by Trish Morey
It wasn’t much of a choice, Sophie figured, as they left the surgery. In fact, it was pretty much no choice at all.
‘It’s not so bad,’ said Nick as he opened the passenger door for her. ‘It’s only for a few months.’
‘Months of doing nothing,’ she said as she clambered awkwardly into the car. ‘Would you like that?’
‘I’ll make it easier for you to enjoy, I promise.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. I’ll find a way.’
It was Sophie who worked out what she could do for fun the next morning. She was washing up the few bits and pieces that didn’t go in the dishwasher, while Nick was doing the school run and dropping off Min.
She’d hung back from offering to help with the cooking, not wanting to get in Nick’s way at meal times in the kitchen, or make him think she was taking over. This was his domain and he was good at it and she was a guest, after all—a temporary guest. But she remembered the fun she’d had with Min making the hamburger patties, and how the girl loved spaghetti bolognaise, and she thought about the pasta machine she’d been given on her twenty-first that she had tucked away in one of her boxes in the shed. She’d used it heaps in the first year or so, until she’d started watching her carbs and her weight, and it had been ages since she’d last used it. Min would get a kick out of it, she was sure.
Two minutes later she was out in the shed looking at the stash of boxes. But which box was it in? Damn.
That’s when she saw it.
It was sitting on a shelf on the opposite wall, orange-sided with a bright-yellow lid. She recognised it because it was similar in shape to the one her nan had always used, though that had been green. Boxes stacked alongside were labelled ‘Rings and Lids’.
An entire Vacola bottling unit was sitting here going begging.
How long ago was it that she’d bottled up fruit with her sisters and her nan? Too long to remember. Before they were all at university, probably. Long before. She had a hankering to return to those times, with her sisters slicing fruit and making sugar syrup, Nan issuing instructions and running the timer, and Pop dropping in with a wink to say Nan was a right little bottler. She smiled at the memories. Funny, but she’d never understood what that had meant at the time.
They were simpler times.
Good times.
And with the pears in the orchard ripening up, it was the perfect time to be thinking about bottling them. Nick had mentioned the Beurre Bosc pears were just about ready.
And surely he wouldn’t have any issues with this idea, especially if she wasn’t doing it alone but had her family involved. Maybe even Nan, for that matter. She thought about what Hannah had said about appreciating Nan while they could. This would be something they could do together. She’d probably love overseeing her grandchildren bottle up a batch of fruit.
She heard Nick’s car coming up the driveway and went to meet him to help her get the set down.
Nick had to help her with this. Because otherwise, she was going to go out of her mind.
Nick had done more than help with fetching the pasta machine and the bottling outfit. He’d helped her clean out the boiler and stack and unstack the dishwasher with the jars to freshen them all up. He’d even run down to the local hardware store and topped up on lids and seals so everything was ready for bottling day. And he’d done it smiling. Not his smug ‘I’ve got you now’ smile that she’d witnessed when she’d first arrived, but the smile she’d seen unfurling slowly over the time she’d been here. Almost a smile of approval.
She thought about that smile and how good it made her feel as she and Min assembled the flour, oil and eggs they’d need for the pasta. Nick already had a big pot of bolognaise sauce simmering on the stove, and the kitchen smelled deliciously of tomatoes, garlic and herbs.
To make it easier and quicker this time, she used the food processor to prepare the dough, before resting it in the fridge for a few minutes while she clamped the pasta machine to the benchtop and put a pot of water on to boil. Then it was time to roll the pasta. Min was a fabulous apprentice. She divided the ball of pasta into three pieces and floured one, and Sophie showed her how to feed the smaller portion of pasta in between the rollers, at first on the thickest setting, and then progressively rolling the pasta sheet thinner and thinner, until Min had to use both hands to support it as it rolled out of the machine. Gingerly, she laid it down on a floured tea towel, reverently dusting it with more flour, before repeating the task with the other two pieces.
‘It’s just like play dough,’ she said, squishing a portion between her little fingers.
‘Exactly like play dough,’ Sophie agreed, scratching an itch on her nose with the back of one floured hand. ‘Only better, because we get to eat this kind. Next time, I’ll get you to mix up the dough in a bowl if you like, now that you know how it’s supposed to feel.’
‘Yeah? That’d be really cool.’
Nick watched the scene from the doorway. Neither of them had heard him come in, both with their backs to him and one hundred per cent focused on their task. Sophie was in an old-fashioned pinny with frills around the sleeves and Min had an apron fashioned out of a tea towel around her waist. Cute. He watched them roll the final sheet and then Sophie switched ends or rollers or something and the next time it went through the machine, it came out in narrow strips.
‘Look! Pasghetti!’ Min said, beside herself with excitement as she watched, holding onto the counter with her fingers. His girl was having the time of her life and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling along with her.
But Min wasn’t the only one enjoying herself. The woman beside her was clearly having a good time, too. And whether it was because she was a teacher that she was so good with Min, or she was naturally good with kids which made teaching a good fit, he didn’t know, but there was no doubt in his mind that she’d make a good mum.
Probably just as well. His gaze dropped to the region of where her waist once had been, and maybe it was because the babies she was carrying were his, but even now with her body bent out of shape and carrying a few extra kilos, he thought she looked sexy as hell. She was rounder. Softer.
He watched on while Min took a turn cranking the handle, and together they ran the other two sheets through the machine until the noodles were done. ‘Right,’ she said to Min as she wiped her hands with her pinny, ‘now they have to be cooked, but they’ll be ready in about three minutes so we don’t want to start too soon. Where’s your father, do you think?’
‘He’s right here,’ he said, his voice a little thick.
She turned in surprise, her eyes wide. ‘Oh.’
‘We made pasghetti!’ said Min excitedly. ‘See!’
‘You did,’ said Nick, coming closer to inspect the noodles, putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘Aren’t you clever?’
‘And next time, Sophie says I can mix up the dough, too.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ he said. ‘Now, how about you go get washed up. Dinner sounds like it’ll be ready in no time. I’ll give Sophie a hand serving up.’
Min scampered off to the bathroom to wash her hands while Sophie added olive oil to the pot and brought it to a rolling boil. ‘That was a pretty impressive display,’ he said, looking over her shoulder as she sprinkled in a pinch of salt.
‘It’s easy really,’ she said. ‘I wondered if it might be a bit old hat, given Min’s and your Italian heritage, but she told me she hadn’t made fresh pasta before.’
‘My nonna used to make it, but Mum’s speciality is cakes. She still makes them for a local cafe near where they live in Melbourne. I haven’t had fresh pasta for years.’
‘I hope you like it.’ She swung around to pick up the pasta, but he was right behind her and her belly was so big it brushed against him.
‘Oh,’ she said, looking up at him, and he could swear he saw her tremble as her eyes flared. ‘Sorry.’
‘My mistake,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t have been so close.’ But he didn’t
move away, he stayed exactly where he was, his eyes intent on her face, with her belly so close he could feel her warmth and hear the sound of his pulse thumping in his ears. Even in a kitchen that smelled right now like something out of Tuscany, all he seemed to be able to smell was her signature scent. ‘You have flour on your nose,’ he said, and he lifted one hand to brush it off with the pad of his thumb.
Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilating, and as his thumb made contact with her skin, she trembled again, and without the distraction of the flour, there was nothing to stop his gaze dropping to her mouth. He saw her chin kick up as she swallowed and those pink lips parted on a sigh.
‘Ready!’ yelled Min, zooming back into the room, and they sprang apart, Nick to put the salad on the table, Sophie to scoop up the tangle of noodles and drop them into the pot. ‘Oh,’ she said, watching what Sophie was doing. ‘I thought they’d be ready already.’
‘We were waiting for you to get back,’ said Nick.
‘We didn’t want you to miss anything,’ added Sophie.
And Nick thought, with that remnant of his brain still working while most of his blood continued doing confused loop-the-loops in his veins, she almost hadn’t.
‘I think I’ll have an early night tonight,’ Sophie said half an hour later as she cleared the salad from the table, ‘if that’s okay with everyone.’
Nick looked up from where he was stacking the dishwasher.
‘Already?’ asked Min. ‘It’s not even my bedtime yet.’
‘Are you feeling all right?’ asked Nick, straightening.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, her hand on her belly, ‘I just need to lie down and process all this delicious pasta a little before I explode.’
‘You hardly ate anything.’
‘I ate plenty. Shouldn’t have filled up on bread beforehand, always a mistake. Night, all.’ And with a wave, she fled.
She closed the door to her room and leaned her back against it. Because it wasn’t her dinner she had to process. It was a touch, a look and an almost kiss. It was an inability, or more correctly, an unwillingness to make a move to avoid it. It was a yearning to know how it might have ended if Min hadn’t burst in when she had, because she’d looked at his eyes on her mouth and she’d all but willed him to kiss her.
God, this was exactly the kind of thing she’d been worried about, that would get her thinking she actually meant something to Nick and that this arrangement might lead to something more permanent. The sort of thing that would get her thinking about those damned unicorns and rainbows and happy-ever-afters like she always did.
Damn.
She’d known moving in with Nick would end in disaster.
She’d already fallen in love with Min.
And now, she was in danger of falling in love with Nick as well.
What the hell was she supposed to do?
58
Hannah
Hannah still hadn’t given Declan an answer. He didn’t push her, but she caught him watching her sometimes, his gaze quizzical, as if trying to work out what was going on in her head.
There was too much going on in there, that was the problem. Too much second-guessing and too many what-ifs. Too much speculation and too many questions. He was forty-two, for heaven’s sake. Surely he wouldn’t want children at this stage in his life? Or maybe that was the time men thought about it, if they hadn’t had them. Maybe he saw this opportunity as his last hurrah?
If she’d had more life experience, if she hadn’t buried herself away after university, concentrating on her career and refusing to notice the opposite sex, she might have more of an idea of how to deal with this situation. But all she had were the bitter memories of James and his reaction to her news, and the knowledge that she didn’t want to lose what she had with Declan. So, she put off the question and immersed herself in his love-making and his gentle, relentless persuasion, all the while falling deeper and deeper in love with him, so tempted to say yes, but knowing she risked everything.
She never expected Declan to be the one to raise the issue.
They were walking between the rows of vines under a cloudless blue sky, the growing joey hopping along beside them, when up ahead they saw the snake. Declan put out a hand to stop her and instinctively reached down and rolled Ella into her pouch, while the two of them stood stock still and watched the snake slither silently away into the bush. When it disappeared, Hannah found herself relating the story of Sophie and Nick and the snake catcher.
‘Sophie’s the one having twins, right?’
‘That’s right,’ said Hannah, feeling a bit guilty that she still hadn’t introduced him to her family. But, there seemed no point unless she said yes. She was so tempted to say yes. ‘Lucy’s baby is due in April and the twins are due in June.’
‘And she’s the school teacher?’
‘Yeah, she takes the first-year kids at school. She’s going to make the best mum.’
‘You’d be a great mum.’
Hannah’s heart missed a beat as ice clogged her arteries. It was all she could do to keep her feet moving. ‘No, I’d be rubbish. I like animals way better than people.’
‘You like me.’
‘You’re a rare exception.’
They walked on a while, Hannah hoping that was the end of the topic, feeling more relieved with every passing step.
‘I never figured on having kids,’ he said, and for a moment Hannah held her breath. ‘Was always too busy with work and I was glad of it.’
‘They’re overrated, I’m sure,’ she said, trying to keep it light and let the tiny flame of hope flicker in her heart. ‘Unless you’re going to be an aunty or uncle, of course.’
He chuckled at that and she thought for a moment she was home free. Until he said, ‘Only I was thinking’—and this time it was fear that infused her veins—‘I’m going to be forty-three next birthday—’
No. No. No!
‘—and if I want it to happen …’ He stopped and turned to face her, taking her hands in his. ‘I know you haven’t even agreed to marry me yet, but if you do say yes, then I would very much like you to be the mother of my babies.’
And Hannah felt the tiny flickering flame of hope in her heart get snuffed out.
59
Sophie
Sophie worked out that the best way to protect herself from falling victim to the happy family all around her was to keep busy. To keep her nose in a book, or keep herself occupied with anything that didn’t involve Nick. The fruit bottling was a perfect example. She’d surround herself in female company and conversation, and be reminded there was a whole wide world out there. It would take her mind off Nick, completely.
Neither Hannah nor Beth could take time off at short notice, so it was only Sophie, Lucy and Nan who could front up for the bottling. It was a weekday and so Min was at school, but it was her week at Penelope’s, and Sophie was determined to have another day again if it was a success. If she couldn’t do anything else while she was in forced resting mode, she’d make sure everyone’s pantries were filled up with bottled fruit.
‘I’m so glad to have escaped,’ said Nan, when Dan dropped off Lucy and Nan and unpacked Nan’s old Vacola from the boot so they’d have two sterilisers working at the same time. ‘It’s like being in Stalag Thirteen at home.’
Lucy laughed as she gave Nan a hug, an awkward hug with Lucy getting so big. ‘Is it really that bad?’
‘I can’t get out the door without a bloody bell going off! It’s like trying to get over the Maginot Line with Clarry watching me like a hawk every minute of the day. I can’t take a tinkle without him hollering out to me, wanting to know where I am.’
Sophie sympathised. She felt trapped too, though for a different reason, but at least Nick didn’t holler at her through bathroom doors. ‘Well, you’re here now. And today we are going to have fun.’
Nan was in her element. She organised the set-up of the kitchen and bossed Nick into finding a table to set up the second outfit on a
n element outside because they wouldn’t fit on the stove together. Then the three women donned aprons and got to work peeling and halving the boxes of long, brown pears Nick had supplied, while the clean glass jars sterilised in the oven, and they tossed baby names back and forth between each other because neither Sophie nor Lucy could decide.
‘Two pounds of sugar to a gallon of water,’ Nan said, in the midst of the deliberations, giving Sophie instructions to prepare the syrup.
‘Huh?’ said Sophie. ‘How much?’
‘Move over, sister,’ Lucy said, flashing a grin, taking the sugar from Sophie’s hands to weigh on the big scales. ‘Imperial measurements? Nan and I speak the same language, I am so all over this one.’
Nan showed them how to stack the jars with the peeled and cored pears so they’d look beautiful as well as taste good, though their jars looked nowhere near as professional as Nan’s. ‘It’s not as easy as it looks,’ said Sophie, poking a recalcitrant piece of pear into place with the handle of a wooden spoon.
‘I used to win awards at the Royal Adelaide Show,’ Nan told them. ‘Cherries, pears and apricots Clarry used to go pick up from the riverland. Oh, they’re good.’
Sophie blinked. ‘I remember having those with your homemade ice-cream.’
‘You’re making me hungry,’ said Lucy, rubbing her belly.
‘Not long now,’ said Nan, slowly pouring syrup into the fruit-filled jars, while Sophie and Lucy set about slapping on the rings and lids and clipping them down to seal before they went into the steriliser.
‘Phew,’ said Sophie, when the first two batches were coming up to temperature. ‘Let’s take a break before we start on the next load of jars.’
‘Wow,’ Nick said as he took in the sight of the couple of dozen jars lined up cooling on the bench. He’d packed a lunch today because he hadn’t wanted to come home in the middle of proceedings and get in everyone’s way. ‘So you had a good day?’