I woke up at six a.m. after I went to bed at around half four – it was a marvel that I even fell asleep at all. The day passed in a painful, syrupy slow blur; I didn’t feel like eating and I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I drank tea and worked and tried to blot out everything else. The next morning I woke up at six again. Two days in a row, a sure sign that things weren’t as they should be.

Waking up at six was something my body always did when I was stressed out over something. No matter how late the night before had been; six a.m. the following morning: plop, my eyes opened and the weight of the world descended upon me. I woke up at six almost constantly when I was still working for the publishing house – there was always something going on there that had me worrying myself senseless. It had stopped abruptly when I started to work as an author full time. And now it was back.

On the morning of the second day I lay in my bed, on my back, staring at the ceiling. ‘This has got to stop,’ I said to myself. I made up my mind to give it until Quentin was gone, maybe a day or two after, and then go back home. I suddenly longed for my London flat, my London friends, the offy on the corner, the chippy just around the corner… The stuff I knew, where I could live a life I was well versed at and where what had happened here in Oz would seem like a feverish dream, a mirage, a figment of my imagination. Anything but reality. But then I thought about Jo. I did come here for her, not for me, and first I had to make sure that she felt better, about herself and about Quentin, before I could go back home. I owed her that.

In the mean time, I was awake and restless. I got up, fired up my laptop and started to work on my book. I had finished my outline yesterday, in a prolonged session of furious typing, and in fact I was quite happy about all that progress. Something good came of all this then; at least I had that. Not only an unhappy childhood, but also a big helping of wretchedness would serve as a writer’s goldmine. So, all things considered, I reckoned I might as well start on the story proper, right now. No time like the present.

I dug in and almost forgot everything else. Until I heard Sadie’s voice outside my cabin door. ‘Tazzie? Are you there? I’ve brought you some brekkie, you’ve not come down at all, and yesterday you didn’t show either. Come on, open up, your coffee is getting cold.’

I let her in. It was really sweet of her to take the trouble to look after me like this, and I told her that, too. She beamed.

‘Did you get anything to eat at all, yesterday? You weren’t at dinner either. Uncle Quent was asking after you, couple of times actually, he was really keen on knowing where you were and if you were ok. Bree didn’t like it one bit, I could tell.’

‘Was she still in her party gear or did she put on more, erm, normal clothes yesterday at dinner?’

Sadie smiled. ‘Normal clothes, definitely. But expensive normal clothes. I could probably buy a race horse from what she was wearing. But hey, did you get anything to eat at all? You’re dodging the question!’ She plopped down the tray she was carrying and a wonderful smell of fresh bread and hot coffee filled the cabin.

‘You’re so strict with me!’ I smiled, but warily. My stomach gave an embarrassingly loud rumble at the prospect of finally getting anything in.

‘Well, that answers my question about the food, I reckon,’ Sadie grinned. ‘So tell me, Taz. Did anything, like, happen?’ She asked casually but observed me with a sharp eye as she started to lay out the food on the tray.

‘What, Sade?’

‘Taz, come on. Do I have to spell it out? Did something happen between my uncle and you, the night of the so-called big dinner. Nanna said the wine didn’t agree with him and he had to go for a bit of a lay-down, but we all knew that that was just a load of crock. Well, maybe Bree believed it, but I definitely didn’t. I mean, he can hold his liquor really, really well, so no way he’d be even bothered by something as insignificant as a bit of a bottle of red wine.’

‘It wasn’t just the wine. He’d apparently been drinking hard the whole afternoon and the wine was just the last straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.’

‘What, he went to talk to God on the white phone?’ Sadie giggled conspiratorially.

I was miserable, but not miserable enough to keep the smile off my face at that expression. ‘Well, he did talk to God, if I remember correctly, but it was more like, into the flowerbed.’

‘Bloody oath! I don’t think I’ve ever even seen him go green, let alone toss a tiger on the lawn… Well I’ll shit a brick.’

‘Sadie,’ said I, now laughing for real, ‘you kill me. It’s just too… whahaha, a tiger…’

She beamed at me. ‘Better, Taz. Much better. You looked so down I was about to radio the flying doctors. Now tell me everything.’

‘Give you the gory?’

‘Too right!’

I shrugged. ‘Well. In a nutshell: your uncle threw up in the flowerbed and was rather the worse for wear, so I dragged him back in, cleaned him up a bit and put him to bed in the guest room. Just like Jo said.’

‘And you came back here to do some work? You didn’t get any proper dinner that night, Taz, and you didn’t come down for your brekkie or your tea yesterday either. You’re still dodging but I’m not gonna let ya. Spill. Give.’

‘Hoookay,’ said I, exasperated, giving up, ‘What happened was that Quent dragged me into the bed with him, and managed to fall asleep half on top of me, before I had the chance to get out again.’

‘Right. And?’

‘And? And... when I finally fell asleep myself, I woke up again because...’

‘Ye-e-es?’

‘Well, we were, um, he, had started to…’ I sighed and looked at her.

‘Come on Taz, I’m old enough.’

‘All right then. It was a magnificent slow snog; it started when we were both asleep, and it was very… arousing. It took some effort do the grown-up thing and stop in time before things got really complicated. So yeah, long story short again, we talked it over and decided to put an end to this nonsense. I mean, he has a wedding to think about and I’ve got my next book, and…’

‘What do you mean put an end to it? You’re just going to let that überbitch Brianna walk away with my favourite uncle?’

‘Your only uncle.’

‘Well yeah, but Bree is a nasty little fuckerette who’s so far up her own arse she’s coming out the other end. Oscar winning actress or no.’

‘Sadie! Come on! What did she do to get you so upset? She’s not very cuddly, as we deduced day before yesterday,’ was it only two days ago? It seemed like a century, I thought, as I started putting jam on a roll, ‘but that’s no reason to go all unladylike over her.’

‘Well my uncle and her had a massive row, yesterday morning, and we all heard her screech like a banshee. But apparently they made up, because half an hour later they came down to the table and I just knew from the way she looked at him all the time, all gooey and icky, that they’d done it. Ewww, that’s just so disgusting, don’t you think? Anyway, Nanna was baking eggs and bacon, and we had beans on toast and pancakes too, and all she wanted was a salad. With alfalfa. She couldn’t eat all those carbs, she moaned, and she just kept nagging on about anything and everything. Including Uncle Quent, when he asked after you one time too often.’

‘What did she say?’ I felt like I was sixteen years old but I just couldn’t help myself. My heart clenched in an ugly fashion at the idea that Quent had made love to Bree only a few hours after I left him, but I told myself firmly that they had every right to, and I had none, no matter how my heart seemed to feel about it.

Sadie was happily munching along with me, helping me to get through a stack of rolls far too big for just the one person. ‘Bree? She just wanted to know why he’d be so concerned about that little insignificant author with her new age–nattering and her stupid book. He apparently resented that, but Nanna resented it way more, because she told Bree that she didn’t stand for her guests being insulted.’

‘And, uh, what did Quent say?’ I asked after the briefest of hesitations, hiding my face in my coffee mug.

‘Oh, he just reminded Bree that it was, in a manner of speaking, your book that had brought them together again, and that he would cherish it for the rest of his life, if only for that.’ Sadie nodded. ‘That was a diplomatic stroke of genus from him, I reckon. He has his moments, has my uncle.’

‘If only for that.’ I repeated, thinking what in the world he would have meant by that.

Sadie munched in silence. Then she went: ‘Taz?’

‘Yeah?’ I made a beeline for another roll. Now that I was eating, I was ravenous.

‘How are you feeling? I think my uncle is a lot more confused than he lets on, he was pretty erratic this morning when you still didn’t show. He actually put salt in his coffee.’

‘He did?’ I snorted. My mean streak wished he’d feel at least as awful as I did. Worse, if possible.

‘So how are you? You looked like a zombie when you let me in just now. It’s a bit better now, but…’

‘Well, in all honesty,’ I said, looking at her, and suddenly my eyes brimmed over, ‘I feel, I feel just… miserable. I want to go home. I need to have a talk with your grandmother, but I think I just… really…. need to go home.’ My speech was punctuated with sniffles and I felt like an idiot.

Sadie put her arms around me and gave me a girlie hug. ‘Ohh, I’ll break his bloody neck,’ she said to me as she let go again. ‘Don’t cry, Taz, he doesn’t deserve you, the fuckin’ ocker. I hope you’ll feel a little better when he’s dragged his sorry bum across the ocean and you can just calm down a little, and maybe you’ll decide to stay on for a bit after all, eh? We were just beginning to have fun! God, I could kick ‘im!’

I smiled through my tears. ‘Sadie, your language is worse than Quent’s, you know that? Jo would have a conniption if she could hear you.’

‘Sorry,’ she said, grinning evilly, ‘but I really do think he’s a fuckin’ ocker.’ We had finished all the food by now and she started clearing away the stuff and piling it on the tray again. ‘You want to come back with me, Taz? My uncle and Bree have gone out riding after breakfast, so you won’t bump into them or anything.’

‘Well… okay then. I do need to get some more work done later on; all this misery has me writing like a madwoman, but I guess I could do with a bit of an airing out.’

So, Sadie and I walked back to the big house in a companionable silence. The weather was lovely, not too hot, and I actually felt happy about being outside for a bit. Maybe I should go for a long walk, really clear my head. I should probably ask Jo where Quentin and Brianna had gone riding, so that I could happily walk in the opposite direction. For the umpteenth time I wished I had listened to the alarms going off the minute I got off the plane at Coffs, but now it was too late. Way too late. I would just have to sit it out and wait until the ache had dulled.

~*~

Jo and Martin were sitting in the kitchen, pouring over a manual for some kitchen appliance when Sadie and I walked in. Jo gave me a warm smile and said, ‘There she is! I was planning to come and get you myself but then this blender suddenly gave up the ghost, and Marty here is really good with lawnmowers and cars and stuff, but with blenders, he’s totally useless.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ Martin said, mock-offended, leafing through the manual. He looked up. ‘Oi, Taz, did you get some tucker in ya? I was beginning to get worried about you, luv,’

‘Yes, Sadie took great care of me. I was hoping to lose some weight while I was here, but apparently you folk won’t let me.’

‘Don’t ya dare, Taz!’ he almost shouted, indignantly. I had to laugh at that. ‘You look fine, and just because some people think they should affiliate themselves with women who’ll break in half if you so much as touch them, doesn’t mean that…’

I was shaking my head. ‘Steady on, I was only joking. I had a bit of a bad day yesterday, but it’s much better now, so no worries, OK?’

Jo had gotten up and she handed me a mug of fresh coffee, exactly the way I liked it. I slurped and sat down, and felt much better. These people were my friends. I would have to go home soon, I was sure of that, but for now I was perfectly all right.

‘I was thinking of going for a walk later on,’ I said, ‘I sat inside all day yesterday, working, and I really need to air out my brains. Making excellent progress though; I’m really happy about my book.’

‘Wanna come out with me to the west field?’ Martin volunteered immediately. ‘I have to check on some fencing. We’ll take the car till the track runs out and walk the rest of the way, how’s that sound?’

‘Um,’ said I.

Sadie darted me a look and interrupted, very cheerfully, ‘Where did uncle Quent and Bree go riding again?’

‘Oh, I think they went up to the lake, for a picnic. They won’t be back for a long time, I reckon,’ Jo said, not giving anything away.

Sadie looked at me again. West field was safe territory.

‘Uh, ‘kay, great, when are we going?’ I said, nodding to Martin.

‘Soon as you’ve finished with that coffee, luv, just come out, I’ll go load up some gear in case we need to fix the fence. See you in a tic,’ said Martin, and dashed out.

So not five minutes later we were bouncing down a dirt track in a battered Jeep, a roll of wire and various tools in that back. Martin was singing something in a horrible, atonal, arrhythmic sort of way, but he was having a great time with it. I gave him a sideways look.

He grinned, unperturbed; ‘My brother’s the one with the vocal cords I’m afraid, but I reckon no one can hear me anyway up here, apart from you, and hey, I’m driving, so if ya can’t handle it, you can just walk.’ He laughed at that, and continued belting out his tune.

I had to laugh as well. I was happy to have come out, I felt like the sheer weight of it was lifting a little. Martin was so uncomplicated and happy, it was just contagious.

The road ran out quite suddenly. Martin turned the Jeep so that it was facing the right way for the return trip and we got out. Started walking.

‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘if the fence is fucked, we’ll have to walk back to get the wire and stuff, but I can’t be arsed carrying the whole lot all the way over just to find that we don’t need it in the first place.’

‘I don’t mind,’ I said.

‘That’s because you don’t have to hump it, I reckon,’ he observed dryly.

‘But I would help! I wouldn’t let you carry all that stuff on your own, I would…’

‘Yeah, you would, wouldn’t you? That’s the sort of sheila you are.’ He nodded, almost to himself. ‘Taz, why aren’t you married? You’d make some lucky bastard a great wife.’

‘Mmm,’ he was so unbelievably direct. I wasn’t even sure what to answer, tell you the truth. I hesitated.  ‘I guess I just… haven’t found him yet. It’s not that easy, you know.’

‘I know,’ he said quietly.

We walked on for a bit.

‘So, erm, you and Quent,’ he went on, matter-of-factly.

I dashed him a look. That was so to the point it was actually frightening.

‘You’re not going to tell me now that nothing’s going on between you,’ he plowed on. ‘I saw ya looking at him, yesterday, and the way he reacted to you… My Mum knows more than she’s letting on, I’m not that thick that I can’t tell.’

‘Well, there is… something,’ I admitted, ‘I just don’t know what it is. It’s not… not just physical attraction, it runs deeper than that, well, at least for me it does. I feel a connection, I feel him deep within…’

‘You feel like it was meant to be?’ He asked it like he had heard it all before, and probably more than once.

I decided to try and be fully honest with him. ‘Actually, it does feel like that, but I think it’s only a side effect. You see, it’s not something I’d happily advertise, but I’m a clairsentient, and your brother is transmitting his emotions at a, well, call it a frequency, which is really easy for me to pick up on. And he’s doing it at top volume to boot.’ I looked at him to check if he thought I was ready for a straight jacket, but he actually didn’t show any emotion at all, so I bravely soldiered on: ‘So, like, when he gets in close proximity, I feel him, as if his emotions, his state of being, were inside me, almost as if he was a part of me. That’s such a, well, connected feeling, that it does feel like it was meant to be, yeah… Sorry to say that it does.’

He apparently munched on my words for a while. Then he said, ‘I have just never… heard anything like that before, Taz. I know it’s weird, but I do believe you. I don’t think you’d make something like this up, however fantastic it may sound. And if it’s true, then I guess that’s just like, massive. I can’t even imagine how something like that must feel.’ He scratched his head, then went on: ‘Maybe, I’m just thinking off the top of me head here, maybe that’s the reason why all the sheilas always fall for him, because he’s transmitting himself all over the place, eh? What do you reckon?’

‘Yes, possibly… I think it’s also why he’s such a consummate actor.’

‘Yeah, I can see that,’ Martin said. We had reached the fence and started following it. He checked it at regular intervals, but apparently nothing seemed to be wrong with it. ‘Well, hey, erm, listen, Taz,’ he continued a little hesitantly, eyes on the job, ‘whatever the whole transmitting thing, I really think you ought to be aware, and wary, of the fact that Quent is famous for his intense focus, but also for the flat out shifting of that same focus. He can very easily get sidetracked by the next thing that captivates his attention. He lives very much in the now, without too much regard for future plans, or it would have to be his acting career. And I guess that’s pretty much a no-hoper at the moment. But for the rest… He’s had a string of very profound, but very short lived affairs. Every one of them swept him off his feet completely, and it was over just as completely when something, or someone, else tickled his fancy. He can be a fickle bastard, my brother. It might be a new project he needs to do research for, but it might also be something here at the station. Bree seems to be the first sheila who has the power to keep his attention from wandering, damn her.’

I smiled wanly, my stomach in a knot again after all he’d just said. ‘You don’t like her either?’

‘Who else doesn’t like her?’

‘Your daughter. She was rather explicit this morning.’

‘Chip off the old block eh? Reckon we both can’t stand the diva thing. Besides, I’m not entirely certain that Bree will be good for Quentin in the long run, but I’m surprised to see ‘im so determined. I didn’t know he had it in ‘im, he must truly love her.’

‘Yes, he told me as much.’

‘He did? Well… that must have been none too comfortable for you to hear, with the stuff you say you’re feeling...’

‘No. Wasn’t. But we had a good talk, really, and we decided that it would be really pointless to get in each other’s way, confuse each other. We both have things to do, and stuff…’

‘He’s feeling it too then.’

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I can’t tell. He’s feeling something, that’s rather obvious, but in the light of what you just told me, I’m really wondering if it’s anything other than just one of those apparently regularly occurring distractions. But hey, it hardly matters now, eh? We will stay out of each other’s way until he’s gone, and I’ll fly back to London in a couple of days; we’ll not see each other again until after his wedding, if we run into each other ever again. Probably not.’ 

‘Oh come on, Taz, we’re all mates now, no way you’ll lose touch with us Finches. We won’t let ya.’ He ruffled my hair and gave me a quick cuddle. Then he harrumphed and went on: ‘Well, this fence is just fine, let’s go back, eh, we’ve got nothing more to do around here.’ He smiled and squinted against the sun. ‘And hey, you know, if it really is fate, it will sort itself out. You know how it is.’

‘You’ve said that exact same thing before, to desperate wannabe girlfriends of your brother, didn’t you?’

He had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘Matter of fact I have. But, Taz, believe me when I say that this is the first time I actually, literally mean it.’

~*~

Martin drove me back to my cabin. He was great, a real friend. And it had helped, clearing my head; I felt so much better when I fired up my laptop. I even went online and did my website and my correspondence. I usually checked once a day, but had put it off when Quentin came back – I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I had a massive amount of emails. Apparently some folk had figured out where I was – don’t ask me how they did it but they did – and I had quite a large contingent of Quentin’s fans as well, posting on the message board. They all wanted to know if the rumours were true that Quent was back together with Bree. Some even asked if he and I were seeing each other, and suddenly I realized that if anything ever were to develop between him and me (not that it would, I mean, just purely hypothetically speaking), I’d have to deal with the public aspect of his life as well. Not something to look forward to, to be completely honest. It was really easy to forget about all that here at the farm; fans sometimes left things for him at the gate – letters, presents, but no one tried to sneak in, no one disturbed his life here. It was a sanctuary, a place outside the world. It actually made me wonder if all that I felt for Quentin would even exist outside of this place – maybe all I had to do was just go home, back to London, to put a stop to it, to regain my composure, my peace of mind. An interesting thought. And one I would experience pretty soon, if all would go according to plan.

Now, that is a dangerous thing to assume, things going according to plan. Because in my experience, nothing to do with Quentin ever, ever goes according to plan. Never has. And probably never will. But anyway, there I was, pounding away at my laptop.

I reckon I was at it for hours. I can’t possibly say how long I sat there at my little table, outside the cottage, laptop power cable stretched precariously, tea thermos near at hand. Time flitted by, the clouds covered the sun, gathering darker and darker, boding rain or even worse… I didn’t notice. I hid in the work as best I could.

Then I felt a soft shifting, a familiar tingle, distant but unmistakable, and when I looked up I saw him. Quentin. He was walking towards me, head down, hands in his pockets. He wore an old flannel shirt, worn soft, frayed at the collar and cuffs, and a white t-shirt underneath. Faded jeans and shades, even though it had been cloudy for some time. He looked almost unbearably good. I froze as I watched him approach and could not believe I had had the strength to walk away from him.

He stopped a little way away from where I sat, almost as if he was afraid to come any closer. Pushed the shades up to his forehead and looked at me without speaking.

I said: ‘Hi,’ and it came out almost inaudible; a tiny whisper. I felt like I couldn’t move, even if I’d want to.

He gave me the smallest of nods. Looked at the ground at his feet. Took a deep breath. Looked up again and rolled his shoulders. Cleared his throat and said, low: ‘Erm, I’m leaving in the morning. Early, at eight.’ Pursed his lips, looked down again, put his hands back in his pockets.

‘Oh.’ I didn’t know what else to say. I felt stupid. There was a big, painful squeezing in my chest area and I had to struggle not to gasp. I managed to get out: ‘ Um, well, take care…’ and quickly looked at my screen again, thinking, hoping that maybe if he’d just turn around now and walk away, now, please, walk away, I would be able to breathe normally again.

A big fat raindrop splattered on my track pad.

I looked up. So did he. The sky above us was so thick and gray and so low that we could almost touch it.

Splat. Another big drop. And then it just started to pour like someone had upended a bucket.

I scooted from my chair, snapped shut my laptop and tried to gather everything in one go, as the rain was pelting down. Of course, I just managed to let my cup, the thermos and half of my notes slip from my grasp, barely holding on to the laptop itself.

Quentin took three great strides and managed to grab most of the stuff that I was dropping before it hit the ground, and we ran for the cabin. Dropped everything on the table and looked at each other. We were drenched; it had happened in mere seconds. The rain was drumming on the roof.

‘You’re wet,’ he said to me, his voice a hoarse croak.

‘So are you,’ I whispered back, as his hand smoothed a soaked strand of hair behind my ear. I felt his longing mingle with my own, and the impossibility of it a harsh screeching dissonant. It was so strong; it made me sway. I grabbed his arm as his hand came to rest on my shoulder.

‘Just wanted to let you know I’m off, tomorrow,’ he said softly.

‘Yes.’

‘Couldn’t just go without saying anything. I know we said we’d keep out of each other’s way, but I just… When you didn’t come in for breakfast this morning… Just reckoned I’d come by and… I mean, if it’s a goer, I’ll probably stay on for awhile in LA, you know, loads of interesting projects going on; we’ll probably not see each other again for…’

‘Yes…’ I interrupted, finding it almost unbearable to hear him out. I found that I was softly stroking his arm. It was a very nice, muscular arm. I wanted it wrapped around me, even though we were both dripping wet. I shivered slightly, and so did he, almost as an echo. His shades started to slide down from his forehead and he whipped them off, turning to put them on the table, never letting go of me. Our bodies brushed against each other and I just laid my head on his shoulder, like it was the most natural thing to do. He sighed and gathered me in, solemnly.

‘Tazzie, luv, will you be all right?’ he said, lips brushing my temple in as most distracting manner. Another shiver ran through him, and now I shivered in answer.

I nodded. ‘I will be if you will.’ I was a liar, and a bad one at that.

He cupped my chin in his hand and studied my face.

I tried to look him straight in the eye, but failed miserably. I said to his chin, hoping to distract him: ‘Won’t you tell me what happened? The real story? I’d like to hear it from you, before you go.’

‘What, the phone thing?’ He sounded a little surprised, and just a little peeved, also. ‘Why do you want me to… What does it matter now, eh?’ He let his hands fall away, which almost felt like punishment for even asking the question.

‘No… Nothing. Never mind, if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s OK,’ said I. I did want to know, but if he really didn’t want to tell me I wasn’t going to press him for it.

He gave me another long, long look, and then said: ‘Right, then. I’ll tell you. I’m not keen on it, but I’ll tell you. Reckon I owe you that.’ He wiped a hand over his face, dispelling a few drops that had rolled down from his hair. ‘I was… I was doing promotion, I was in New York, and Bree was in LA. We had impossible schedules. We were… it was a really intense time, Bree was still married but we were mad in love, she was just so fuckin’ beautiful, and so dedicated to the craft, and I was just stunned that she finally had admitted that she wanted to be with me, like I did with her… We couldn’t be together though, we were just too tied up, which was bloody awful …’ he hesitated and seemed to think for a bit, a pained look on his face. 

‘But, um, didn’t you and Bree get together during that film you both were in?’

‘Yeah we did, that’s how we met.’ He bit his lip and frowned. ‘For me, it was like I knew, when I first met her. She was the one. From the first reading we had together, I just couldn’t stop thinking about her. So we… yeah. But then, after the Oscars, she decided she ought to give her marriage one last chance. No matter what we felt for each other. She owed her husband that.’

‘He’s also a big name in acting, isn’t he?’

‘He is.’ Quentin’s frown had become deep and straight. ‘Him and me were both nominated for best actor that year. He got it. That was a mite awkward.’ He ran his hand through his wet hair. ‘But eventually, you know, Bree and me, we just couldn’t stay away from each other. It was such a beauty when she finally admitted she wanted to be with me after all; better than getting the bloody Oscar…’ He swallowed and went on, almost as if he was talking to himself, ticking off events: ‘So I was in New York, Bree’s husband had found out about us seeing each other again only a couple of days earlier, and they’d had a massive break-up, in public, in a bloody restaurant no less, for everyone to see… There were rumours about us already, from the first time ‘round, but then the whole situation blew wide open, the press had a field day… Was a bloody bastard; especially for her, she was in the thick of it. We were on the phone constantly, I really wanted to be with ‘er, be there for her, you know, but then…’ He faltered. Looked at me and then looked away.

I kept silent.

‘She was… telling me something really… important when suddenly we got disconnected. My mobile had been dead for yonks coz’ I forgot to bring the fucking adapter plug, I’m such a twit, so I had to use hotel phones all over the place. Cost me a few quid, that. But anyroad, when I tried to ring her back I couldn’t get the bloody phone to work any more and I just went mental. I had to get her back on the line, I just had to talk to her… So I yanked the whole fucking thing out of the socket and stormed into reception… And when the bloke behind the counter turned out to be an uncooperative little git, I lost my rag; chucked the phone at him and hit him square on the block. He rang up the police and I spent the night in a cell. He pressed charges. That’s the long and short of it.’

‘So… how come it didn’t work out between you and Bree, after that? What happened?’ I persisted, now that he finally began to talk, at the risk of him getting really annoyed with me.

‘Well, I…’ He sighed unhappily, but to my surprise he did continue: ‘She divorced him, and we should have been sorted once that was out the way, but then my case came up and I lost my permit. Had to pay the fucker hotel clerk a ton of money too.’ He sighed again and said, very seriously: ‘Taz, when we were on the phone, Bree and me, when the connection was cut, we were in the middle of an argument. It was about something that really meant a lot to me. We couldn’t get past our differences of opinion at the time, so we decided to give each other some space. Also, Bree was at a critical time in her career and all the bad press I was getting with the court case and all, wasn’t doing her any good.’ He shivered again.

‘Maybe you should get out of this,’ I said, tugging on the soaking wet flannel shirt. I couldn’t imagine a world where you broke up with the man or woman you loved, just because their media coverage was bad for your career at that particular point in time. I shook my head. ‘That must have hurt, having to go through all that and still end up not being together…’

‘Like a bloody bastard,’ he softly said, and struggled to get one arm out of the flannel. ‘So, you can imagine how I feel now that we’re finally getting married.’

‘Yes,’ I said, my voice a sad whisper ‘I understand completely.’

Outside, the rain had intensified and through the open door it looked like a tropical storm. An endless sheet of rain, pelting down. The air got colder as well.

He finally freed himself from the wet, clinging shirt, balled it up and threw it away, just when a white flash of lightning strobed, immediately followed by a massive rolling thunder that had the windows rattling. It went on and on for what seemed to be minutes. I cringed. Without thinking, Quentin pulled me back into his arms and shushed in my ear, stroking my back.

‘’S okay luv’, no worries now, you’re safe here with me,’ he murmured. His t-shirt was only marginally less wet, but his body was warm and I felt that wonderful sense of belonging engulf me. So I reached up, pulled his head in and planted my lips on his; I couldn’t help myself. He gave a soft grunt, nipped at my upper lip and let the tip of his tongue dart out. It was warm, slick, velvety soft, and I opened up and met him. I forgot everything we said we’d do as our kiss went on and deepened, sending shocks of pleasure through my system. Staying away from him? Impossible.

The thunder boomed again. My hand was under his shirt, touching the wonderful warm skin on his back. He moaned low, grabbed the hem of my top and pulled it up and over my head in one swift move, breaking away from our kiss for only the briefest of moments. I fell back against him in my bra only, and he unhooked that as he continued to kiss me. I was working on his t-shirt and had it halfway up his torso, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He broke away from me again to pull it over his head as I shrugged off my bra and we eagerly grabbed hold of each other, pausing briefly to the mind-numbingly beautiful sensation of skin on skin.

‘Oh!’ I sighed, feeling his lightly furred chest under my hand while he cupped my breast and rubbed the tip with his thumb.

‘Quent, what, we must be mad, I mean,’ I muttered into his neck, coherence out the window.

‘Hng, luv, I can’t… just,’ Quentin breathed in answer, and then we were kissing again, because nothing else mattered. We drifted towards the bed and tumbled in, a heap of arms and legs, trying to feel everything all at once. There was something so intensely desperate and final about it; in a flash of lucidity I imagined this was how it would be if you knew for certain that this was the last time in your life you’d be making love. Ever.

Quentin, on top of me, stilling somewhat, broke away from our kiss to look at me. His mouth was almost slack, his breathing ragged, but his eyes were burning into mine. ‘Taz, oh Christ, Tazzie… What am I going to do?’ he whispered thickly. ‘What the fuck am I going to do?’

‘I don’t know…’ I stroked his hair out of his eyes and softly scratched behind his ear. His eyes fell shut at that and he seemed to relax a little, enjoying the feeling, ‘…reckon you’ll get on that helicopter in the morning, won’t you? Get your old life back?’

‘My life,’ he said, low, leaning into my hand, eyes closed, ‘I don’t even know what that is any more. I’ve had a hundred lives, and none of ‘em seemed…’ He looked at me again and lowered his head to give me the softest, most tender of kisses. ‘None of them were as real as this.’ Another kiss, lingering this time. ‘I don’t know what it is, but…’ Another one. ‘I just wanna… be with you, it’s so…’ And then he kissed me in earnest again, deep and demanding, and his hand fumbled between us to undo my jeans, and his own.

I bucked against him when his hand accidentally brushed my center; I wanted him as much as he wanted me. I tried to help him but we both just pulled at our remaining clothes in agony, moaning and sighing and rolling about on the narrow bed. Finally, he managed to get his fly undone and wriggle out of his jeans a little. He wasn’t wearing anything else and I felt his tip quiver against my belly.

He tugged at my jeans, cursing softly, impatiently, ‘Fuck, ah fuck, God, I…’ and finally I got out of the damn thing. He grabbed my leg and pulled it up, then came to rest against the soft lacy fabric of my panties. I was soaking wet from wanting him and couldn’t keep still, rubbing myself against him. He ground against my nub, growling low, deep in his throat, and worked his hand into my panties from behind. ‘Oh, you’re so fuckin’ ready,’ he panted, his fingers buried inside me.

‘Quent, please,’ I moaned.

The roof gave a strange, tearing groan. We froze and his head came up, suddenly alert. ‘What’s that?’ he whispered.

Another groan. I looked at the ceiling over his shoulder and saw a crack appear, grow larger and start opening up. ‘Quent, the roof, oh my God, the roof is coming d…’

And then a big chunk of ceiling hinged inward and we were drenched with a couple of gallons of icy cold rain that had been collecting on the roof.

‘Bloody hell!’ shouted Quentin when the water hit him, and he scrambled off the bed lightning quick. ‘Shit, Taz, come here, or the whole thing’ll collapse on top of you,’ He grabbed my wrist and heaved me off in one mighty pull. We stood there, leaning against each other, dripping and shivering, looking at the devastation in shocked silence. The rain fell straight onto the bed and the wind howled through the cabin.

‘I didn’t know,’ I finally managed through chattering teeth, ‘your guest cabins came with sun roofs.’

He began to shake, at first I thought it was from the cold, but when his infectious giggle started to erupt, I looked up at him to see his face completely contorted. Tears running from the corners of his eyes. He shook his head, hoisted up his jeans and buttoned his fly, bursting out in little giggles again and again. ‘Oh Tazzie, you’re just…’ he managed to get out in between two bursts. ‘Anyone else would give me a right ear bashing, or sue me till I’m skint, at that, but you… Christ, sun roofs. Rain roofs, more likely.’ He rummaged around in my bag and handed me my fleece jumper, still grinning. ‘Here, rug up, luv, you’ll freeze your pommie bum off.’

‘Don’t call me that, you bloody convict,’ I said from inside the jumper.

He giggled some more and pulled the jumper down, my head popping out like a cork. He took my face in his hands. ‘God, I love you, Taz,’ he said, his eyes liquid warm, his voice gritty and thick with emotion. It sounded as if it had escaped him before he had time to reconsider, and immediately after, he squeezed his eyes shut for an instant as if he realized a faux pas, and let his hands fall away.

I swallowed. ‘I’m not going to hold you to that,’ I whispered to his shoulder.

He made sort of a strangled sound, then suddenly turned on his heel and prowled the room for his t-shirt and flannel. ‘I’ll go… and get the, erm…’ he fished the t-shirt off the floor and shook it out, ‘…get the car, and drive back here.’ He pulled it on; it clung to his body in an uncomfortable, clammy way. His flannel was in a corner. ‘You get your stuff together, Taz, and we’ll get you settled at the house, right?’ He paused at the threshold, looking out into the still pouring rain. The thunderstorm had passed but the rain hadn’t eased up one bit. And then he was gone, I could hear his running footfalls splashing away.

So I did as he’d said, I put on dry clothes and gathered my stuff – which wasn’t all that much to begin with – packed everything in my bag and waited.

And waited.

Chapter Six

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