Husband Stay (Husband #2) (30 page)

Assuming I wasn’t
about to be thrown out.

They jumped up
from the table and, endearingly, both gave me a hug on the way out. Then it was
just Jack and I, staring at each other.

“You are the
father,” I said, before he could ask. “I haven’t slept with anyone else.”

He nodded. “I
guessed that. The first night. I was worried about pre-cum.”

My mind stalled
and replayed what he’d said, but it made no sense. “Pre…what?” What was he
talking about?

“Pre ejaculate,”
he said quietly. “I should have put a condom on before I got into bed…but you
climbed onto me and rubbed—” He shook his head, as if he was angry with
himself. “I’ve been worried about that from the start.”

I still didn’t
understand what he was talking about but I let go of the details—although I’d
certainly be researching that later. “Then you thought I might get pregnant? Is
that
why you’ve kept in touch?”

He shook his head,
his face set with either anger or frustration. “I
kept in touch
because
I’d fallen in love with you,” he said. “Not lust. Love.”

Oh.

And the obvious
question. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Oh, the usual
reasons.” When I didn’t respond he said, “You’re a rising star, a celebrity,
who ran away from the country to enjoy the glamor of the city, where
I’m
treated like a person, not an outsider
,” repeating what I’d told him once
when we’d been discussing the bigotry my parents had faced in Dakaroo.

“In case you
hadn’t noticed,” he went on. “I’m a farmer who lives in the middle of nowhere…”
He swung an arm wide to encompass the house, “And now I have two nieces to
raise.” His voice had started to tremble, and I suddenly realized he must have
heard from the hospital. Isabelle must be dead. “I don’t see any compatibility
there,” he went on, his handsome face set in hard lines.

I wanted so much
to hug him, but his turmoil was an impenetrable barrier between us. “I’m so
sorry about your sister.” I truly meant that.

But he just stared
back at me, seemingly unmoved. It felt like throwing stones at a brick wall. My
compassion just bounced off him, and in that moment I realized our relationship—whatever
it had been—was ending.

My heart started
to shrivel inside my chest but I had to try. “You’re making assumptions about
me. About my career. You don’t know what my priorities are.”

“
My
priorities…” He stabbed a finger at the door. “…are those two little girls—”

“And what about my
baby?” Silence throbbed between us but I had to go on, “What about all the
great sex, all the love, all the
caring
between us? Does that count for
nothing?”

His magnificent
chest rose and fell beneath his simple white tee-shirt, and eventually he
nodded. “I want you. I want the baby.”

“But you don’t
trust me?”

“I don’t
know
you.”

“And whose fault
is that!” I was suddenly unaccountably angry at him threatening our beautiful
future. “You never once dated me. You just met me for sex.”

“That was all you
wanted,
”
he shot back, and then he lowered his voice in deference to his nieces. “I
would have given you anything...” His voice was raw with pain. “…said anything,
done anything to get time with you.” I stared at him in shock as that sunk in,
then he shook his head.

“But you made it
blindingly clear from the moment I turned up at that teahouse launch that you
wanted sex—you wanted the orgasms that only I could give you. So that’s what I
did. I shut off the parts that you might not like—the farmer, the son, the grieving
brother, the uncle—and I just gave you what you wanted, the sexually confident
man who could make you come.”

“And you kept
coming back,” he said accusingly. “You
proved
to me that you were only
interested in sex. So don’t blame me for the lack of romance, because the
moment I tried to go there you shut me down.”

I said nothing as
the scene on the plane replayed in my mind—my mistrust, my clear statement that
I didn’t have time for a relationship and was all about my career.

But he wasn’t
finished. “I should have been looking for a wife, a replacement mother for
Daisy and Charley, because I knew what was coming. Instead, I was chasing after
an impossible dream.” He shook his head in resignation. “For all I know, you
don’t have a maternal bone in your body.”

He seriously had
no idea.

But instead of
arguing, I said, “How long have you known that you loved me?”

He glanced away
for a second, then he shrugged as if it didn’t matter anymore what he said. “The
first time you came in my arms.” He nodded to himself. “I’d never seen anything
more beautiful in my life, and in that moment I promised myself I’d do anything
to have you. To keep you.” We stared at each other. “But you didn’t want that,”
he went on. “And if I’d told you I was falling in love you’d have taken out a
restraining order.”

I nodded, because
that was completely true. It had all happened too quickly and I’d mistrusted
him from the start. He was being so honest, I had to admit, “I’ve loved you
since the first time you came inside me, that same night. Your eyes looked
vulnerable, or lost.” I shook my head. “I wanted to anchor you. You were so
strong, but...”

“Only on the
outside.”

We stared at each
other, the distance between us like an aching chasm. “Don’t end this,” I begged
shamelessly. “I haven’t told my agent about the baby, but when I do, she’ll
scale back my career. I don’t need to do anything I don’t want to do.”

What I wanted was
to be in his arms, to convince him with my body, but the table wasn’t the only
thing separating us.

His face went
still, and then he nodded, as though he’d expected me to say that and it
disappointed him. Greatly. “Tell that to the film crew waiting in the shearing
shed a mile down the track.” He nodded toward the front of the house where the
‘track’ had brought me from the main road.

“What?” My determination
gave way to fluttering confusion. “Film crew?”

“Your agent sent
them. Seems she didn’t get the memo.” His gaze bored into mine. “I’ve told my
parents to wait in town until they’re gone. As you can imagine, I don’t want
them confronting this.”

If I’d felt upset
before, this was a hundred times worse. “I’m so sorry…” It was a completely
inadequate thing to say, but I
was
so sorry I was sick with it. To lose
your daughter, and then not be able to come home and tell your grandchildren…

If they’d disliked
me before, they’d hate me now.

“I’m sure you
are.” He looked at me a moment longer, then said, “I told them to book a room
in town and get some sleep. They’ve been up all night.”

“I’m so sorry.” I
held out a hand. “I’ll fix this.” Then I turned blindly. “I’ll tell the film
crew to go.”

“Angela,” he said,
when I would have walked out.

I turned
reluctantly, because I could already tell from the tone in his voice that this
was goodbye.

“I think it would
be best if you weren’t here when my parents come back.”

Jack was throwing
me out, and all I could do was nod. My earlier feistiness was gone as I
reverted into the meekly accepting Angela of old. “Of course. It’s a family
time. And please, tell them how sorry I am.”

He nodded. His
expression was stiff, as if he was holding back something. Anger would be
deserved, but I couldn’t spend time sorting that out. I needed to get the film
crew off their property. So I went to the guestroom, threw my things in my bag
and was crying by the time I had the girls in a goodbye hug.

They were full of
patting concern, but I told them it was normal for the baby to make me cry, and
I wasn’t unhappy. I was healthy and fine. I even managed a watery smile before
I ran out to the car, threw in my things and drove on down the road to the
shearing shed where the apologetic crew explained that to
finish
the
documentary, they needed to interview me. Rosie had assumed I wanted that interview
at the property, alongside Jack, to bookend the
Sunshine
segment. So they’d
flown in.

I can’t remember
what I told them. I wasn’t about to reveal Jack’s private news about his
sister’s death. But I did demand that every mention of Jack be cut from the documentary.
Then I shooed them back to Gillabindi, the nearest town where I needed to fuel
up anyway. By the time I’d arrived, I’d stopped crying, and while they set up
the cameras in the main street to capture the majestic row of fat-bodied Bottle
Trees that ran through the center of town, I put on makeup.

Then, to the
bemusement of the locals, we did the interview at the bar of one of the two pubs
in town, with ten-in-the-morning drinkers gawping in the background. Twenty
minutes of stilted lies about my excitement for the album and the happy future that
was just on the horizon was as much as I could stomach. I left them to get
generic ‘country town’ shots to background segments where I’d talked about my
childhood, and I hit the road.

It took hours to
get to the airport, and I filled that time with self-recrimination and an
aching grief that I couldn’t be there to hold Jack while he mourned his sister.
I understood completely now why he’d pushed me away, and how I’d confused him
with my demands.

Of course he’d
think I only wanted him for sex. But now that I’d seen him at home, and
particularly having seen him gentled with love for his nieces and gutted by the
death of his sister, I wanted every part of his life.

Had I told him
that? I suddenly couldn’t remember. He’d said he wanted me. He wanted the baby.
But then he’d thrown me out. So did that mean he needed time? Or did his
perception of me as a ‘city girl’ mean he’d continue to push me away?

And was I a city
girl? Or would I live anywhere to be with him, to raise our child as a family,
together?

The fresh wave of
sobs that followed that question was evidence enough that there was no
‘sacrifice’ in my mind about moving to be with him. I didn’t care where I
lived, so long as I could wake up beside him each morning and fall asleep in
his arms every night.

But how could I
convince him of that?

I shook my head,
gazing out the windscreen at the bleak outback landscape, where endless plains
gave way to scrubby bushland, and the side of the road was littered with the
carcasses of roadkill—mostly kangaroos and wallabies. The sight of those furry
lives cut short, felt like a reflection of my despair.

It also showed me
that life was precious and I shouldn’t waste mine, or my baby’s, on longing and
grief. I’d sobbed. Now I should plan. So I arrived at the airport with a fresh
determination to move past regrets into action, and was lucky to make the midday
flight out. The seat beside me was empty and that made me sad all over again
but I didn’t cry.

I thought about
what I would need to do to convince Jack that I was a country girl at heart,
and that I loved him enough to make big changes to be part of his life. I
wasn’t sure Rosie would be too keen on my plans, but I had other priorities
now.

Being ditched as
her client would have mortified the old me, but this new version of Angela was
ferociously focused on
my baby
and
my man,
and I’d cut loose what
I had to so I could hold onto what mattered. I only hoped I could weather any
disapproval from Jack’s parents when they found out a ‘colored girl’ was having
their grandchild.

Kamal picked me up
at the airport, which was a comfort, and I managed to get home to his apartment
without crying, but as soon as I saw Fritha there with an ugly bruise on her
cheek, the pain that I’d so recently papered-over with determination, broke
through.

She sat me on the
edge of my old bed and wrapped me in her skinny arms as I tried to tell them my
story, but each new heartbreak had to be accompanied by a wave of grief.

“And then his
parents couldn’t even come home!” I wailed. “And it’s all my fault.”

“
Poor baby.
Poor baby,”
she said over and over, rocking me gently while Kamal watched
on helplessly from the doorway.

“He loves me,” I
sobbed, inconsolable, now that I had the story out. “He wants me and the baby.
But…
I fucked it up
.”

Kamal caught his
breath, but Fritha shot him a quelling glance. “It’s all right honey. You let
it out. Drop the C bomb if you want to.”

I shook my head.

“Then I can,” she
said. “Kamal-sutra likes a bit of dirty talk with his sex. Don’t you, munchkin?”

“Fritha!” he
snapped.

I gulped back a
sob, then looked between the two of them, wondering what she was talking about.
Kamal thought ladies should never swear, and he’d certainly never heard me
swear before.

But Fritha was
grinning and Kamal was turning an interesting shade of embarrassed. I glanced
down at the bed we were sitting on, which appeared as neat as the day I’d left
it, and hiccupped another sob, then I looked back to Fritha.

“I slept with him.”
She looked inordinately proud of herself. “Little fucker’s got some moves. He
may well have studied the sutras.”

Kamal’s face was
so red by this point, I thought he’d burst an artery. At last he said, “I can’t
do this,” and he left.

Fritha chuckled.
“I do love to see the boys blush.”

A hysterical laugh
bubbled up and emerged as a scratchy chuckle. “Bad friend,” I teased her.

“No. Good friend,”
she corrected. “I’m sleeping with him tonight, so there’s a convenient bed
here.” She patted the quilt beside her. “You can cry yourself to sleep in
peace, but if you call out I’ll come running.”

I frowned. “With
clothes on.”

“If you insist.”

I stared into her
freckled face, remembering all the times I’d let her comfort me in the past,
and how healing that had been. But with the tears drying on my face, some of my
earlier resolve came back. I was going to be a mother soon. I was too old for
pity parties.

So I shook my
head. “I have to fix this. What should I do?”

“Don’t ask me.” She
rested her head on my shoulder. “The one time I say no to sex, and the bastard
thumps me.” She shook her head, spreading her long red curls across my sweater.
“I don’t belong in the city, Ange. Men are complicated here. I’m going to fuck
your cousin a few more times and go home.”

I put an arm
around her shoulder, our roles reversed. “I’m getting out of Dodge too.”

“You belong with
Jack. He’s prime real estate,” she said, and snuggled into my shoulder. “That
chest is like…acreage. Tell me you haven’t got tired, licking it from one side
to the other.”

I laughed at that,
and had to admit, “There are plenty of things I haven’t done. Plenty of things
I still want to do.”

“Then go after
him!” She pulled out of my arms. “Go back up there and—”

“His sister just
died.”

“Oh.” Her face
fell. “Forgot that. Grief. Time.” She snugged back into my shoulder. “Then you
gotta wait, A. You gotta let him heal.”

“But I want to be
with him. I want to help him feel better.”

Fritha was silent
for a moment, then she chuckled. “There’s a euphemism that isn’t used enough.”

“Not like that!” I
slapped her arm, then I went back to rubbing her shoulder. “Okay, maybe yes, like
that. But also just loving him.”

“Except he won’t
see you.”

I sighed. “There
has to be a way to get past that. Some strategy.”

“I don’t know.”
She shook her head. “You need to find someone who knows about men. And that
sure as shit isn’t me.”

So that’s how I
ended up back in Dakaroo, knocking on my parents’ door—of all places.

“Angela!” my
father swung the door wide and pulled me into a hug. “What a lovely surprise.”

“I hope so,” I
said, clutching my car keys in my hand. I probably shouldn’t have driven all
the way, but I’d needed time to think, to talk myself out of this. Only, I
couldn’t. The bald fact was that my parents had been married for forty years,
and though my mother was a tyrant, my father was inexplicably happy with her.
There had to be something I could learn from that.

“You’re brewing a
grandchild I hear.” He led me into the house, which as always, smelt of
cardamom and cloves. “Your mother is very pleased. Very pleased indeed.” His
head wobbled as he walked into the kitchen, and I wondered if people in town
still made fun of that. And why he’d never changed.

“I’m glad, Daddy
-
ji,”
I said, and sat at the same laminated kitchen table I’d known as a child. “And
chai would be lovely.”

“Very good,” he
said smiling, and busied himself preparing it. I knew it was his particular
pleasure to make the chai, because his wife wouldn’t let him near the food. And
when we were looking at each other across the table and I’d taken a sip of mine,
he said, “Your mother is upset that she didn’t hear from you. You used to phone
us each week.”

Every Sunday night
since Danny and I had moved to Sydney. I shrugged. “She made me angry.”

“She makes me
angry all the time,” he said, as if that was to be expected. “Why would that
stop you showing your love?”

“Is that love,
Daddy-ji?” I put down my cup. “Because I don’t understand about love. How does
me phoning her make her feel loved?”

“It shows her that
you are a dutiful daughter.” He waved a finger at me to emphasize his point.

“And what does she
do in return?” That was the question I’d wanted to ask since I was old enough
to talk. Why did
we
all have to show her love, and she just made
demands?

“In return?” He
looked at me as if I was teasing him. “She guides you with her wisdom.” He
nodded at this as if it was the answer to everything.

“You mean she
tells me what to do?”

“And have you
benefitted from her knowledge?” he demanded, tapping a finger on the table.

“No. I’ve felt
belittled, criticized and ridiculed,” I replied. But even as I was answering
honestly, I was wondering who this new woman was, who could speak her mind, and
whether she’d have the courage to do the same thing to her mother in such a
calm, rational way.

“Then that is your
fault,” he replied, wobbling his head as he always did when he spoke. “No
person can make you feel bad without your permission.”

I’d heard that
quote before, but it just didn’t cut it for me. “That’s all very well if you’re
an adult, but how can a child protect itself from verbal attacks? She’s been
telling me I’m lazy and stupid and vain since I was tiny. Do you have any idea
how hard that is to get over?”

If it wasn’t for
Fritha and Jill and Louella giving me perspective, I’d probably have ended up
neurotic or a doormat.

“No, I do not,” he
replied, starting to lose his affable smile. “I know only love from your
mother, no matter her words.”

“So you ignore
them?”

The pause before
he replied spoke volumes. “I see through her moments of irritability to the
loving woman within.”

Moments of
irritability?

I supposed a
lifetime was made up of moments, and I could have been infuriated by that, but
I
was
here to learn, so perhaps this conversation was instructive.

“So what makes the
tirades bearable?” I asked.

“She is an
excellent cook,” he replied immediately. “And an affectionate wife.”

I stared at him
across the table, about to say
I’ve never seen a single affectionate gesture
in my life,
when I suddenly realized I was riding Fritha’s euphemism train.
‘Affectionate wife’ must be code for ‘good lover’, but I certainly wasn’t about
to discuss that with him.

Instead, I said, “And
you’re telling me those two good things wipe out all the bad?”

He nodded
immediately, and I was so stunned, I picked up my chai to sip it and give
myself time to think. Louella’s mother had said a similar thing:
Keep his
stomach and his loins satisfied, and ninety percent of your job is done.
But
how could it possibly be as simple as that?

I’d had so much
sex with Jack, he would know we were amazing together. So that just left food.
But he’d practically ordered me off
Daven Downs
. How could I cook for
him?

“Are you staying?”
Daddy asked me.

I shook my head, realizing
I had what I came for. “Tell Mummy I’m sorry.” I put down my cup and stood.
“But I’ll phone her Sunday night.”

He smiled. “Then
our conversation has been helpful.”

“For her,” I
replied begrudgingly.

He led me to the
door. “Be kind to her, Angela,” he said, and hugged me again. “When you are a
mother, you will see how hard it is. She lost a baby before you,” he said
softly, as if someone might overhear us, “And it changed her. Do not tell her I
told you that.”