Rushing back to the bathroom, I handed it to him. But gone was his modesty. The door was open and he stood there wearing only a smile. “Thanks.”
I tried to back out of the room, struggling to keep my eyes on his face. When I crashed into the wall behind me, Joel let out a deep chuckle that sent tingles that had my knees weakening. Even through my embarrassment I managed to giggle, accepting that this was a weird situation. I stood there frozen to the spot, laughing until my sides hurt. With only a towel wrapped around his slender waist, Joel stepped towards me and my heart raced. When he reached down and took my hand, the laughter died on my lips but continued in my eyes.
As his lips touched my neck I managed to rasp out, “Don’t you have to work?”
“I’ve got time,” he whispered seductively into my ear. And, after homemade pancakes, who was I to turn him down?
As he slid his hands under my top, my body came alive with goose pimples. I wanted him, and I wanted him now. “Come with me. This time, we do it properly.” Even in his bossy, condescending voice he was sexy. My hoodie never left the bathroom, my jeans made it into the hallway. Barely.
An hour later we were both shaken back to reality when his phone began to ring. “Are you going to get that?” I asked as he trailed his finger up and down my stomach. At first the thought of him touching my blubber made me flinch, but the way he did it and the smile on his face, there was no way I could ask him to stop.
When I eventually kicked him out after attempting to iron his shirt, I was floating on a cloud. I was happy. He made me laugh and smile and wish for more. The only thing that left a sour taste in my mouth was the fact that he promised he’d call. If he didn’t plan on calling me I would rather he just have said good bye, not leave me with false hope. But I was determined not to dwell.
If he hadn’t called by Monday with at the very least news about the weekend’s exhibitions, I’d have to speak to his boss. Obviously, there was no point trying to have a conversation with Joel face to face. Each time we saw each other we ended up naked.
I called Cora and we decided to go for a run. I’m sure she thought I had lost my mind when I suggested exercise. Usually I was the ‘let’s meet for a cupcake and chat’ kind of girl. But Cora didn’t say anything. She just agreed to meet me by the lake. I’m sure she was waiting to see me before the interrogation started, but on the phone, she kept her questions to herself.
We’d run three of the five kilometres of the track when we collapsed, puffing and panting. Sucking in long deep breaths, we were both hunched over, hands on our knees, gasping for air. For people who didn’t jog, ever, we had certainly decided to push ourselves.
“So,” Cora wheezed, “are you going to tell me who or what has got us out jogging on a Saturday morning?”
And there it was. The truth, staring at me through hazel eyes. Cora asking me who was making me this person. Deciding there was no point trying to lie, I told her the everything.
We ended up giving up on our run, and camping on a park bench under a tree for a long time just talking. It felt good to confide in someone. I had never done anything like this before, and I wasn’t even really sure what it was that I was doing, but as I said the words out loud, pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Cora asked a million questions, but not once did I feel judged.
Although I’d come clean and told Cora my dirty little secret, I wasn’t ready to tell the others just yet. “Please, whatever you do, don’t tell Rhiannon,” I found myself begging.
“You should tell them,” Cora encouraged.
“Not yet. I don’t know what this is and I don’t want to jump to any conclusions and end up looking like an idiot. The fewer people who know, the better.” I was determined. I wasn’t going to end up avoiding everything because I’d made a fool of myself.
“Your call,” Cora conceded. “But, for the record, I think you should.”
We stood up and walked on in silence. The weight of my decision clearly didn’t sit well with her. But I knew she’d keep my secret. Reaching the car, we hugged and promised to talk soon before we went our separate ways. Sitting behind the wheel, I didn’t feel like heading home yet, and since I was still sweaty and smelly, shops and restaurants were out. Instead, I climbed back out of the car, finished the water in my bottle, and took off on another lap.
Jogging allowed my thoughts to flow in a conscious stream. They weren’t muddled or clouded by interruptions and distractions. All I had to concentrate on was my breathing and placing one foot in front of the other. As I rounded the end of the lake and began heading for home, I increased the pace. Pushing myself harder and faster than I normally would, Joel managed to creep into my thoughts, and I wasn’t sure if I was running to forget him or running to impress him.
With my mind elsewhere, I didn’t quite lift my foot high enough and I went sailing to the ground, landing with a thud. Instantly embarrassed, I looked around, making sure no one saw my clumsiness before scrambling to my feet. I dusted my hands off, pretended to ignore the throbbing pain in my ankle and knee, and hobbled back to the car.
As soon as I sunk back behind the wheel, I took off home and made a beeline for the shower. It felt better. Pain subsiding, humiliation fading, I was okay. Since starting myself on this strenuous exercise regime, I’ll admit I was surprised by the changes in everything. I ate more than I ever had, but I only wanted salads and veggies. I felt better and I was more confident. After stuffing myself with a crunchy Asian noodle salad, I had a nap on the couch. After all, I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. When my phone vibrated under my pillow, I was shocked awake. Joel was on his way over.
He arrived wearing a jumper and sweat pants with a bag of noodles and a bottle of wine in hand. “So, I have news.” He smiled as he breezed through the door, pausing briefly to plant a kiss on the top of my head, almost as if it was a habit.
I climbed back on the sofa, my legs tucked up under me, forgetting that I was supposed to try and impress anyone. It felt good not having to pretend. It was still all new and exciting and I wasn’t sure where I actually stood with Joel. I didn’t want to rush anything, but I was desperate to put a label on us so I knew where I stood.
I remained silent, waiting for the big revelation, but he said nothing, frustrating me even more. I folded my arms across my chest and pouted.
“Geez, that’s attractive,” Joel said, dangling noodles from high above his head into his mouth.
“Like you can talk,” I teased. “So, what’s the big news?” I grunted impatiently, fighting the urge to jump him.
He wiped his face with the back of his hand, I couldn’t help but shake my head in mock disgust. “Well,” he flopped down unceremoniously beside me. “I have an offer for you.” I didn’t say anything; all I could do was raise a quizzical eyebrow. I wasn’t sure what we were talking about. “A young couple has put an offer on your apartment. It’s a really good offer. You should give it some thought.” His arm draped across the back of the lounge and wrapped around my shoulders.
“Maybe if you tell me what it is, then I can consider it.”
For the next few minutes, we discussed the offer and what my options were. Joel kept dodging my questions, refusing to tell me what I should do, saying it would be a conflict of interest.
“So, is sleeping with your clients a conflict of interest too?” I inquired casually. I heard the words come out of my mouth and instantly regretted it. “That sounded so much better in my head,” I added hastily, trying to make light of the situation.
Embarrassed, I jumped up off the sofa and backed away. I didn’t want him to touch me. Or look at me. Or even acknowledge my presence. My mouth had a bad habit of allowing words to escape before my brain had finished thinking them through.
I hid in the kitchen and although I could hear the deep rhythmic sounds of Joel’s voice, I couldn’t make out the words. Trapped in the kitchen, I had nowhere to go. There was only one entry to my kitchen and only one exit, which Joel was now bl
ocking.
With one hand on his hip and the other high above his head, he leaned invitingly against the door frame. I was captivated. All I could think about was his beautiful body and all the things he could do with it.
“Are you going to let me actually answer that question?” He smiled, prowling towards me.
With his breath on my neck the tiny hairs all over my body stood to attention. I tried to side-step away from him, knowing what would happen if I didn’t, but he blocked me, his hand landing decisively on my waist. I caught myself hoping I had put on half decent underwear instead of my comfortable granny panties. “I don’t think I want to hear the answer.” As the words rushed from my mouth I was surprised by my honesty.
“Well, don’t…” he mumbled, kissing me roughly and urgently.
The next six weeks went past in a blur.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GILLIAN
“Who’s the father?” Heidi repeated Rhiannon’s question.
I was thankful to Cora because she wouldn’t look at me. She was the only one who knew what I had been, who I’d been doing for the past couple of weeks. Only Cora knew the truth. She knew why I had blown my friends off and not returned their calls. I knew they were pissed off at me and I knew I deserved it, but I still didn’t feel guilty enough to confess.
“Do you even know?” Rhiannon asked spitefully.
“Of course, I know. I’m not some kind of cheap slut,” I threw back. I didn’t want to give them a name. Or details. Or any information. I was confused enough by what was happening without trying to answer the million questions that would inevitably come.
“We won’t judge you, Gillian. We love you and we just want to help,” Heidi began. “Does he know yet?”
Gulping at the thought of telling him, I felt the tears come again. In the past hours I had already imagined every conceivable reaction I could possibly expect from him. Everything from the overwhelmingly ecstatic—in which he would sweep me off my feet, confess his love, and the three of us lived happily ever after—to the humiliating and degrading—“It could be anyone’s. Just because I have money doesn’t mean you can pin this on me.”
When I didn’t answer or even make eye contact, Cora thankfully came to my rescue. “She doesn’t have to tell us if she doesn’t want to. When Gillian’s ready she’ll tell us what she needs us to know.” Cora reached out and squeezed my hand supportively.
“He doesn’t know and until I know for absolute for sure, no one else knows either. Okay?” I stared at each of them individually until they reluctantly nodded their heads in agreement. “And I don’t want to talk about it anymore either. Until we have to face it, this isn’t an issue.”
“Gillian…”
“I mean it, Rhiannon. We’re not discussing it.”
“Okay, okay. But I just have one favour to ask…”
Rhiannon waited. Blinking back tears, I shrugged my agreement. “Can you please go to the doctor first thing Monday? I fucking hate waiting.”
Finally, I laughed. I had something to laugh at and it felt good. “Sure, I can do that. But only for you.”
Joining in the laughter, Rhiannon sprung up from the sofa and jumped on my lap, hugging me tightly. I know she wanted to say more, but the promise she’d made, kept her quiet.
A silent tear passed over my cheeks; from now on, if the results came back the way I knew in my heart they would, I would never again have a carefree night. The moment that the double blue lines appeared on the test my life was someone else’s. I was merely the supporting cast now. As strange as it was, and although the circumstances were far from ideal, I knew I didn’t have a choice. My life now belonged to the child inside me.
Three days later I walked out of the doctor’s surgery more frustrated than when I walked in. He hadn’t done anything. He hadn’t even taken my blood pressure or checked my temperature. He had scrawled on a piece of paper and sent me to another building for a blood test. He did manage to charge me eighty dollars for the privilege.
It took almost an hour and forty-five minutes in the waiting room before I was called to a white walled room, where a surly nurse who clearly wanted to be somewhere else stabbed the needle into my elbow and filled the vials with my blood. Then came the worst part—the wait. I would know nothing more for two days. Add another two days to the three I had already spent completely terrified, and I lived almost a week with a gnawing anxiety in the pit of my stomach.
While I waited for the call which would irrevocably change my life I lived like a hermit. I never left the apartment. I didn’t answer texts or phone calls. And when Joel knocked on the door I hid behind the cupboard and pretended I wasn’t home. I needed to be alone when the call came.
Being on my own meant I had time to think about what I wanted. I’d already made the decision if I was carrying Joel’s child, I was having the baby. I couldn’t go through with an abortion even if that meant raising a child on my own. I’d tell him and then what he did, was his choice.
It was ten to five on Friday afternoon and my mobile lit up. I didn’t recognize the number, so I timidly answered. “Hello,” I squeaked, no louder than a whisper.
“Is this Gillian Dempsey?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Tayla calling, from Dr. Johnson’s office. I am calling with your test results.”
“Okay.”
“Congratulations, Gillian. It seems you are pregnant.”
“Oh.”
“Excuse me for saying this, but are you all right, Miss Dempsey?” she asked sincerely.
“Fine.”
“Okay then, I’ll let you get back to your day. You need to make an appointment to see Dr. Johnson sometime next week just to check everything is progressing normally.” She sounded sweet and concerned. I immediately pictured her as a beautiful old lady with short grey hair and soft hands.
“Okay.”
“Have a good afternoon, dear,” she sang sweetly. I heard the line go dead and realized I had given only one-word answers for the entire conversation. Although I felt guilty for being rude, the words that she’d said began to sink in. And as reality smacked me up the side of the head, panic took over.
I was pregnant. I was going to be a mum. In nine months, maybe a bit less, I would be completely responsible for another human being. A helpless, innocent child relying entirely on me to stay alive. And with those thoughts running through my head, I raced towards the bathroom and retched.
Two hours later my butt was numb from the cold tiles and my stomach was empty. I hadn’t cried, though, which surprised me. I thought I would’ve. It seemed like something I should’ve done.
I peeled myself from the bathroom floor, splashed cold water on my face, and summoned the resolve to get on with my life. I strolled determinedly to the lounge and picked up my mobile. There were already three missed calls on it from three very eager and nervous friends. They could wait.
The dial tone seemed louder than normal in my ear. “Hey,” Joel answered. “I was wondering if I’d ever hear from you again. I stopped around to see you last night but you didn’t answer.”
“Sorry, I was probably in the bath and didn’t hear you,” I lied. “So, can I see you tonight?” Although this same routine was almost normal to us now, I was still nervous. I had cramps in my stomach and I wasn’t sure if it was from the rumbling or nerves.
CHAPTER NINE
GILLIAN
SEVEN YEARS LATER
Joel wouldn’t talk to me. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Every morning we danced around each other, ignoring the elephant in the room. Things had changed for us. The life we had wasn’t what we had imagined or even planned. Granted, we didn’t really have time to even make a plan. I still felt robbed of that, but life happens.
Joel and I married when I was six months pregnant with our daughter, Charli. Joel was old- fashioned that way and he refused to bring a child into the world without a wedding ring on my finger. In all honesty, the day Joel had dropped to one knee in
the middle of a crowded restaurant I would have agreed to anything. I was uncomfortable and overly hormonal. We married in a small ceremony attended only by Joel’s parents and my girls—Heidi, Rhiannon, and Cora.
Charli was born at three a.m. on a Tuesday. Joel was by my side through the whole thing, leaving early to shower and head back to the office. Since I had moved into Joel’s house, he had started working harder and longer hours, spending more and more time at appointments and out of the house. I tried to talk to him about it but he dismissed my concerns. I was worried I’d intruded on his life and driven him out of his own home.
“Don’t be daft,” he’d counter. “It’s your home too. I’m just working really hard now before the baby comes so that when he or she arrives I can spend more time at home with you two.”
It sounded reasonable. When our baby was born, I wanted him to be there with us both, so I didn’t fight it. Then Charli was born and nothing changed. He stayed away more than he was there. So, when almost two years after the birth of Charli, we discovered I was pregnant again, surprise nearly knocked me on my arse. Joel seemed to be okay about it, although he didn’t say much.
It was a very different pregnancy than the first. I was constantly exhausted. I suppose chasing a toddler around all day didn’t help. And my back ached. Joel wasn’t as attentive as he had been with Charli, but I couldn’t fault his affection and dedication to his daughter.
He’d often sneak away from work early in the afternoon for an hour or two and come home and play with Charli. He played whatever it was that she wanted to play. Some days they watched Wiggles and other days they had tea parties with her dolls. It was the best time of the day for all of us. Charli always squealed with delight as Joel breezed through the door, Joel’s face broke out in a huge, dopey grin and I got a very welcomed rest.
Seven months later we welcomed Bianca to our family. I remember clearly the day I brought Charli home from the hospital I had been terrified. My hands trembled and I was too scared to be alone with her for the first two weeks. What if I did something to hurt her? What if I wasn’t good enough? The hardest part was I didn’t have my own mother to call and ask for advice. None of my girlfriends had kids and I was completely clueless. I was alone with my fears.
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