by Leah Ashton
He’d even brought along a couple of traffic cones, which he set up as a mock intersection.
Slowly—too slowly, according to Angus—Ivy practised starting, and stopping, and turning, and parking.
And after a lot of encouragement, going fast enough to make it into second gear.
That was met with raucous applause from the passenger seat.
When safely stopped, Ivy glared at him.
‘You’re not being particularly sensitive.’ She sniffed. ‘This is very difficult for me.’
Angus clearly knew she was being—maybe—just the slightest bit dramatic, and laughed rather dismissively.
‘There isn’t a lot of use in learning how to drive if you never go fast enough to actually get anywhere.’
Ivy glared at him. But this time, when they did a lap of the car park, she made it into third.
* * *
That afternoon, Ivy drove Angus, very cautiously, to the café where she’d met him for coffee. It felt as if it had been for ever ago, but it had only been a few weeks.
She was doing well. Really well.
A yellow square with a big black L on both the front and rear windscreen of the little Volkswagen proclaimed to all around them that Ivy was a learner driver. Although the way she crept along the street made that pretty clear, anyway.
He’d kept her on side streets, not wanting to frustrate other drivers, but now, at the café, there was only one parking space left, between two of the mammoth, European-badged SUVs that were standard for this area.
When Ivy realised this, she slowed so much that the car stalled, jolting them both forward in their seats.
‘Dammit!’ she said, smacking the steering wheel. ‘I haven’t stalled all day.’ She glanced at Angus. ‘Maybe you should park the car this time. That looks a bit tight.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Ivy Molyneux is backing down from a challenge?’
Her gaze narrowed. ‘Of course not. It’s just...’ A long pause. ‘Of course not,’ she repeated. And then restarted the car.
Just to increase the degree of difficulty, another car had driven up behind them. Unfortunately it was impossible for the driver to pass until Ivy had parked, with a concrete median strip keeping the other car immediately behind them.
Ivy had noticed, but she said nothing, her jaw clenched in concentration. The car rolled slowly forward, the indicator ticking loudly.
‘Don’t cut the corner,’ Angus said. ‘Remember to follow a wide arc, like we practised, so you are driving into the space straight.’
She nodded tightly.
She turned, but too abruptly. ‘Too close,’ Angus said, ‘reverse a bit and try again.’
Second attempt was closer, but still not quite right.
With a sigh, Ivy reversed yet again.
The other driver was losing patience, and revved his engine.
Ivy was tense. Her gaze kept flicking to her rear-view mirror.
‘Don’t worry about him,’ Angus said. ‘You’re doing fine.’
She bit down on her lip as she tried for a third time.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Now straighten up.’
And that was it. She was parked.
The impatient driver sped off behind them, wheels squealing.
Ivy calmly clicked the handbrake into place, and turned off the ignition.
‘I don’t think that guy realised what he just witnessed,’ she said.
‘Or what a momentous occasion this is.’
‘Exactly,’ she said, with a wide smile. ‘That was awesome. Let’s go have a celebratory latte.’
Ivy practically bounced out of the car.
On the footpath, she turned to face him. ‘I just drove somewhere, and parked,’ she breathed.
She stood on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his.
‘I think that deserves a celebratory kiss, too,’ she whispered.
Because he agreed—but that didn’t meet Angus’s definition of a kiss—he reached for Ivy again.
But he’d barely kissed her, when they were interrupted.
‘Eeeeeuuuuwwwwwwww! Kissing!’
They broke apart. A small boy, maybe four, stood at their feet, pointing at Angus.
‘That’s gross.’
Angus grinned.
‘Sorry, mate, but one day—’
‘Scott!’
Both Angus and the boy turned at the deep male voice.
The man, the boy’s father he assumed, was shadowed by the café awning. But he was tall, and familiar.
Angus froze.
Tom?
Then the man stepped out of the shadows, crossing the short distance to retrieve his son.
He had blond hair, like his son. It wasn’t Tom.
‘Sorry, guys,’ he said. He nodded at Scott. ‘He’s got some pretty strong opinions at the moment.’
Then they were gone, continuing their walk down the street.
‘Angus?’ Ivy asked, curiosity in her eyes.
He gave a little shake of his head, needing to refocus.
‘Do you know them?’
‘No,’ he said, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. ‘Let’s get that coffee.’
But something had shifted.
After coffee, Ivy drove them cautiously home, but for the first night that week he didn’t stay.
When he walked in his front door, before it had even slammed shut behind him, he had his phone in his hand, scrolling down his list of contacts.
If Ivy could work past her fear of driving, he could do this.
But he still paused before dialling the familiar number.
For heaven’s sake.
He could go to war without even a single bad dream, and he couldn’t make a damn phone call?
Angrily, he stabbed at the green dial icon, and pressed the phone too firmly against his ear.
It rang.
Almost immediately, it was answered.
‘Angus?’
He needed to clear his throat.
‘Tom,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
* * *
Irene Molyneux was back.
Ivy stood alone in the elevator as she travelled from the ground floor of the tower direct to her mum’s offices. No mucking around today—her first order of business was to talk to her mother.
The elevator walls were mirrored, and she stared at her own reflection.
Did she look different?
She knew about the whole pregnancy glow thing, but did it happen this early?
She was seven weeks now. Seven weeks and...two days?
Her tummy looked the same, anyway. Although that would change soon, if her appetite carried on as it had been.
She smiled. On Saturday night, she’d eaten almost an entire pizza.
Angus had seemed rather impressed. Ivy had been mildly horrified.
It had been fun, though, sitting cross-legged in front of some random Saturday night movie, eating pizza out of cardboard boxes, and garlic bread from amongst infinite layers of aluminium foil.
Ivy didn’t remember ever feeling so relaxed with her other boyfriends. Angus made her laugh so easily, and he was quick to laugh himself. He...
He’s not my boyfriend.
She dug her nails into the palms of her hands.
And, after last night’s abrupt disappearance after she’d driven them home from the café, that he’s not my boyfriend reality had only been underlined.
The elevator dinged as it came to a stop.
This wasn’t the time to be worrying about glowing, or pizza, or non-boyfriends, anyway.
The doors slid open, revealing the organised chaos of Irene’s floor.
Her hair was up, looped into a neat bun, and she wore the pearl stud earrings her mother had given her the day she started work at the family business.
She wore them to work every day, but today—as she’d pressed the backs of the earrings into place—they had felt significant.
Silly, really.
She hadn’t booked a meeting, but when her mother’s assistant immediately ushered her into her office it was clear Irene had been expecting her.
Of course she had.
In so many ways, they were so similar.
‘Ivy.’
Her mum pushed back her high-backed leather chair, stood and stepped around her desk.
Good. She hadn’t wanted to talk across that wide expanse of marri.
Because this wasn’t business. Whatever her mother might think.
‘Mum,’ she began, ignoring her mother’s gesture to take a seat. This wouldn’t take long. ‘I’m not going to apologise for being pregnant. I’m sincerely sorry for the inconvenience this will cause the company, but I’m not sorry I’ve decided to proceed with this pregnancy.’
Irene remained silent.
‘All senior executive appointments at Molyneux Mining offer three months’ full maternity pay, with the opportunity to take up to nine months’ subsequent unpaid leave with your position held for you. I see no reason why this would not apply to me.’
Still complete, unreadable silence.
Her mother’s gaze was steady, revealing nothing.
‘Given the unfortunate timing,’ Ivy continued, ‘I’d like to take only six months’ total leave. I know you only took six weeks with each of us, but I just don’t think I can do that—’
Irene’s gaze had dropped, and Ivy realised she’d laid her hands on her stomach.
Despite everything, Ivy’s mouth curved into a smile.
She always smiled, now, when she thought of her baby.
She met her mum’s gaze, trying to remember where she’d got to in her well-practised speech. But she couldn’t find those words, when she realised her mother was smiling, too.
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ Irene said. ‘Six weeks wasn’t long enough with any of you.’
Ivy blinked. ‘Pardon me?’
‘I’m comfortable maintaining my position throughout the period of your leave,’ Irene said. ‘Although I assume you will be returning full-time after that?’
The pointed question was almost reassuring—Irene was still very much her mother, not some strange transplanted alien.
Ivy nodded. ‘Yes.’
A sharp nod. ‘Good. I have heard about your plans for a nursery downstairs.’ She sniffed. ‘Such options weren’t considered thirty years ago. I’m sure you’ll find it incredibly distracting.’
Ivy opened her mouth—but was stopped with a glare.
‘Although I’m sure if anyone can juggle such an arrangement, you can.’
Ivy was so stunned, that she simply mutely nodded.
‘It occurred to me,’ Irene said, ‘on the flight home from Europe, that things have changed considerably in the past three decades. A woman in my role was unusual back then. I couldn’t afford to be the mother I wanted to be, and the businesswoman I knew I could be.’ She shrugged. ‘Life is all about choices.’
And for the first time, ever, Ivy wondered if her mother questioned hers.
‘Thank you,’ Ivy said, because it seemed like the only appropriate thing to say.
‘However,’ Irene said, marching back behind her desk. She slid open a drawer on silent runners, and emerged with a thick white envelope. ‘The circumstances of your pregnancy are less than ideal.’
She remained on the far side of the desk. The softness that had intermittently lightened her gaze had gone.
Right now, Irene Molyneux was all business.
‘I’ve had our lawyers draft a contract for your...’ she waved her hands in a dismissive gesture ‘...boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Ivy said. She wasn’t interested in pretending any more.
But Irene barely blinked.
‘Regardless, you’re not married, or known by the public or our shareholders to be in a long-term relationship. When announced, particularly given the timing, it will be clear that this pregnancy is unplanned. Which is not what the public expects of Ivy Molyneux.’
Her mum made her name sound like a brand.
‘However I feel it is somewhat realistic that you would keep a long-term relationship secretive. Hence I’d like our story to be that—’
‘No,’ Ivy said, as firmly as she’d ever said the word.
‘Pardon me?’ Irene said, her eyes narrowing.
‘There will be no contract,’ Ivy said. ‘I’m embarrassed to say that I had exactly the same plan, myself.’ She laughed dryly.
‘Mr Barlow wouldn’t sign?’
‘He never will, no matter what we offer him,’ Ivy said, ‘but that’s not the point.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Irene said. ‘Everyone has a price.’
Ivy actually snorted. ‘Angus doesn’t.’
Using his first name was a mistake.
Irene’s expression became probing.
‘You love him,’ she said, dismissively.
‘I don’t,’ Ivy said, but not quite immediately.
Love wasn’t something you were allowed to consider when your relationship was based around sex and an accidental pregnancy, was it?
She squeezed her eyes shut for a long second.
‘This isn’t about Angus,’ she said, deliberately saying his name again. ‘This is about me. I’m not prepared to lie about this, to anyone.’ She shrugged. ‘I thought like you, a few weeks ago. A few days ago, even. That this was a disaster. That this could ruin my reputation. People would lose faith in me. Our stock price would crash. Our new magnesium deal would be in jeopardy. The world would end.’
It sounded ridiculous now. Yet she’d been so earnest when she’d said it all to Angus.
‘I’m allowed to make a mistake, Mum,’ she said. ‘We’re allowed to make mistakes. Even someone like you, who never, ever does. It’s not healthy to cover everything up. To pretend we’re always perfect.’
‘Mila said you’re learning to drive,’ Irene said abruptly.
‘Yes,’ Ivy said.
‘I suppose you think I was wrong to do that.’
She meant what she’d done that night Toby had died. She didn’t need to elaborate.
‘I was protecting you,’ Irene said. ‘I knew what you were capable of. I couldn’t let you destroy your future.’
‘But I don’t think I would’ve,’ Ivy said. ‘That night changed my life. But I never got to process it like a normal person. To deal with it. I should’ve learnt that I needed to trust my instincts, to be strong, to do what I knew was right. But do you know what I learnt instead? That it’s not okay to make mistakes. Ever.’
‘I’ve never said that,’ Irene said. ‘I would never tell you that.’
Ivy shook her head sadly. ‘You didn’t have to.’
She walked towards her mother. The room was absolutely silent now, and her heels echoed loudly on the polished wooden floor.
She reached for the large white envelope, tugging it from Irene’s hands. Then turned, and dropped it into the recycling bin beside the desk.
‘Mum,’ she said. ‘I love you. Thank you for delaying the handover of Molyneux Mining to me, and for understanding my need to take maternity leave. I love Molyneux Mining, and I’m incredibly proud that you have entrusted me with it. But I need you to also trust that it’s okay that I made a mistake and I can’t fix it, or control it. That it’s okay
I had a one-night stand and ended up with a baby.’
At this, Irene sucked in a sharp breath.
Ivy smiled.
Irene didn’t. But she did speak.
‘I do trust you,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t be handing you the company, otherwise.’ Then she reached out, grabbing Ivy’s hand. ‘But please be careful.’ She met her gaze, and now it was her mum looking at her, not a powerful mining magnate. ‘I don’t know this Mr Barlow, or what type of man he is. But I do know it can be very, very difficult falling in love with the wrong man.’
‘I’m not—’ she began.
But Irene simply shook her head.
‘I need to get back to work,’ her mother said, all brisk and businesslike. ‘So do you.’
‘Of course,’ Ivy replied.
And left.
FOURTEEN
This had been a mistake.
Angus had an inkling as he opened his front door to let Ivy in.
And was absolutely sure by the time she stood in his kitchen and took in the two neat table settings at his dining table.
No, it was hardly white linen and candles—but it was a bit of an effort. Matching place mats. A jug of water. Cutlery in all the correct places.
It looked...romantic.
Which wasn’t what he’d meant.
‘Don’t freak out,’ he said, attempting to explain. ‘This is supposed to be an apology for being a bit weird yesterday after we bumped into that guy and his son. Nothing more.’
Ivy’s expression gave away little. ‘Nothing more,’ she repeated.
Great, so she understood.
Maybe.
He invited her to take a seat, anyway. She ignored the table, and slid onto one of the tall stools at the breakfast bar.
‘Is that—’ she asked, peering behind him and through the oven window ‘—lasagne?’
Angus shrugged. ‘Possibly a bad joke,’ he said. The awkwardness back at the homestead that day hadn’t been all that dissimilar to right now.
But Ivy smiled. ‘I like bad jokes,’ she said. ‘Besides, I genuinely want to try your mum’s famous lasagne.’
He grinned. As Ivy relaxed, so did the tense atmosphere.
Mostly.