In Bed with Her Ex

by Lucy Gordon

  No. Banksia Bay knew everything there was to know about its own, and Blake no longer belonged. His aunt had scorned the town, and when Blake left that was the end.

  She read on, her head spinning as she flicked through screens of information.

  He’d headed to Africa almost as soon as he’d finished his specialist training. His work there was groundbreaking.

  He’d said he worked overseas. But … Africa? All this time …

  ‘I guess you know all about me now, too,’ Blake said from behind her and she froze. She didn’t turn. To say she was dumbfounded would be an understatement.

  ‘Africa,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s where I keep my harem. Stocked by my white slave traders.’

  She managed a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. This was too astounding for humour.

  ‘You work for charity,’ she said, finally spinning to face him.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You’re not rich.’ It was … an accusation?

  ‘I am,’ he said diffidently. ‘My family made a fortune in tin mining—I still own shares. My great-aunt had extravagant taste in home renovation but for the rest she was miserly. My parents died before they could spend their inheritance. I can afford to pay for a dog and a bit of tree clearing.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said, thoroughly confused. ‘I thought you studied medicine to make money.’

  ‘Why would I do that, when I already have far more than I need?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said miserably. ‘How would I know? Blake, why?’

  The question was almost a wail.

  ‘Does there have to be a why?’

  ‘Yes,’ she managed. ‘There does. I thought I knew all about you. Then I thought I didn’t know anything. Now …’ She shook her head. ‘Sorry. It has nothing to do with me, what you do. I don’t have the right to ask.’

  She closed her eyes. She counted to ten because she didn’t know what else to do.

  Opened them. Thought of a long-ago question.

  Asked it.

  ‘Who’s Robbie?’

  The question hung.

  Robbie.

  ‘Why—’ he found it hard to speak ‘—why do you ask?’

  There was a long silence. The question hung.

  And then she told him, ‘There was someone called Robbie.’ It was a statement, not a question, and it left him winded.

  There was someone called Robbie.

  Not according to his parents. Or his great-aunt. No one.

  There was someone called Robbie.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘It’s the only thing I’ve been able to think of,’ she said, sounding unsure. ‘When you left … I thought I knew everything about you, my best of friends. But that last night … You were so excited about leaving, about studying medicine. But you’d never said what you wanted to do until then. It was like there was some part of you you’d kept hidden. I couldn’t figure it out, but after you’d gone and I was trying to make sense of it … Robbie was the one thing I couldn’t ask about. He was the one thing I didn’t know.’

  He tried to think of something to say. He couldn’t.

  ‘How …?’ he managed again at last.

  ‘When we camped out in the tent on the back lawn,’ she said diffidently. Unsure. ‘As kids. You cried out in your sleep. Nightmares. Stuff like “Robbie I can’t … Robbie, don’t …” I got Mum and she brought us both inside and cuddled you back to sleep. Then, another time when you were sleeping over, I heard you crying, “Robbie, Robbie”, and I knew Mum went up to you. I asked you once, “Who’s Robbie?” and you said no one. I asked Mum, and she said kids who lived alone often have friends in their head. She said if you didn’t want to tell us then I wasn’t to ask. But I thought … Whenever you had the dream … you sounded terrified. I heard Mum tell Dad once, “That boy has demons”. For some reason when you left I thought … I thought the demons might be Robbie.’

  Robbie.

  For all these years he’d done what his father told him.

  ‘Don’t tell people about your brother. It makes your mother ill.’

  And then, when he couldn’t stop crying, he’d been packed off to Australia, to an aunt who barely said Blake’s name, much less his twin’s.

  Robbie …

  The sound of Mardie saying it was a release all by itself.

  The demons might be Robbie. It was suddenly unbearable that she thought that a moment longer.

  ‘Robbie was my brother,’ he said, and the words sounded strange, as if they were coming from some dark recess that had been locked for years. They were.

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘My twin.’

  She was on the swivelling computer chair. The chair wasn’t moving. She was totally motionless, her eyes not leaving his. Trying to read him.

  ‘He died?’

  ‘Before I came here.’

  ‘How old?’ It was scarcely a whisper.

  ‘When I was … when we were seven. We were living in a beachside mansion in California. My mother’s birthday. A party, so many people. It was hot, we couldn’t sleep so we decide to go for a swim.’

  ‘Night?’ she whispered.

  ‘Midnight. It was a stupid time to go for a swim, but there was so much noise …’

  ‘Your parents let you go for a swim at midnight?’

  ‘They didn’t know. We were supposed to be sleeping, but it was hot. And the nanny …’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know where she was. Anyway, we crept down the back stairs. The noise … I remember one woman was laughing like a hyena. Robbie copied her. He was giggling.’ He paused. ‘And then he dived into the pool, into the shallow end. His neck …’

  He broke off. How to go further? He couldn’t. Even to Mardie.

  ‘Enough,’ he said. ‘It’s ancient history. My parents never talked of him, didn’t want me to talk of him. My aunt didn’t speak of him either. That was fine by me. It hurt, so I didn’t. But it seemed … When I got into medicine …’

  ‘You did that for Robbie?’

  ‘I did it for me,’ he said savagely. ‘To stop the hurting. I thought … if I could help kids …’ He raked his hair. ‘Sorry. I’m not going to burden you. Robbie’s my shadow, and he’s always with me. Working in Africa helps, makes up in some way for Robbie having a life. I know now that trying to forget him made it worse. It seemed a betrayal but I had no choice. I was a kid and decisions were made for me that were bad. I’ve moved on. Or maybe I’m still moving on.’ He hesitated, regrouped, somehow hauled his thoughts back to now. ‘Can I smell fish?’

  ‘Tuna,’ she said, looking stunned.

  ‘Tuna bake?’

  ‘Y … yes.’

  ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘My favourite.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘I don’t lie,’ he said and then he smiled. ‘Okay, maybe I’m stretching the truth a little when it comes to tuna bake. How long is it that it’s been frozen?’

  They ate dinner in near silence. Tuna bake. What’s not to like? Mardie thought, though maybe it was time she did a bit of freezer-clearing. Time had made the noodles crystallise, and even though they’d reheated looking fine, they tasted … well, cardboard might be a good way to describe them.

  Even Bounce and Bessie seemed a bit dubious.

  Thinking about clearing freezers was okay. Thinking about dogs was okay, too. If she thought about a seven-year-old called Robbie, her head might explode.

  ‘You know, I reckon the dogs need to get used to these tuna bakes,’ Blake said as he helped her clear. ‘How many more do you have?’

  She smiled, but absently, circling the subject of Robbie. Knowing she should go back to him. Thinking she couldn’t.

  She was feeling as if this man beside her was suddenly who she’d thought he was—a part of her. It was a dumb feeling, but there it was.

  Blake … How she’d felt … How she was feeling … It was muddling into emotional turmoil.

 
; She wanted to put her arms around him and hug him.

  She wanted …

  No.

  ‘The internet said you’re in Australia fund-raising,’ she managed at last, cautiously.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When are you going back?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You’re not …?’

  ‘Is there anything else that needs doing? If not, I should get some work done before bed.’

  She was finding it hard to speak. She’d known this man so well, once upon a time. How strange that Robbie, Africa, these two great unknowns about him, were making her feel that, at some deep level, he was still … hers?

  He’d always kept his inner thoughts to himself, but she’d guessed stuff. She’d even guessed that someone called Robbie was important, but she’d accepted her mother’s explanation.

  And when he’d left? Hormones had messed with how she’d reacted, she thought. She’d been too busy seeing her needs, her loss, that she hadn’t begun to probe what he needed.

  Okay. She attempted an inner regroup. She did know this man. Pressing him for answers would never work. She needed to come at him sideways.

  He’d asked her if anything needed doing. She met his gaze then, and for the first time she really looked at him. Really saw him. She was looking for the boy behind the man, the Blake she knew. She’d been disconcerted by his size, his deep, sexy voice, his dinner suit, his crashed Mercedes.

  Now she just saw Blake.

  And she saw the strain. Something lost. Something more than a long-ago grief.

  He’d tell her in time, she thought. If she could regain a little of what was lost.

  Okay, moving sideways … She looked down at her feet to where two dogs were slumped side by side. Alternate universe. Dogs.

  ‘Bessie smells,’ she said.

  Blake looked startled. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘She’s been lost for a week. Before that she was in the pound. Tomorrow we’re taking her to Sydney. My truck’s a four-seater so she can sit in the back with Bounce, but it’s going to be a pretty pongy journey.’ She managed a grin. ‘If it was Bounce I’d wait until a warm day and put the hose on him. Bessie, though, needs tenderness. That means warm water in the tub in the wash-house, towels and my hairdryer. You just asked if you could help. Here’s your answer. I’m not sure how Bessie feels about personal hygiene but if she’s anything like Bounce, heaven help us both. You hold and I’ll wash. Let’s go.’

  The wash-house was a lean-to bathroom-cum-laundry at the back of the house. The bath was huge.

  Mardie filled the bath, and Blake tried lifting Bessie in.

  A lot of farmers never washed their dogs. They either made them stay outside or in some cases they were so used to smell-of-dog in their living room they didn’t notice. Fleas were dealt with by dumping the dogs in the sheep dip.

  Maybe that was all Bessie had known. It was certainly all she wanted to know. When Blake lowered her into the water she responded as if this was death-by-drowning.

  ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ Mardie said, frantically soothing, but frantic and soothing didn’t go together. Bessie opted simply for frantic. She lurched upwards, managed to get her paws onto Blake’s shoulders and heaved.

  Blake was suddenly prone, backwards on the floor, with sodden collie all over him.

  Mardie tried hard to keep a straight face.

  She failed.

  ‘Oh, dear …’ she said, convulsing.

  ‘You try,’ Blake said, staggering upright. Glowering. Dripping.

  Mardie grinned. Excellent. Blake might be a highly trained eye surgeon, but this was her territory. She could wrangle a ram if she must. A gentle collie …

  Nothing to it.

  There was, actually, something to it. She ended up as soaked as Blake, but pride was at stake, and Bessie stayed put.

  ‘Shampoo,’ she said bracingly to Blake. ‘You soap her.’

  ‘I’m wet enough.’

  ‘Wet doesn’t stop the smell. Pull yourself together. A bit of willpower.’

  ‘Right,’ he said and staggered back to the fray. Laughing.

  Things had changed. Something about wetness and laughter and a shared challenge. The tension of the past few hours peeled away.

  Blake and Mardie and a dog. Two dogs, for Bounce was cautiously out of range, anxiously supervising as his new love was turned into a sudsy mop.

  Things were suddenly okay again. Or more okay than they’d been.

  They were back to …

  Friends?

  By now Bessie had figured they weren’t trying to drown her. She’d figured suds meant no harm. So she settled. Except for the shaking.

  She wasn’t shaking from terror. She was shaking as an intelligent dog got rid of water. No matter how hard Mardie held, she sent suds flying all the way to Bounce at the door.

  Blake was doing his best to massage the suds. Every time she shook he got coated.

  Every time she shook Mardie subsided into giggles.

  ‘It’s fine for you; you have a change of clothes,’ Blake retorted, massaging on with grim determination.

  ‘I have a clothes dryer,’ she said. ‘It’s not great for dinner suits but it’s fine for work gear. You can go back into the bathrobe while I clean your clothes.’

  ‘Domesticity at its finest,’ he said dryly—and then chuckled.

  She loved his chuckle. She loved … She loved …

  Bessie chose that moment to shake again, which was just as well. Because suddenly Mardie wasn’t sure what she loved.

  Or where the boundaries were.

  The boundaries were deeply scary.

  They dried Bessie as best they could in the sodden bathroom, then took her into the living room. They towelled her in front of the fire and Mardie fetched her hairdryer.

  There was a moment’s alarm from Bessie; hairdryers were also something she’d never met. But the warmth of the fire, Mardie’s reassurances, Bounce’s presence—Bounce knew what a hairdryer was and was intent on sharing the hot air himself—was enough to make her relax.

  Mardie and Blake were wet but the room was warm, and what was a little damp between friends? They sat by the fire, with Bessie draped over their knees, Mardie drying and combing, and Blake cutting tangles.

  They worked in silence, but the silence wasn’t tense. It was as if they were getting to know each other all over again.

  Coming together. Merging.

  They swapped ends and worked on.

  Bessie relaxed completely. She was warm and cared for and the safest she’d been since she’d been put in the pound. She practically purred.

  ‘I hate the thought of taking her to Sydney,’ Mardie murmured. She was drying her tail, a lovely feathery black-and-white wag machine. ‘Uprooting her again seems cruel. I just want to let her settle.’

  ‘She can’t get what she needs in Banksia Bay.’

  ‘Same as you?’

  ‘This was never my home,’ he said simply.

  ‘So where’s home now?’

  No answer. She didn’t press.

  They finished drying. Bounce gave Bessie an encouraging lick, as if to say, Job done, wake up, your place is with me now.

  Bessie heaved herself to her feet. Bounce waited until she was steady, then headed for the sofa.

  The living room sofa was forbidden to dogs except on the rare occasions when Mardie needed comfort, or when a dog could sidle in unnoticed and curl up before Mardie saw …

  Bounce edged to the sofa, Bessie by his side. He glanced nervously at Mardie—and then he was up, Bessie with him.

  The two dogs were practically grinning as they dived between cushions. They wriggled under, and hid. Not very well.

  Mardie should yell.

  It was all she could do not to laugh.

  ‘I take it by Bounce’s demeanour that the sofa’s forbidden,’ Blake said, smiling with her.

  ‘It certainly is. I’m sure Bessie knows it, too.’

 
She must. Both dogs had nosed under cushions, determined on invisible.

  Mardie giggled. She felt …

  As if she was standing on the edge of something momentous. Huge.

  How she felt about Blake.

  ‘We’re both wet,’ Blake said, sounding regretful. ‘I need to get these clothes into the dryer.’

  That’d mean going to bed. They both knew it.

  Neither of them moved.

  The fire was crackling, sending out gentle heat. They weren’t cold. Wet or not, staying right here seemed an excellent option.

  She was like the dogs, Mardie thought. She was blocking out the world, revelling in comfort, hoping she wouldn’t be noticed.

  She was taking comfort from Blake’s presence, hoping it wouldn’t end.

  ‘Tell me what Hugh was like,’ Blake said softly and it had ended.

  Or … not, she thought, confused. It should hurt, telling this man about the man who’d been her husband, but suddenly it didn’t.

  It seemed right.

  ‘Hugh was my friend,’ she said softly. ‘He was ten years older than me. He was big and quiet and solid. He laughed when I did. I loved him.’

  ‘Would I have liked him?’

  ‘He wasn’t like you.’

  ‘That’s not what I asked.’

  ‘No.’ She considered.

  Hugh. A man supremely contented with his lot.

  He was the youngest of seven brothers. He’d been brought up tough.

  He didn’t have an ounce of toughness in him.

  He had the best smile.

  ‘Yes, you would have liked him,’ she said and she knew it was true. And then she thought … if Hugh could see her now, curled up by the fire, covered in dog hair, smelling of dog shampoo, talking to her friend from childhood …

  ‘He would have liked you, too,’ she said. ‘He’d be glad, for me, that you’re here. I used to tell him about you. He liked it. He didn’t have all that happy a childhood himself and he was hungry for happy.’ She hesitated. ‘He would have been really interested in what you do. “Tell me,” he’d say. So that’s what I’m saying. Tell me about Africa.’

  He hesitated. Unsure. ‘I suspect you’ve read all you need to know,’ he said diffidently.

  She thought about that, of the countless documentaries she’d seen, of the wildlife, of the humanitarian crises, the sheer scope of human tragedy.