The Sister's Gift

by Barbara Hannay

  Of course, Seb would be even less impressed by this ignoble motive. In fact, it was pretty damn obvious he wasn’t nearly as interested as she was in retracing their past. He was prepared to be pleasant, to offer her coffee or a snack, but he saw no value in conducting a post-mortem. And perhaps that was wise.

  Freya finished her coffee and set the mug aside. ‘I should be going,’ she said. ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘And I’m sorry . . .’ She gave an awkward little shrug. ‘You know – about dragging up ancient history.’

  Seb’s response was an impatient nod. ‘Yeah, we really don’t need to go there.’

  ‘No,’ she said, unhappily.

  And then, as if he needed to make his point clear, ‘I’m cool, Freya. It’s great to see you again, to know that you’re fine, but I’m very happy with my life and I don’t have regrets.’

  ‘No. No, of course you don’t.’

  ‘And I’d like to keep it that way.’

  ‘Yes, that’s – that’s – very sensible.’ He was brushing her off, gently, but unmistakably. Utterly chastened, Freya discovered she was hurting in ways she’d never imagined. ‘I – I didn’t mean to —’ But what could she say? Honestly? While her feelings for this man and the ramifications of her decision had continued to flow on like a river into tributaries with unexpected turns, Seb had left her far behind long ago.

  Her sentence remained unfinished, but as she stood to leave, she managed, with significant difficulty, to offer him a smile. She hoped it was convincing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  This was it. D-day for Billie. She couldn’t put off the phone call to Petros any longer. Her pregnancy would soon be obvious, word would spread and even though the news was unlikely to reach Santorini, Billie had learned from her stuff-up with Dan and Molly that no one benefited when vital communication was delayed.

  She had felt terrible, witnessing Dan’s retreat, seeing the warmth in his brown eyes replaced by confusion and then by a disinterest that bordered on contempt.

  As for poor Molly, the little girl certainly hadn’t understood why her father had become suddenly sharp with her.

  ‘But, Daddy, we can’t leave yet. Billie’s going to show me the bay where the seahorses swim.’

  ‘I can show you,’ Dan had insisted.

  Billie had attempted to ease the situation. ‘I don’t think you’d actually be able to see the seahorses in the ocean, Molly.’

  ‘No,’ Dan said. ‘Seahorses can be quite deceptive.’ He’d shot an accusing look in Billie’s direction as he said this and while she might have tried to apologise, tried to explain, she could see he was too pissed off to listen.

  He’d just wanted out of there.

  Which was fair enough, but it meant that Dan still didn’t know the true story about Petros. He assumed that her baby’s father would soon return to her, and the stupid thing was, she hadn’t meant to mislead him. She’d got herself in a bind, all because she’d delayed the damn phone call to Greece.

  So now, Billie was determined. She drove to Horseshoe Bay on the far side of the island, keen for total privacy when she made this call. The road wound around and over the headlands, offering teasing vistas of brilliant blue sea and curving beaches below before it slipped back down from the hills to the wide, aptly named, horseshoe-shaped bay, which was now drowsing in afternoon sunlight.

  Throughout the drive, she found it hard not to think about Santorini and the fun of warm nights at a taverna on the water’s edge, sharing a bottle of wine, a plate of dolmades or fried tomato fritters. Picnicking on clifftops, hiking along the picturesque caldera, swimming in the Aegean. Not to mention the long blissful nights of making love.

  Don’t think about that now, Billie warned herself. And she wouldn’t allow herself to imagine the many ways Petros might react to her news. She knew it was unrealistic to expect him to be pleased. After all, he’d initiated their breakup and had made no attempt to contact her since she’d left Santorini. Just the same, she couldn’t damp down a tiny flame of hope.

  As soon as she’d parked her car, she found a perch on a smooth boulder with a view out over the serene tropical waters and tried to ignore her thumping heartbeats as she coded in Petros’s number. Greece was eight hours behind Queensland time and she’d chosen late afternoon as the best chance to catch him.

  At least he answered quite promptly . . .

  ‘Ya!’

  Billie’s throat was instantly sore and tight and she had to swallow. ‘Hi, Petros, how – how are you?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘It’s me. Billie.’

  ‘Oh, hi.’

  ‘How are you?’ she asked again.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks. Rather busy,’ he added in his careful English.

  ‘Sorry if I’ve caught you at a bad time.’ She wondered why on earth she was apologising. ‘I won’t keep you long. But I have some news. Something I need to tell you.’

  She hesitated then, hoping for an encouraging hint of interest, but Petros made no comment. Swallowing again, she said, ‘I’m pregnant, Petros. I’m having your baby.’

  This momentous delivery was met by unsettling silence.

  Billie held her breath and stared resolutely out to sea where a handful of yachts bobbed at their moorings. Beyond them, an empty ocean stretched, silent and still to the horizon.

  Finally, Petros spoke. ‘You can’t be serious?’

  For pity’s sake. Why would she make this excruciating overseas phone call if she wasn’t desperately serious? At least his response swept aside any lingering sentimentality that might have otherwise swamped her, and she refused to grace his dumb question with an answer.

  ‘Are you sure it’s mine?’ he asked next.

  God, the man was so self-centred and insensitive, Billie wanted to scream.

  ‘Yes, Petros,’ she said. ‘I’m absolutely, one hundred percent certain this baby is yours, but you can have a DNA test, if you like.’

  ‘No, no,’ he said quickly, as if it might have dawned on him that he’d annoyed her. ‘That’s not necessary. I believe you.’

  At this, despite all evidence to the contrary, Billie couldn’t quell a foolish flicker of wishful thinking.

  ‘But I need to explain something,’ Petros added. ‘I can’t possibly marry you, or care for your child.’

  Your child. With just those two words, he made his message painfully clear and Billie finally let go of a deeply suppressed and impossible hope.

  Now, as tears flooded her eyes, she hugged her rounded tummy. Her baby was never going to know its father. Petros would never smile at her little one the way Dan Dexter smiled at Molly.

  Sitting there, on a bare rock, looking out at an almost empty sea, she’d never felt so very alone. ‘I – I see,’ she managed.

  ‘I am already engaged to be married,’ Petros continued. ‘The wedding is next month.’

  Next month? Next? Freaking? Month?

  This time Billie almost dropped the phone. ‘But – but it’s only a few months since we —’

  Petros interrupted her. ‘This arrangement – it was made a long time ago.’

  ‘Arrangement?’ Was he committed to some kind of family-arranged marriage? ‘Are you telling me that you’ve always known about this? You were engaged even before we met?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied with an air of impatience.

  Oh, God. How stupid had she been? And how the hell could she have been crazily in love with this guy? With this egotistical, two-timing, too handsome prick?

  Billie was tempted to hurl her phone into the ocean, except that she’d be the only one who would suffer.

  Promptly, she disconnected, without even bothering to say goodbye. Swiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands, she sat there for ages, teeth firmly gritted, staring at the cloudless pale sky, letting the truth of Petros’s message sink in.

  So. Now she knew. Now she couldn’t avoid the glaringly obvious. Despite h
is murmurings of affection, Petros had never let her into his heart. She’d never been more than a holiday fling.

  And caring for this baby was entirely up to her. Her pickle.

  She might have felt scared, overwhelmed, but as she gave her tummy another rub, she felt an answering tiny kick and, amazingly, was aware of an inrush of strength, a dawning sense of power. Stuff Petros. She knew she could let him go now, not merely because she had no choice, but because she was bloody well good enough without him.

  ‘We’re gonna be okay, little one,’ she said, and she even managed to smile. ‘You might be my little Pickle, but I reckon we’ve got this covered, you and me.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Freya finished watering Pearl’s pot plants, wiped a few drops from the timber floor and allowed herself a small, bored sigh. The three plants needed next to no attention. They offered no wilting leaves to trim, no curling tendrils to rearrange. No flowers to admire. They didn’t even present any colour variegation. They were so plain-green and ordinary they might as well be plastic, which was, possibly, the reason Pearl liked them.

  It was silly to mind, Freya knew, but she’d been in a bit of a slump the last week or so. She wasn’t sure why. She had plenty to keep herself occupied, what with the bookkeeping and managing the orders, as well as continuing to make the restaurant’s desserts. She seemed to have this extra task under control, though, and today she’d made another big tiramisu, which was always popular, while there was still half a lemon curd cheesecake in the fridge at the restaurant.

  Returning to the kitchen, she was stacking the utensils she’d finished with into the dishwasher just as Billie came in, carrying a basket of washing fresh from the clothesline. This, Billie deposited on an end of the bench and then went to the sink to help herself to a glass of water.

  ‘Warming up outside,’ she commented before tipping her head back and drinking the glassful in greedy gulps.

  ‘Yes,’ Freya agreed. ‘I think winter’s well and truly behind us.’

  Billie laughed. ‘All three days of it.’

  This was almost accurate. Winters in the north were so mild, Freya had rarely needed so much as a cardigan. She smiled at Billie now, aware of the warm glow she often felt in the girl’s company.

  Freya would never admit it to anyone, because it wasn’t the right way to think – and it was also the very mindset that Pearl had always feared – but she did feel a measure of possessiveness towards Billie. And she was entitled to, surely?

  She hadn’t simply given up her womb for a baby’s gestation. She’d given up nine months of her life, nine alcohol-free months at that, as well as the man she loved. So surely she’d earned at least a small sense of ownership? Crikey, you could own a square foot of a Scottish island simply by buying a particular brand of whisky. On that basis, Brian owned several square feet of the Isle of Islay and he had the certificates to prove it.

  These were not helpful thoughts, though, and Freya knew she was unwise to dwell on them.

  ‘By the way,’ Billie said, inadvertently providing a digression as she set the glass back in the sink. ‘I rang Petros yesterday afternoon.’

  She seemed quite calm as she said this, but Freya knew the girl must have been nervous. The conversation couldn’t have been an easy one and there’d been no mention of it at breakfast.

  ‘How did Petros take your news?’ she asked carefully.

  Billie’s response was an elaborate eye-roll. ‘Like a gold-plated arsehole, to be honest.’

  ‘Oh, Billie.’ Freya was sure the girl must have been devastated, although she had to admit she looked more angry than upset.

  ‘I’m actually okay about it,’ Billie said. ‘Maybe it was the kind of closure I needed, but I’m over him now. Well and truly.’

  Remembering how deeply distressed Billie had been, Freya very much doubted this quick turnaround, although her niece certainly looked quite composed.

  ‘You won’t believe this, Freya.’ Billie’s lovely blue eyes were lit by a new intensity as she perched on a kitchen stool and leaned forward with folded arms resting on the bench.

  ‘I’m all ears,’ Freya said.

  ‘Petros had the hide to tell me he’s engaged and getting married next month.’

  Freya stared at her, appalled. ‘Next month?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Billie. ‘Charming news, isn’t it? And he’s been planning to marry this other girl all along. I think it’s some kind of stupid family arrangement.’

  ‘Bloody hell.’ Freya gaped at her. ‘And he’d never seen a reason to tell you this?’

  ‘That, my dear aunt, is a very good point, but I didn’t bother to question him. I hung up on the prick.’

  Despite the hard edge in Billie’s tone, Freya knew she must be hurting. She wanted to take Billie in her arms, to tell her that while the pain of rejection might never really leave her, it was survivable. She knew that for a fact, had lived with it forever.

  Carefully, she said, ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Billie.’

  ‘Thanks. But I’ll live. I had a good talk to Seb last night, which helped.’

  ‘With Seb?’ Freya echoed faintly. She wasn’t quite ready for this surprise, or for the small stab of jealousy that came with the knowledge that Billie had turned to Seb first.

  If Freya was honest, though, the downward slump in her mood lately had come after Seb’s gentle but unmissable brush-off. Since then she’d spent far too much time coming to terms with the fact that her hopes regarding him had been unreasonable, a pathetic case of self-deception. There would be no rekindling of their youthful romance.

  ‘Yeah,’ Billie was saying. ‘I decided I should tell Seb I’m pregnant. It made sense, seeing that we work together so much of the time.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘I’d just come back from talking to Petros and as soon as I told Seb about the baby, the rest of the story just kind of tumbled out.’

  Freya nodded, imagining the exchange and trying not to mind that Billie had not confided in her first. ‘I suppose you shocked Seb,’ she said.

  ‘He was so kind, Freya. Pretty amazing, really. He made me a special caramel latte, cos I told him I’m avoiding caffeine, and we sat down and had a lovely, long chat.’

  ‘How – nice.’

  ‘Yeah, it was great. We talked about everything – how shitty life can be, and how it’s not about the cards you’re dealt, but the way you play your hand.’

  ‘Did Seb tell you that?’

  ‘More or less. I was surprised, too.’ Billie was grinning now, no doubt enjoying her private knowledge and Freya’s incredulity. ‘And we even talked about being a single mum.’

  ‘Really?’ Freya supposed she shouldn’t have been shocked. She knew Billie and Seb had developed a friendly working relationship, but she’d never pictured Seb in any kind of counselling role. ‘So what kind of advice did he give you?’ She hoped she didn’t sound too desperately curious.

  ‘Oh, it wasn’t advice exactly. More of a helpful chat. About his dad dying in the Vietnam War and how his mum brought him up on her own. I mean, I sort of knew about Elise Hudson, living here on the island, and about her art and everything. But Seb talked about how strong she was and what a good time he had growing up with her. Just the two of them. Living here on the island helped, I think. Their lifestyle was simple, but Seb made it sound like so much fun and I found the whole story quite inspiring.’

  ‘Well, yes, I’m sure you must have. That’s – lovely.’ Freya could imagine the idyllic picture of his childhood that Seb might have painted, and she supposed it was sensible to give Billie positive scenarios. ‘And your grandmother Ruby was a single mum, too, for many years,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Billie’s eyes widened with gratifying pleasure. ‘I’d totally forgotten that Granny used to be single. How cool! You and mum had no dad either and you turned out all right.’

  Freya knew this was not the moment to mention the years of poverty, of living in van parks, of surviving on tinned fis
h and baked beans and wearing charity-bin clothes. To this day, Freya couldn’t eat sardines. She offered her niece her warmest smile. ‘I know you’re going to be a wonderful mum, Billie. Your baby’s lucky.’

  Billie smiled back at her and drew a deep breath, as if she was drinking the praise in, letting it settle inside her. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘And, of course,’ Freya added, feeling so much better now, ‘You don’t need to stay single forever.’

  This time Billie’s smile turned wry as she patted her swelling belly. ‘Well, I won’t be picking up any hot guys in the foreseeable future.’

  ‘You just never know,’ said Freya, who thought that Billie looked perfectly lovely right now, in denim shorts and a baggy white T-shirt, with her long tawny hair left loose and windblown.

  ‘Anyway,’ the girl said, moving back to the washing basket and extracting tea towels, which she proceeded to fold, ‘I’m starting to feel a whole lot happier about the situation.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Freya. ‘I’m proud of you.’

  As Billie began on the bathroom towels, folding them carefully into thirds, no doubt the way her mother had taught her, Freya wished she could also offer a few final words of wisdom. She would have liked to produce something pithy like Seb’s bar-room philosophy about playing the cards you’re dealt.

  Nothing came to mind, however, and she found herself turning instead to her own recent difficulties after the fire and the wonderful support she’d received from Daisy and Jo.

  ‘You’ll probably find it important to stay connected with your friends,’ she suggested. ‘Especially if you have friends who are mums, even if they’re married.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Billie gave a thoughtful nod. ‘But I’m afraid most of my friends have left the island.’

  ‘So you think you’ll stay here?’

  ‘I think so. For the moment at least. It seems to make sense.’

  ‘Well, your parents will certainly be pleased and they’ll be doting grandparents.’

  Billie grinned. ‘Oh, my God, ain’t that the truth?’ As she said this, she pulled an awkward face. ‘And that’s the other phone call I’m going to have to make very soon.’