by Leah Ashton
Another long, deep breath.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.
Silence.
‘I’m the father,’ Angus said, because he couldn’t let Ivy do this alone.
But Irene didn’t pay any attention to him. Instead she surged from her seat and went to one of the room’s huge windows, staring out into the night.
‘Oh, my God!’ April shrieked, clapping her hands together. ‘Ivy! That’s amazing! Congratulations!’
Ivy picked up her water glass, then put it back down again, untouched.
Mila’s reaction was more subdued. Her gaze flicked between Angus and Ivy. ‘Was this planned?’
Ivy shook her head, but didn’t seem capable of speech.
‘No,’ Angus said, unnecessarily, but needing to say something.
‘You kept this on the down low, Ivy,’ April said, indicating the two of them—and seemingly oblivious to Ivy’s discomfort. ‘When did you start going out?’ She paused, then laughed. ‘Goodness, I was so distracted at the wedding I didn’t notice anything between you. Can you believe it?’
April turned to her younger sister, but Mila was watching Ivy.
‘We’re not—’ Ivy began.
‘Going to bore you all with how we met,’ Angus finished for her.
Ivy’s eyes widened in surprise, but she didn’t correct him.
‘What will you do next year?’ Mila asked, and at her question Irene turned from the window, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
‘Yes,’ the older woman said, her gaze steely. ‘What are we going to do?’
Not ‘you’, but ‘we’.
‘Well,’ Ivy said, ‘around about July, I’ll be having a baby.’
There. There was a bit of the bite and sass he was used to.
‘Don’t be facetious, Ivy,’ Irene said. ‘I think you understand what is at stake here.’
‘Of course I understand what’s at stake here, Mum,’ Ivy said. She pushed back her chair, and stood up, gripping the edge of the table. ‘I’d like to negotiate a period of maternity leave, and a delay to me taking over your position. I do apologise for that, but it’s unavoidable.’
‘Unavoidable?’ Irene zeroed in on Angus now. ‘I have no idea who you are, but I’m sure you’ve heard of condoms?’
April and Mila both looked mildly scandalised that their mother had said condoms.
Angus leant back in his chair, deliberately relaxing his body, knowing that would infuriate Irene. He shrugged. ‘Accidents happen.’
‘They do,’ Ivy said. ‘Everyone makes mistakes sometimes.’
She glanced down at him, her lips shaping into the tiniest hint of a smile.
‘This isn’t just a mistake, Ivy! Your recklessness has ramifications for the entire company. I don’t think you do fully understand the gravity of the situation, and frankly I’m disappointed that you don’t. I—’
‘Mum,’ Ivy said, cutting her off. ‘I think you need time to digest this news. I think we should go. I’ll see you at the office, tomorrow.’
This was Angus’s cue. He casually rose to his feet, then took his time saying goodbye to Ivy’s sisters.
They didn’t rush as they left the house. Ivy just walked with purpose, without saying a word, until they stepped out onto the terraced entrance to the Molyneux mansion.
The heavy door clicked shut behind them.
‘Ivy—’
But then Ivy halted his words with her lips.
She kissed him as she hadn’t kissed him before. It was more intense, more thorough—more confident.
She wrapped her hands behind his neck, tugging him as close as possible. Her body was plastered against his, chest to breast, hip to hip.
She kissed him, and he kissed her, until they were both breathing heavily, until Angus needed to drag her to the car, and then home, as quickly as possible.
But then Ivy took a step back, and ran her hands through her hair.
‘Wow,’ she said. ‘I haven’t pashed a boy on my mum’s front doorstep before.’
Angus laughed. ‘I always knew you were a rebel.’
TWELVE
Ivy wasn’t sure how she felt.
She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel.
She hadn’t expected to feel like this.
She felt...
Okay, mostly.
Not great. But okay. She’d spent so much time imagining what it would be like to tell her mother about her pregnancy that she hadn’t really thought about what would happen after.
But she’d known it would be bad.
But it wasn’t. It was...okay.
Ivy leant back against the headrest as Angus drove her home.
‘I’m starving,’ she said. ‘I can order some takeaway when we get home if you like?’
The question sounded like something she’d say if she and Angus were the couple he’d implied they were, and inwardly Ivy cringed a little.
But although Angus slanted a look in her direction, he nodded.
‘You’re not going to faint on me before then?’ he asked.
She smiled. ‘No. I had a pretty good idea we wouldn’t be eating dinner at my mum’s, so I had a snack before we left.’
A fortifying most of a block of chocolate, actually.
But by the time Angus stopped the car at her place, the atmosphere between them had shifted.
At her mother’s house, it had seemed almost like they were a team—banded together against anything her mum could throw at them.
Afterwards, she hadn’t thought twice when she’d flung herself into Angus’s arms. It had just been the right thing to do, her way of releasing some of that tension. And, wow, it had felt good.
But really, her pregnancy announcement hadn’t solved anything. She was over the first hurdle, but there were a whole crap load of hurdles still to come.
It had felt like a victory, but really it wasn’t. Her bravado had been false.
Kind of like she and Angus were a team—but really, they weren’t.
At the front door, in the pool of porch light, she paused as she fished for her keys in her bag.
‘Why did you let my family think we were a couple?’ she asked. She sounded more defensive than she’d intended.
‘I figured it was one less thing you had to deal with tonight,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But what happens now?’
‘Nothing happens,’ he said. ‘One day you’ll just tell them we’ve broken up.’
He made it sound so easy.
She’d found her keys, and stabbed at the lock, taking a couple of goes before the key slid in.
Then she shoved the door open, her movements stiff.
‘Isn’t that what you wanted?’ Angus said, remaining on the porch while she stepped inside. ‘Even right at the beginning? A fake boyfriend, to avoid the so-called scandal?’
Ivy wasn’t sure why she was angry, but she definitely was.
‘A fake boyfriend who kisses me sometimes,’ she said.
‘You kissed me, tonight.’
‘I know,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘This is confusing.’
‘Ivy, I can’t offer you any more than—’
She held up her hands, her cheeks turning pink. ‘No. Stop. I don’t want this either, so no need to let me down gently.’
No. She’d made this mistake before, with Toby—getting caught up in attraction and hormones. Letting her emotions lead her, rather than logic and common sense. A relationship with Angus was not a good idea. The way she lost control around him... No. She couldn’t risk losing herself in some crazy idea about love, again.
But still...even if allowing anything serious—if allowing the hint of love—was not acceptab
le, maybe there was still an alternative?
‘Maybe what I want,’ Ivy began, searching for what she was trying to say, ‘is a fake boyfriend, with benefits.’
A way to, once and for all, sate this thing between them. To get it over with. But with no false expectations. No risk.
There was a long, long pause.
‘A fake girlfriend, with benefits,’ Angus said, as if testing the concept out on his tongue. His grin was wicked. ‘I think I can work with that.’
This time, Angus kissed her.
And Ivy kissed him right back.
* * *
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Ivy was late to work on Monday. She’d had no excuse—Angus had left before dawn for the barracks as he was back at work now that his wrist was fully healed. He’d woken her when he’d left, and kissed her gently on the forehead.
Not long after, her alarm had gone off.
But she hadn’t been ready to get up yet, so she simply hadn’t. She’d curled up beneath her doona and fallen asleep to the vague idea that she should probably reset her alarm—and fortunately the arrival of her driver at seven-thirty had later served as a sufficient alarm replacement.
In the end, she wasn’t that late, not really. It wasn’t even nine a.m., but even so her staff seemed not quite to know what to do with her.
Ivy didn’t know quite what to do, either.
She wasn’t as bothered by her lateness as she would’ve liked, which concerned her a little.
But then, today she was doing all sorts of unfamiliar things—confronting her mother being number one on that list. So yes, maybe tardiness was the least of her worries.
Later that morning, Ivy took the lift to her mother’s office.
It was on the very top floor, a floor above Ivy’s offices, and was a hive of activity. Ivy weaved her way past the network of open-plan workstations and glass-walled meeting rooms to reach Irene’s suite, separated from the rest of the floor by heavy, jarrah doors.
But her mother’s assistant looked confused by Ivy’s appearance.
‘I have a meeting booked with Irene,’ Ivy said.
Theresa shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, ‘Irene has cancelled all her meetings for the rest of the week. She’s flown to a conference in Berlin.’
‘Oh,’ said Ivy. ‘Of course!’ She shook her head, as if she’d just made a silly mistake.
But this had never happened before.
Ivy would never have described her relationship with her mother as perfect.
For all they were the same, they were also very different—despite her mother’s insistence that Ivy was just like her.
But in business, they were in sync. Together they’d run Molyneux Mining for nearly a decade, with Ivy’s role growing year by year.
The conference in Berlin did exist, but they’d decided, together, that another senior executive could attend in their place.
Irene’s sudden change of mind was not a business decision.
It was extremely personal.
For all her bravado last night in the face of her mother’s disappointment, it had been incredibly hard for Ivy.
But, she realised now, some part of her had hoped for something different today. That after a night to sleep on Ivy’s revelation, Irene’s reaction would be different.
After all, Irene had three children—surely she should understand?
Surely some part of her would be excited to meet her first grandchild? Just as April had said?
But no.
Ivy had, for the first time in her life, put her own needs ahead of Molyneux Mining.
Her mother didn’t like it. She would never like it.
And that hurt.
* * *
‘You’re counting again,’ Angus said.
Ivy’s gaze shot up to tangle with his, her lips now pressed firmly together.
Then she sighed. ‘I do that sometimes. Despite my best efforts.’
They walked together from the car park to the front of the nursing home.
‘Nerves,’ she continued. ‘Stupid nerves. I used to do it all the time, and I thought I’d grown out of it, but apparently not.’ A pause, then a pointed look. ‘I blame you.’
‘Me?’ he asked, innocently. ‘I don’t make you nervous. Hot and bothered, maybe?’
She glared at him.
‘But you don’t need to be nervous tonight. My mum will love you.’
‘And that’s the problem,’ she said. ‘I always know I shouldn’t be nervous. That’s the frustrating thing.’
They stood outside the glass door of Reception. Ivy rolled her shoulders a few times, and took a deep breath.
She was still dressed for work, in fitted trousers and a spotted silky blouse.
Angus leant close. ‘You look gorgeous. You won’t say the wrong thing. And if you do, don’t worry—she probably won’t remember anyway.’
Ivy’s jaw dropped open. ‘Isn’t that in terribly bad taste?’
Angus grinned. ‘Trust me, my mum would’ve been the first to make that joke. Come on, let’s do this. I promise my mum won’t bite.’
The nursing home was a small, boutique facility, made up of a collection of detached villas and a larger single-level building for the high-dependency patients, like his mum. Once through Reception, Angus led Ivy through the communal living and dining rooms to his mum’s room. It was spacious, like a generous hotel room, with a bed, a small seating area, and a separate en-suite bathroom.
His mum sat on the couch, watching the ABC news.
‘Angus!’ she said, smiling at him as they entered the room.
This was a good start. On the very worst days—for both of them—Angus needed to remind her who he was.
‘Mum,’ he said, ‘this is my friend, Ivy Molyneux. Ivy, this is my mum, Hillary.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ Ivy said. She held out her hand, which Hillary shook firmly.
Hillary glanced between the two of them. ‘And?’
‘We have some news,’ Angus said. ‘Can we grab a drink, first?’
Soon they were all settled with cups of tea, seated around the small coffee table.
Ivy was fidgeting. Subtly—by twisting her fingers in her lap—but fidgeting none the less. It made Angus smile.
Such a powerful, polished, woman.
Yet so...Ivy.
‘So, Mum,’ Angus said. ‘Ivy and I are having a baby.’
Ivy’s eyes widened, as did Hillary’s.
Then his mum’s eyes squeezed shut. The older woman twisted to face Ivy. ‘I’ve forgotten you, haven’t I?’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. I do that a lot, now.’
‘Oh, no!’ Ivy said. ‘You haven’t met me before.’ When Hillary raised an eyebrow, she added, ‘I promise.’
Hillary’s gaze zipped back to Angus. ‘I feel I’ve missed something here.’
Angus smiled, and then—briefly, and significantly censored—told his mother how he and Ivy had met.
She smiled, and nodded, as he spoke.
Angus was relieved. He’d asked Ivy to come tonight because when he’d called the nursing home earlier, he’d been told his mum was having a good day. But that was never a guarantee.
And it was important to him that Ivy met his mum. Stupid really, but somehow, given he was beside her when she told her family, he felt it should be the same with his.
His mum would never be as she had been—the woman who would’ve put Ivy instantly at ease and talked her ear off about all manner of random things.
But at least tonight she was a reasonable-strength version of his mum—not a version so diluted by dementia that he felt as if he was interacting with the disease, and not the mother he loved.
Now Hillary asked Ivy a bi
t about herself, but Ivy was talking too much, and over-explaining. Not Ivy’s fault—he should’ve warned her—but he saw Hillary’s eyes lose focus as all the words began to overwhelm her.
Ivy noticed too, and her sentence trickled out to nothing.
She looked stricken, and Angus reached out to squeeze her hand briefly. ‘You’re doing good,’ he said, softly.
Then he asked his mum about her day. Hillary launched into a detailed explanation, which might have been a true reflection of today, or an amalgamation of the last week or month—or have never happened at all—but regardless, his mum was animated again, her eyes full of life.
Ivy slowly began to relax back into her chair, her tea cradled in her hands.
‘How is Scott?’ Hillary asked Ivy, suddenly.
Ivy’s body instantly stiffened, and her gaze flicked to Angus.
‘Pardon me?’
‘Scott is Carise and Tom’s son,’ Angus said. ‘This is Ivy.’
But his mum shook her head firmly. ‘No, no. I remember her. Long brown hair. Pretty blue eyes. Baby boy with a pink blanket because she believed in gender neutrality in colour schemes.’
This was the frustrating, awful bit. That a snippet of conversation from years ago could be remembered, but not the person his mother was talking to right now.
Ivy leant forward, placing her teacup carefully back in its saucer. ‘My name’s Ivy,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a baby yet. But when I do, we’ll bring him or her to visit you.’
Another agitated shake of the head. ‘No,’ Hillary said. ‘I haven’t forgotten. I saw the wedding photos. Your husband is very, very handsome. Almost as handsome as my son.’ She paused, looking thoughtful. ‘But he got sick, didn’t he?’ Hillary balled up her fists, rubbing them into her eyes. ‘Why can’t I remember?’
‘Mum,’ Angus said gently, ‘it doesn’t matter.’
His mum turned back to Ivy. ‘So, Carise, how is Scott?’
Ivy sent Angus another panicked glance. ‘I’m not—’
‘Scott is well,’ Angus interrupted. ‘He’s walking now! Getting into everything. Tom is having to baby proof everything.’ He forced a laugh. ‘I guess I’ll find out all about that soon enough.’
Hillary blinked. ‘What do you mean?’