Into My Arms (25 page)

‘You hardly know him, Nell.’

‘I
do
know him,’ she protested. ‘He came to dinner every week for a while there. That was at least two months. And Skye talked about him all the time. Lately you have too. I was so pleased when you told me he was going to Syria with you.’

Arran shook his head. ‘That was because he’s involved with Zia. Don’t get me wrong, Ben’s great. But we just went away together. It doesn’t mean we should have him round for Christmas lunch.’

‘He’s
family
, Arran,’ Nell insisted, a little surprised at her own vehemence. She forced herself to lower her voice. ‘Look, if I’d never met him, never known he existed, I wouldn’t have cared. But I did meet him. He’s connected to us. I can’t ignore that.’

Arran tapped his ash into a fern. ‘You’re missing Charlie,’ he said. ‘You can’t just replace him with Ben, you know.’

‘I’m not trying to!’ Nell cried, stung. Arran had always liked to play devil’s advocate, but was what he said true? Naturally she missed Charlie. Anyone in her position would, but that was different. That was about what she had lost, while Ben—Ben was . . . found. When Arran didn’t respond she went on, more determined now. ‘I want to see him. I want to be able to have him round, call him up occasionally, but I can’t do that with this whole mess with Skye hanging over all our heads. We need to sort it out, clear the air. He needs to see her, and Molly too. She’s his
niece,
for God’s sake. Can you talk to him?’

Arran bent down to stub out his cigarette against the concrete pavers. ‘Not a chance. I’m keeping right out of that one. You should too.’ He stood up. ‘Ben’s not even speaking to his
real
parents,’ he said, with deliberate emphasis. ‘What makes you think he wants to talk to you?’

‘Maybe he doesn’t, but I want him to know that I do,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Stay out of it, if you like, but give me his number. I know you’ve got it, and I’ll keep bothering you at work until you do.’

Arran laughed. ‘You probably would, you crazy lady. My phone’s in the kitchen. Let’s go inside.’

He bent to throw his butt into the fern, but Nell slapped his hand. ‘Put it in the bin. Didn’t I bring you up better than that?’

Chastened, he held the door open for her. Once she had her back to him he made a request. ‘Dinner next week—can I bring a guest? There’s someone I want you to meet. His name’s John.’

Nell watched the taillights of Arran’s car disappear down the street, then returned to the house, locked the door behind her and picked up the phone. Now or never, she thought, blood thumping in her ears. If she put it off until tomorrow she might lose her nerve altogether. Arran had written Ben’s number on a scrap of paper, and as she squinted to read it she noticed her hands were shaking.
Don’t be silly
, she told herself
. The worst he can do is say no.
Besides, she reasoned as she dialled the number, he probably wouldn’t even answer and she could just leave a message.

‘Hello?’ came a voice on the other end of the line. Ben’s voice. She felt something well up in her; a curiosity, a tenderness. This person was part of her.

‘Ben, it-it’s Nell,’ she stammered. ‘Skye and Arran’s mother. Sorry to ring you so late.’

‘It’s not late,’ he said. She glanced at the clock, surprised to find it wasn’t yet nine pm. She had been thinking about this all day, all week. Dinner felt like decades ago.

‘I got your number from Arran. He showed me the pictures from your trip. It looks like a beautiful place—I loved the shots of the mosque. And how wonderful that you made contact with Zia’s brother!’ She was prattling, she realised, catching sight of her reflection in the glass door of the oven. Her mouth was opening and closing like a fish pulled up from the sea.

‘It was great. I was glad Arran invited me,’ Ben replied cautiously.

Nell stared at her fingernails, bracing herself. There was paint under all but one of them. Crimson, like blood. She had blood on her hands. Like it or not, it was her observation that had set this in train. Maybe it was her job to try to fix it, too.

‘Ben, I want to see you. Regularly, I mean, as one of the family. I want to be able to have you over for lunch or pick up the phone and talk to you. I don’t want you to disappear and never be heard from again.’

In the hush that followed she could hear her own breathing, ragged, afraid.

‘I’ve been thinking about it ever since Molly was born,’ she hurried on, ‘how you shouldn’t be left out, that she should grow up knowing both her uncles, not just Arran. I’m sorry that you’ve been hurt, but we were hurt too. It was no one’s fault. We can put it behind us. And I’m also sorry that your parents never told you how you came to them, and I hope you’ll be able to work that out together, but either way it doesn’t mean you can’t be a part of this family as well.’ She pulled up panting, a marathon runner forced into a sprint.

Ben was quiet for a minute before he responded. ‘What does Skye think of this idea?’

‘I haven’t told her,’ she hedged. ‘I will though.’

On the other end of the line Ben snorted, the sound derisory and dismissive. ‘I’m sure she’ll be thrilled. Hamish too. He’ll probably invite me straight round to tea.’

‘Given that you’re Skye’s brother, I’m sure he would,’ Nell snapped, almost believing it herself. ‘Hamish is a good man. So are you. It was eighteen months ago, Ben! Can’t we just get over it? You have two full siblings, a niece, a biological parent. We all care about you. Isn’t that something worth hanging on to?’

Ben said nothing for so long that she feared he’d hung up. Finally he moaned quietly, a long, drawn-out sound. ‘Why can’t you just let me go?’

Nell’s stomach churned. She longed to take him in her arms, to comfort him and stroke his hair.
My baby
, she thought, stupidly, unaccountably. She wished Charlie had met him—had known of him even, this third child they’d created together.

‘It’s not just me,’ she told him. ‘Arran couldn’t let you go either, or he wouldn’t have asked you to Syria. Then he mentioned it to Skye, and she immediately wanted to know how you were.’ Nell paused. ‘But it’s your call. I’m not going to force you. I can’t, anyway.’

Another long silence. The kitchen clock ticked through its stillness; the tap dripped onto the unwashed plates. Should she give up, Nell wondered, put the phone back in its cradle and just go to bed?

Then Ben cleared his throat. ‘What’s Molly like?’ he asked.

28

It was big, Ben thought, as he hesitated on the veranda. Bigger than he’d expected. Hamish must be doing pretty well. Two storeys, established garden, leafy suburb . . . The windows needed washing though, and the paving in the driveway was cracked. Ben smiled as he noted the flaws. The house wasn’t completely perfect, then. Good.

No one was expecting him. He hadn’t called or sent a note; he’d simply found the address in the phone book and turned up. Would Skye even be home? It was a Tuesday, mid-morning. Maybe she was at playgroup or the health centre, or whatever it was new mothers did. There was no car in the driveway, though of course it could be interred in the vast double garage to the side of the house. Ben wavered. He could leave the gift in the letterbox and she’d know that he’d tried. Surely that would be enough?

Ben shook his head. Nell was right. He needed to see her. Not so they could all engage in some sort of modern-day blended-family charade, as Nell seemed to hope, but so he could get through this, past it, put it behind him. He’d known he needed to since that night in Syria when Arran and that guy they’d met had had to carry him back to the hotel; he’d known it when he woke depleted the next morning—not from the vomiting or the hangover, but because he’d remembered anew that Skye had given birth, that she’d had someone else’s child. Arran had been so excited to hear word about Habib—he’d rung the number and spoken to Habib’s friend, assured him that they were genuine, and then organised a time later that afternoon for them to meet. And yet all day, in spite of Arran’s excitement and Ben’s own relief that they had accomplished what they set out to, he’d felt sick. That evening, he’d made up his mind. Enough. He’d had enough of torturing himself with thoughts of Skye. He had to accept that it was over. He’d returned to Melbourne determined to forget her once and for all, but still she haunted his thoughts. The phone call from Nell had given him an idea. Maybe if he saw Skye and Molly, finally faced the situation head-on instead of getting drunk or denying what he felt, he would be able to accept it, move on.
It was eighteen months ago, Ben!
Nell had said on the phone, and he’d been surprised. Only eighteen months? It felt like an eternity. It was time to get his life back.

He lifted his hand to the door and knocked hard on it, twice.

‘Ben!’

Skye’s face was pale when she opened the door. Was she still unwell, he wondered, or was it the shock of seeing him? He felt his own throat contract, his breathing accelerate. Fight or flight, he thought stupidly, the phrase coming back to him from his year of vet studies. The sympathetic nervous system; the body’s response to overwhelming stimuli. Only he didn’t want to do either. Now that she was here, before him, all he wanted to do was put his arms around her.

‘Ben,’ Skye said again, more quietly, still staring at him. There was a baby on her hip. Molly, of course it was Molly. She had dark navy eyes. She must have got them from Hamish.

‘Skye,’ he said dumbly, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He swallowed and tried again. ‘I heard you had a baby. I wanted to come and congratulate you.’ He held out a pink-wrapped package as if negotiating a treaty.

‘Oh,’ she said, taking it hesitantly. ‘Thank you. Would you like to come in?’

No
, he thought.
I wouldn’t like to
. He had done what he had come to do. He could leave now, walk away and go home, yet somehow his feet were following Skye down a hallway and into the kitchen. Molly gazed at him over her mother’s shoulder. She had Skye’s mouth, he was pleased to note. It made up for the eyes.

Skye waved him towards a seat at the island bench. ‘I’d offer you tea or coffee,’ she said, ‘but I know you don’t drink them.’

Ben nodded. He was shamefully pleased that she remembered. ‘That’s right. Just a water would be fine.’

Skye placed Molly in a bouncy seat on top of a towel spread across the bench, then turned to the fridge.

‘Does she throw up a lot?’ Ben asked.

‘What?’ Skye said, then handed him a glass of iced water. ‘You mean the towel? That’s to stop her chair scratching the timber. Hamish’s idea. Of course.’

For a second Ben thought she was going to roll her eyes, but instead she glanced down at the bench, running her hands along the dark wood.

‘It’s nice,’ he said awkwardly. ‘You have a lovely house.’

‘Yes,’ she replied, eyes on his now, deep brown and wary.

‘How old is she?’ he said. ‘Molly, I mean.’

‘Just three months.’

Ben looked away. ‘I knew that. I was with Arran, in Syria, the night she was born. He told me, of course. We had a drink and toasted her.’ He paused. Toasted wasn’t quite the word, but whatever. ‘I should have come earlier, I know, or at least sent a card. I wanted to, but it was just . . . difficult, you know? But I really did want to congratulate you, Skye. I think it’s fabulous. She’s gorgeous.’

Skye smiled. A real smile, he thought. The first since he’d arrived. ‘She is, and I do know. Thank you. I just wish you’d told me you were coming. I would have made myself a bit more presentable.’

He studied her properly for the first time. She was wearing yoga pants, an old t-shirt and socks. Her hair was unbrushed, and there was dried milk on one shoulder.

‘It doesn’t matter. You look beautiful,’ he said, meaning it. Skye went back to the fridge and poured herself a glass of juice. When she sat down to drink it he noticed that her hand was trembling.

‘So how’s it going?’ he went on. ‘Motherhood. Are you enjoying it?’

‘More each day,’ she said. ‘I was sick after I had her, and it was pretty tough at first. She cried a lot. So did I. I was just tired all the time, but it’s getting better. It’s got better,’ she corrected herself. ‘She sleeps most of the night, and Hamish gets up to her sometimes. He’s a big help.’

Ben nodded. He could talk about Skye and Molly, but he wasn’t ready to discuss Hamish.

‘And she’s smiling now, which is lovely,’ Skye continued. She turned to her daughter sitting in her seat between them, and tickled her on the chest. ‘Aren’t you, Miss Molly Moo? You’re smiling and laughing, like a big smiley girl.’ The baby gurgled, throwing out her arms in delight, and Skye prolonged the game, babbling to Molly as she danced her fingers across Molly’s shoulders and up to her cheeks. Ben felt an ache in his stomach. Skye would want more children, he found himself thinking, then immediately froze. Of course she would. What did it matter? It had nothing to do with him.

‘Would you like to hold her?’ Skye asked, undoing the straps of the bouncy seat without waiting for an answer.

‘Sure,’ said Ben, though he wasn’t at all. He pushed his stool back from the bench, nervous. Skye placed Molly in his arms. She was heavier than he had expected, more substantial, and he relaxed. He wasn’t going to drop her. It was just like holding Kirra all those years ago, though then he’d been barely a teenager. Molly was looking up at him with the same implacable gaze: absolute interest, absolute trust. She
was
gorgeous, Ben thought. Her limbs were plump and silken, her skin looked as if it had been airbrushed.