‘Lucky you.’
‘Yes,’ I sighed deeply as I, with my free hand, rubbed my small pot of a baby belly, ‘lucky me.’
Lucy reached for the casserole dish to lighten my load. ‘A bit achy today?’
‘Just stretching I think.’
We ambled. ‘It’s so good to have you back, Catey.’
I eyed her with curiosity. ‘Where’d I go?’
Lucy raised an incredulous eyebrow and I shrugged in bewilderment. ‘You, my dear girl, took a trip to Roy World and Nick and I thought that you only had a one way ticket. We missed you a lot, so it’s good to have you back where you belong. The three amigos just aren’t as fun with only two.’
‘You missed me?’
‘Of course.’
I wondered why Lucy’s voice faltered whenever I asked her about what she really thought of me. That’s the sort of person that I was; always in need of validation. I did wonder that out of the few people that were in my life, why did I need to know how Lucy felt about me more than anyone else? I figured that it was because with everyone else that truly mattered I already knew for sure, however much I denied it. But with Lucy something seemed put on, or forced, even. It was as if she was friendly toward me out of obligation and not because she wanted to be. It just really irked me. If I had another choice for a bridesmaid I wouldn’t have chosen the pixie look-alike next to me. I don’t meant to sound unappreciative, I know people are not lining up to be my friend, but with Lucy I knew that I could never let my guard down. I never knew if she had my true interests at heart or whether she was lying in wait, waiting for me to fuck up royally. Perhaps my trust issues were just too deep to overcome with everybody. Whatever this feeling was about Lucy, I’d work out what it was one day.
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ I said because I realised I was distracted by my own thoughts for too long, ‘but I really don’t think that I went anywhere.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘No, I didn’t, well, I didn’t mean to,’ I grudgingly amended. ‘I tend to do that.’
We turned left and continued on walking down the side path that lead to the rear of my dad’s cottage.
‘Do you miss him?’ Lucy went on.
‘Roy?’
‘Yeah.’
After a beat I answered. ‘I don’t know. I mean, he was my world for a long time. I can’t just forget what we had.’
Sceptically she said, ‘What was that, exactly?’
‘I know what you think of him, but I did love Roy. It wasn’t all bad, you know.’
‘It wasn’t all sex, drugs and rock and roll? Sounds like a blast if you ask me.’
If I answered honestly I’d just feel humiliated. ‘He was what I needed at the time,’ was all I could say in all truthfulness. I noted Lucy’s dubiousness and felt compelled to protect Roy. ‘I never claimed that it was fluffy, healthy love, but it was love, nevertheless.’
Suddenly Lucy laughed as if she’d belatedly remembered a joke. ‘Do you remember when Roy met you after school with his face all pummelled as if he’d head-butted a truck a million times?’
I smacked Lucy’s arm, almost dislodging the casserole dish from her hold. ‘Why is that funny?! Do you know how much blood I had to clean up?’
She was unperturbed by my exasperation. ‘Did you know that Nick did that?’
I reached my arm out and stopped in my tracks. ‘No way. I had no idea.’
‘Come on, Catey. You know how he felt about you. How he still feels about you.’
I couldn’t speak. Of course I knew, but obviously I didn’t quite understand how deeply it ran. We continued walking.
‘He’d been down at Maisy’s getting the Sunday paper or something when he saw Roy and one of his mates,’ Lucy paused, recalling the name, ‘Martin, I think.’
I blanched. ‘Oh no.’
‘Roy was gloating about having control over you or about making you do something…I don’t know, exactly. Nick was pretty vague on the details when I pestered him about it. Martin was laughing, saying that you had a mouth like a —’ Lucy cut herself off when I visibly shrank with mortification. ‘Anyway, Nick just saw red and completely lost it. Roy didn’t have a chance to defend himself.’
I struggled to put more than a two syllable sentence together, sounding as inarticulate as a moron. My throat ached as I fought all of my buried disgrace that threatened to spill out.
‘Maisy must have had a fit.’ I muttered my attempt to divert the conversation away from my shameful behaviour that had caused such a fierce reaction from such a gentle soul. ‘She’s probably never had a brawl outside the milk bar before.’
‘A brawl? It was pretty one sided, or so the gossip says. My point is: never doubt that he loves you, Catey. Marrying Nick…I hope your eyes are open and that you appreciate what you have.’
Her tone was amiable but her intention seemed ominous. Was she warning me?
‘I’m aware of what being married to Nick means. He knows what he can expect from me.’
‘I just don’t want to see him hurt. Either of you,’ she amended, but I noted that I was an afterthought.
‘I will give Nick what he deserves. I’ll repay him his respect and love…I know I can love him the way he loves me, I’m sure of it.’
Lucy’s look was once again dubious.
‘Would you for once believe me?’
‘I would if you didn’t sound as if you’ve been rehearsing everything.’
‘I refuse to reply on the grounds that it may incriminate me.’
Lucy chuffed. ‘Been reading crime thrillers again?’
‘I’m practically choking on love and romance and the rest of the fluff that comes with a wedding. It’s all I can do to escape from it all; blood and guts being my only outlet.’
‘Everything will settle soon enough. Plus, let’s face it; once the baby arrives all romance will go out of the window.’
‘So I should lap it up while Nick can’t keep his hands off me?’ Was I bragging?
With one hand balancing Dad’s dinner, Lucy threaded her free arm through mine, the affectionate gesture taking me by surprise. ‘I’d lap him, lick him and rub myself all over him covered in scented oil if I were you. Take advantage of him while you can.’
I laughed out loud. ‘Watch out, Nick.’
My phone buzzed in the back pocket of my jeans. After retrieving it I acknowledged the caller with a sigh and hesitated before pressing the answer button.
‘Hello?’
‘Cate, will you please meet me? I really need to talk to you.’
I consulted my watch without speaking then eyed Lucy’s questioning gaze.
‘Babe?’ the person on the other end said.
‘Give me about twenty minutes.’
‘Meet you at the billabong?’
‘Ok.’
I pressed “end” and slid the phone back into my pocket.
‘Who was that?’ Lucy asked. But something told me that she already knew.
‘Oh, um, just a last minute wedding thing. I’ll take this in to Dad.’ I took the casserole from her.
‘Should we catch up later? Nick mentioned something about dinner.’
‘Yep, sure, if I’m up to it.’
* * *
‘So you’re really going to marry him?’ Roy asked me as we sat secretly in our private place by the billabong in the national park twenty minutes later. It was cold, freezing actually, as the snow-tipped wind whipped sharply from the white-peaked mountains.
We sat subdued for a minute. A frog croaked in the mid distance and then a small splash from an overgrown gold fish, as it nipped at a lowly hovering dragon fly, rippled the otherwise still water.
I didn’t even know why I’d answered his call earlier and I didn’t know why I had agreed to meet with him. I guessed that I wasn’t out of the habit of saying “how high” whenever Roy Ellis said “jump”. And I also wondered how true the feelings of love that I felt for him were while I sat shivering and he looked as warm as toast in his thick leather jacket, not once offering it to me. How could I condone such egotism?
The frog croaked again, punctuating the awkward beat of stillness between us as I contemplated telling him about the baby. I sat, centring my gaze upon a pink water lily that lay unmoving on the middle of the billabong, and took a breath.
‘You don’t love him like you love me. Like I love you,’ he said with, what I translated to be, an afterthought.
I gave him a long, focussed look. ‘I’m pregnant,’ I confessed without removing my gaze. His eyes widened so much so that I thought that they may pop right out of his head. ‘Don’t worry, Roy. You’re safe. It’s Nick’s.’
‘Didn’t take you long to move on.’
Derision escaped through my chattering teeth. ‘I haven’t moved on.’
‘What if there was no baby? Would you marry him then?’
I couldn’t answer him truthfully, mostly because I didn’t know for sure, and he knew it.
‘Please, don’t do this,’ he begged me as he took my cold face in his warm hands. He kissed me deeply, and it was only now that we had been apart that everything that I’d been trying to convince myself about Roy, about how bad he was for me, melted away under his warm fingers in this freezing creek-side haven. ‘Please, Cate,’ he murmured into my lips. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t do this.’
‘Would you marry me if I chose you? Do you have the energy to pretend with me for the rest of your life?’ He let me go, answering my question. ‘That’s what I thought. You don’t want me. You wouldn’t want this baby if it were yours, either, so why the charade?’
He kissed me again but I separated myself from him and put on my most persuasive front. ‘This is not a game, Roy. I can’t make this decision as if there was no baby because the baby is the only person here that should have priority. I can’t trust you. Nick will look after me, he loves me, always has. He even loved me while I was at my most disastrous with you. I never have to worry about him flittering off whenever he feels like it. He’s secure and he knows that it’s me that he wants; you have no idea what a nice change that makes.’ I pushed myself up from the mossy ground and forced myself to walk away.
‘At least give me a chance to persuade you.’ I hesitated and he stood with me, wrapping his arms around my waist. ‘He’s safe, babe. You won’t be happy knowing that it’s me that you really want,’ he said more softly than I ever thought he’d be capable of. ‘You know you’ll be tied to me forever.’
‘Shackled,’ I corrected him.
‘Come on, Cate.’
I lifted my eyes to see him and I told myself that I felt nothing for Roy Ellis. In reality, what I did feel for him was something that I couldn’t quite describe. It was like love, but then again it wasn’t. Like the drugs that satiated me, my feelings for Roy dulled the pain within me. And like the drugs, it took only hours for the effect of Roy to wear off…but then the hankering plagued me and all I needed was just needed one more fix. I loathed the saying, “treat them mean, keep them keen” but oh how spot-on it was. For a second I contemplated letting him back in. Then again, Roy served no purpose to my plan.
I pushed myself away from him and without a word I walked away.
‘You’ll never want anything more than you want me!’ he called after me.
No I thought defiantly as I navigated the safest route back to the main road. This baby is the only thing that I really want.
Roy didn’t follow me as I made my way down the narrow dirt trail out of the national park. As I emerged out onto the street that lead to the Mathiesons’ homestead, and I saw Nick’s ute parked in the drive way, I realised that I’d forgotten about our plans to finalise the wedding menu with the caterer this afternoon.
Nick didn’t live with his parents. His own home, that he’d purchased responsibly when he was eighteen, was being redecorated to accommodate a growing family. He was always older than his chronological age. He was twenty two, but he’d always worked, saved money; everything that he had, he earned. He succeeded at school and had a strong ambition to follow in his dad’s footsteps to work in the ever-growing winery. There was no house on the estate now, but with his family’s blessing, Nick was planning to build a homestead on the property sizable enough for a big happy family for when he took over the running of the business. And given that his dad’s overworked, sixty-two-year-old body was about to slow down on him, Nick may get his wish sooner rather than later.
A light drizzle sprinkled over my face just as I neared the end of the trail and out onto the street. Because I couldn’t help it, I glanced back over my shoulder in the direction that I had come, wondering if I would see Roy, and thankfully he wasn’t there. Letting out a cleansing sigh that admittedly left a slight residue of how wonderful Roy sometimes made me feel, I took the steps that would lead me to my comfortable, fruitful and safe life.
Making my way up the four front steps, I reached down to my belly as it again cramped under my fingers and massaged my muscles gently. I’d been ignoring this aching for a few days, but put it down to pre-wedding nerves — or prayed that it was just nerves. As I took the final step, bitter reality and suffocating pain forced its way in and made me acknowledge that today they were different: blindingly intense. My eyes lost focus as the pain tore through my insides and as hard as I fought to stop them, panic collapsed my legs and drew the ground out from beneath me. I fell to my knees as the pain intensified, spreading from my abdomen around my hips to my back, like a vice clamp that tightened with every breath I took.
Oh God, please don’t let this be happening…
As quickly as the last one ended, another gripping pain took over my body, my panting breath in no way helping me to remain calm.
…No, no, no, no please be ok baby…
I silently prayed, hoping against all hope that this was normal, and that maybe this happened to woman as their bodies adjusted to a growing baby. I didn’t know what was normal. And even my dampening legs under my woollen skirt didn’t completely convince me as to what was happening, because it couldn’t possibly be happening to me.
‘Nick!’ I screamed through restricted breath and immediately I felt his hands under my arms, scooping me up and whisking me inside. ‘It can’t be happening. Right? Nick? The baby’s ok, isn’t it?’ My cry bordered on hysteria as Nick tried to hush me; but his efforts to speak came out in jagged breaths which terrified me further. ‘Everything is going to be ok, right Beth?’ I asked her as she followed closely behind. Beth didn’t answer.
In his old bedroom that in times gone by we’d filled with laughter, I wept while Nick laid me on his bed.
‘Shh, sweetheart,’ Beth soothed as I sat gingerly on the bed next to me. ‘Nicholas, get a heat pack from the bathroom please, and pass me those towels.’ Beth lifted me gently as she spread the towels beneath me.
‘But I’m twelve weeks. I’m past the danger period —’ My voice was taken by another fierce pain and I pulled myself into a ball when another cramp took over my whole body. I released the agony with a scream into the pillow and it was then that Beth finally saw the crimson staining.
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ she murmured sorrowfully.
Nick returned a heartbeat later, holding what his mother had asked for, and I opened my eyes to see him hovering helplessly in the door way. He didn’t need to say what he was feeling right now; no baby, no Cate. I knew him well. He gave me a brief smile to show me that it was ok, that I didn’t need to explain, and then he stepped inside the room, handed the heat pack to his mother and left. I squeezed my eyes closed again, failing to hold back the flow of imminent tears, and when I opened them again he was gone.
‘Please, I need Nick, please, Beth?’ my voice rose with panic as I heard his car start up in the drive way. Beth sat on the bed and brushed my tear stained hair from my face.
‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ she soothed, ‘what you need, what Nicholas needs, is time to let this heal. Right now it’s very overwhelming isn’t it?’ I nodded as fresh tears fell down my face. ‘Nick knows he’s not in control of this, you know how much that scares him, so just give him time to let this sink in. For now you need to rest. I’ll call Dr Crawford and then I’ll check on you, ok?’
She stood from the bed leaving me with the mess that was consuming my thoughts. There was only one thing that I knew for sure; I needed Nick.