It proved very difficult to keep quiet about my suspicions. My insides were still very easily upset, but lucky for me, it was at its worst in the evenings. So the notion of it being, um, morning sickness didn’t quite jump to the forefront of everyone’s minds, and I just kept repeating that it had to be some sort of very determined gastric flu.

The second week into my ‘flu’, I discovered that, as long as I stuck to fruit, veg, fish and rice, I could manage to keep it down. I still felt horrid from time to time, but at least I didn’t puke out my guts out non-stop.

Jo cared for me as if I was her own. She focused entirely on my health and studiously avoided the Q word, and apparently she had instructed everyone else to do the same, because no one mentioned Quentin when I was around. Not even in passing. Jo however noticed how I kept a hand on my belly whenever I got lost in thought, which seemed to happen quite a lot.

‘Feeling sick again, Taz?’ she inquired with a worried face.

I shook my head and began: ‘No, it’s just...’ and could stop myself barely in time. God it was hard not saying anything. I felt bad, felt like I was lying to her, but I couldn’t risk it; after all I wasn’t even sure I was pregnant. Hell, I wasn’t sure of anything any more.

And still no calls from Quentin. Not to me, and not to anyone else at Nana either.

One evening nearing the end of the second week, I overheard Jo and Martin talking in the kitchen, after I had gone to bed early with another particularly nasty case of inner upheaval.

‘You hear from him yet, Mum?’ Martin asked, chewing on something. ‘I can’t believe he’d just bolt like that and never even ring. Not even once. Poor Taz, I think she’s bein’ such a brave little sheila; I feel for her though...’

‘Not a peep out of him.’ Jo said, an angry note in her voice. ‘Taz is heartbroken, she’s putting on a brave face, but she’s... She hardly speaks, eats only tiny bites... Just stares out the window, clutching her belly, getting sick all the time... It’s like she’s trying to chunder him out of her system...’

Well that was one way of looking at it. I sighed and lay back in the pillows, hand on my belly again. I missed him. I ached for him, every second of every waking moment. It was a dull, nagging pain, impossible to ignore, and it made time crawl and everything seem agonizingly heavy. Food tasted as miserably as I felt. I hardly ate and felt myself go thinner by the day. And still no sign of my period.

And then, after he was gone for exactly 15 days – I was counting, obviously - he rang. The house, not my mobile. Jo answered in the living room; I heard her go ‘Quent?’, her voice thick with surprise. I sat frozen in the kitchen and felt like the bottom had just fallen out from under me. He hadn’t even thought of ringing me, he’d just phoned home to his family.

Jo came back into the kitchen, talking to him, shooting me a quick look. ‘So you’re in Sydney? How long have you been back, love? Two days? I see. And is Bree with you? Oh. Right.’

I burned to know if that was a yes or a no. So he was here, well, back in Oz anyway. Christ! I’d never have thought! I wanted to run and hide, and crawl into the phone at the same time; I wanted to know everything, and simultaneously I never wanted to hear his name spoken in my presence again. I didn’t know what I wanted.

‘And you’re still...?’ said Jo, against a tide of words flooding out of Quent. I could hear his voice rumble on at high speed but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

‘Slow down, slow down...’ went Jo, ‘I can’t make heads nor tails of what you’re on about. So Bree is back in LA and you came back here because...’ Another barrage of words.

‘Calm down, Quent, you’re not making sense.’ She lifted her eyebrows at me and sighed an exasperated sigh. ‘So let me see, the two of you aren’t together, but if the baby turns out to be yours you’ll marry her nonetheless? For the child. And now you’re waiting to have it tested, to see if you’re the dad. And you have to wait for that until when? All right. And you thought it better to wait it out in Sydney than to stay with Bree?’ Jo was shaking her head. ‘Oh I see,’ she continued, as no doubt Quentin explained to her why he was doing whatever he was doing. I heard another spring tide of rumbled gibberish gushing out of the ear piece of the phone and Jo kept on shaking her head, as if whatever he was telling her, it was all very foolish.

‘And you’re not coming back to Nana?’ she finally asked, giving me one of her glances again. Apparently his answer was a negative one, because after an almost imperceptible hesitation, she said: ‘Taz is still here, you know; she fell ill after you left and she’s been too weak to travel…’

It was silent for a long time on the other end. Then, he said something to his mother and she handed the phone to me. I felt like a mirror image of when he phoned in after the court case: I didn’t want to take the phone then, while deep down inside I was dying to speak to him. Now, I eagerly accepted the phone but felt a cold spot in my heart region that made me want to disappear before the conversation could take place.

I put the phone to my ear and said; ‘…hello?’ as if I was talking to a stranger. My eyes started to burn.

‘Taryn?’ he said, very, very softly.

I couldn’t speak, my throat felt like I had swallowed a roll of barbed wire.

‘You there, Taz?’ he sounded concerned now.

‘Yes I’m here…’ I squeaked through the barbed wire.

‘What happened, what’s wrong with you, uh… you feel better by now, or… was it something serious, did you have to go to the hospital?’

‘Well, I think it was some sort of, um, flu, um...’ said I, fiddling with my hair, ‘I was throwing up a lot, but it’s a little better now… I’m still a bit wobbly though… um, I guess I’ll go back home soon as I’m fully recovered…’

‘Mm,’ said Quentin. ‘You know Taz, I’m…’

‘Yeah?’ said I, almost a whisper.

‘I’m...ah...’ A big sigh. And silence.

I didn’t know what to say either, so we just sat there, on the phone, miserable and silent.

Just hearing his voice brought it all back; the mind-boggling attraction, the laughter, the warmth... the way Quentin’s emotions would mingle with my own, the way our bodies responded to each other... Oh, I would never love again, I was sure of it, and involuntarily, I put a hand on my belly.

Jo’s eyes never left me, and I managed a watery smile for her benefit.

‘Look, Tazzie, how about I ring you tomorrow, yeah?’ Quent said softly, just before the silence became unbearable.

‘OK,’ I whispered, ‘um...bye, then... Talk to you tomorrow.’

‘Bye, Tazzie,’ he replied, ‘take care, eh?’ And then he was gone.

I put the phone on the counter and started to shake. Jo was right next to me in an instant and she rubbed my arms and stroked my hair out of my face. ‘All right, love?’  she said, worried; ‘you feeling sick again?’

‘No, no, it’s, I’m OK, I just... I hadn’t counted on... you know, that he’d be here in Oz, and it was really weird hearing his voice... I didn’t know what to say to him...’

‘What did he say to you, love?’  inquired Jo.

‘Well... he asked what was wrong with me... and then nothing, really... He started saying something but it just didn’t come out...’ I smiled my watery smile again, ‘ guess he spent it all talking a mile a minute to you…’ It was a feeble attempt, what am I saying, a pathetic attempt at a joke, but it earned me an encouraging smile.

‘Hmm,’ Jo continued, thinking, ‘You know, he’s here because him and Bree couldn’t work things out between them? He said she got on his nerves so badly that he thought it’d be best for the baby if he’d just leave and wait for the test results to come in. If it turns out it’s his, he’ll go back and marry her, and he swears he’ll find a way to deal with that temper of his, for the baby’s sake... But I don’t see how he’ll manage, I mean, if Bree and him can’t find happiness between the two of them, they will certainly not find any when there’s a little one to take care of as well...’

I sighed. ‘But he’s set his mind to it, so there’s no going back for him, is there...’

I still hadn’t told Jo the full story as Quentin had explained it to me, what had transpired between him and Bree before the phone situation, and why he was so desperate now to save his child, even at the cost of his own happiness. In a strange way, I could sort of understand what he was doing, if I managed to forget my own pain for just a moment. It was noble, no doubt. But stupid as well, damn him.

‘How long will he have to wait for the paternity test?’ I asked Jo.

‘At least another week before she’s gone far enough, and then it’s a matter of when she can have the test done, schedule-wise. According to Quent, she didn’t want him to leave in the first place; she wanted to get married straight away before word gets out that she’s pregnant. But apparently he’s learned something from the past, eh, Taz, what with insisting on having it tested? She might as well be after him again for publicity only, and who knows to what lengths she will go...’

‘Y...you really think she could be pregnant by someone else and…?’ I had of course thought about that myself, but I just couldn’t imagine anyone stooping so low. ‘Christ, I can’t believe that bitch,’ I spat, ‘and I certainly can’t believe what Quent ever saw in her. I mean, she’s very beautiful, but she’s so... so cold! So ruthless! So... not loving at all. Quent needs love, and attention, he needs to be hugged a lot, you know?’ I gave Jo an imploring stare.

‘I know, love,’ she said, resigned. ‘And you gave him exactly what he needed. You made him really happy, you know? I’m his Mum, I can tell. And if there was something I could do to make him see sense, I certainly would. But right now I’m just really happy to know that he’s not running headlong into this marriage with Brianna Roberts. It’ll never work. She doesn’t love him, she only wants to use him. I can feel it.’ She wiped the counter top with passion, then gave me a sideways glance. ‘So… he’ll ring you tomorrow?’

‘That’s what he said,’ I replied tiredly. ‘I do hope we’ll have something to say to each other when he does...’

~*~

The next day, I walked around with my mobile in my pocket all day long, just like before the trial, but while I was looking forward to his call, I dreaded it in equal measures. I hadn’t a clue what I was going to say to him. I wished I could be angry with him, so I could at least have screamed at him, but all I felt was this pervading sadness, this emptiness that sucked the life out of everything.

Finally, he rang. I picked up, feeling dead on the inside.

‘Quent?’

‘Taz?’ he said simultaneously.

We fell silent again. Then, I went: ‘um… hi?’

‘Hi luvvie,’ he said warmly, like he couldn’t help himself. Like it had rolled off his tongue before he could stop it.

‘Mm,’ was the only thing I could manage, but a small, glowing bubble like a lava lamp formed in my chest.

‘Uh… you feeling better today, Tazzie?’

‘Yeah, I’m doing OK, I reckon… um… you?’

‘Oh, well, er, I’m… Reckon I’m doing OK too, sort of… Well… uh… it’s, like, a bit of a weird time, waiting for the bloody test, hey?’

‘Yeah, um, I can imagine…’ I replied hollowly, not really knowing how to respond.

‘Yeah…’ Quent said wistfully.

I listened to him lighting up a fag and exhaling. I knew exactly what he would look like, the little crinkles by his eyes, the way he held his cigarette, his eyebrows slightly uneven; the way he closed his eyes when the first nicotine rush would hit him. I missed him intensely, and suddenly it was such a physical thing that I almost cringed in pain, like I missed a body part. I clamped my eyes shut and forced myself to breathe calmly. I was really happy Jo couldn’t see me now as my hand folded over my belly again.

‘Uh… did my Mum tell you what, where… oh, fuck it.’ Quent’s voice was thick from the cigarette smoke. Or maybe it was emotion, I wasn’t sure. He paused for an instant, then rattled: ‘ I dunno what it is but I can’t seem to talk like a normal person any more, Tazzie. I dunno. Really, I…’

‘Jo told me what you told her, yeah,’ I interrupted, replying to his unfinished question. ‘Was that OK? Or was it, um, was it a secret?

‘No, Christ, no, not at all, I wanted you to know, uh, I would have rung you but I didn’t know you’d still be at Nana, did I, well, I mean, I could have rung you in London too, only I don’t have your home number, but I guess your mobile would have worked, yeah, but I reckon I didn’t know what to say to you anyway, not that I didn’t want to hear your voice, because I did. I do. I mean, you know…’ he fell silent and cleared his throat. Then said: ‘…fuckin’ hell, I’m yakkin’ on like a bloody idiot.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said, not really knowing what I was referring to, but wanting to say something reassuring to him nonetheless.

‘No it isn’t,’ Quentin replied softly, ‘it’s not all right at all.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘…oh crikey, Tazzie-luv,’ he almost whispered, ‘I miss you so much…’

That quiet little statement nearly ripped my heart right out of my chest, and I couldn’t get a word out as my voice refused to cooperate.

‘…talking to you, you know, hearing your voice, it helps though…’ he said, his own voice choking up.

That really was true. For some torturous reason it was actually better to at least hear his voice than to have absolutely nothing of him. So I managed a quiet little ‘yeah…’ and we sat there listening to each others’ breathing again, until he started talking again.

‘So, you know I’m, er, I’ve got some talks lined up with some people here,’ he really sounded like he’d given himself a mental shake and was making conversation for the sake of it, ‘about the stuff we were working on, you and I, you know, the script? There is a lot of interest, just like you predicted; maybe I can actually get something off the ground…’

I latched on like mad, I wanted to know every little detail and I made him promise he’d let me know everything that happened in the near future. Before we knew it, we’d been on the phone for over half an hour and some sense of normalcy had returned to the conversation. And plus, we now had a reason to stay in touch, and that made me really happy. I don’t know why, I had no right to be happy about anything concerning Quentin, but there I was. He’d promised to let me know how things developed with his project and he was going to ring me again. Tomorrow.

So, the next day, right on the dot, he rang me again. And we spent about an hour going over every minute detail of the script, the various people he had talked to, their respective roles in Australian film making, the way he envisioned things to go from now on, the financing he’d have to arrange for… We talked about every little thing we could think about.

Next day, same story. And the day after. Quentin and I, we were turning into your regular phone addicts. But we never actually talked about what mattered; we kept it superficial, blathered on about film making in Australia and just drank in each other’s voices.

And so, slowly, the week ran its course. Quentin’s test results were drawing nearer and my period certainly wasn’t. I would have to face the facts some time soon. I had stopped throwing up and the feeling of sickness I could keep down to a minimum so long as I avoided certain foods, so I would have to get my sorry arse back home and get a pregnancy test.

I spent another two days looking for excuses, but then I finally ran out of them and in a flash of decisiveness, or maybe it was plain stupidity, I booked my flight home. I couldn’t get a seat straight away, so I would have to impose on Jo’s hospitality for another couple of days – which was no problem, of course - but then I’d be going. Finally. It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders now that the decision had been made. I was going home at last, and, as I told myself in a mental whisper so soft it was almost impossible to hear, I would have Quentin’s baby. I would have his child and love it as much as I had loved its dad.

~*~

Jo still watched me like a hawk. Did I eat enough, did I sleep well, how was I feeling today? I was tempted to tell her to back off a little, if it weren’t for the fact that she was such a wonderful, warm, giving person, such an incredible friend. And she had her own sadness to contend with; she had to come to terms with a feeling of loss too, where Quentin was concerned. If he was to marry Bree, she feared for his happiness and she grieved in advance for the fact that she couldn’t be there for him when things went wrong. For her, it wasn’t a question of ‘if’ it went wrong, it was a definite ‘when’.

Jo was also very curious to hear Quentin’s progress on his project, and she made me repeat our daily telephone conversations as literally as I could manage. And she always asked if he had said… anything else…?

But no. He never said anything else. And neither did I. I didn’t tell him about my flight home and I certainly didn’t tell him about my possible pregnancy, of which I got more and more sure with each passing day. I really didn’t feel like complicating matters any further, not for him and certainly not for me. I would go home with my little secret and pick up my life as best I could, and in a way I was beginning to feel happy with the little piece of Quentin and me that was growing inside me. It wasn’t the ideal situation, but on the other hand… I would love our baby. Christ, I intended to love this child so much, it would probably end up with a lifelong therapist dependency.

I’ve said it before, I think: things rarely go as planned where Quentin is concerned, and I do believe this is a genetic trait. Because things didn’t go as planned where his child was concerned either, and the cause for that was his Mum.

Jo came at me in the kitchen with a rather dreadful look of purpose on her face, and she said to me, brooking no disagreement: ‘Sit down Tazzie, we need to talk.’

I sat.

She removed her hand from her pocket and in it was a packet, which she slapped down on the kitchen counter in front of me with a resounding smack.

It was a small, oblong white carton box with a certain medical feel to it, and on it, it said in elegant blue script: pregnancy test.

My breath faltered.

‘Bought it in Coffs the other day,’ she clarified. ‘So, tomorrow morning we’ll know for sure, won’t we?’

‘Um, Jo, um…’ I began, feeling the blood rise in my cheeks.

‘Come on, love, did you really think I was that stupid? I’ve had two of my own, and we Finches are a big family, so I’ve seen a lot of women in your position. Look, I understand you find it difficult to talk about, but you can’t just ignore it until it’ll go away. Well,’ here she gave it a rueful little laugh, ‘eventually it will go away of course, but it’ll take at least another eighteen to twenty years, so…’

I smiled, flaming cheeks or no.

‘Does my son know? He doesn’t, does he?’

I shook my head, carefully fingering the test packet, afraid to meet Jo’s eyes.

‘Are you going to tell him at all?’

‘I… I guess I was thinking not to…?’ I said, hesitantly. ‘You see Jo, I love him to pieces, but what I don’t want is him coming back to be just because I’m carrying his child.’

‘What do you mean, love, “just because you’re carrying his child”? You make it sound like it’s a minor detail.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t mean it that way, I just meant to say that, well, he went back to Bree because of the baby, not because he… loved her, didn’t he? So, I wouldn’t want him to do the same thing again, with me.’

‘But Tazzie, he does love you, you know he does!’

‘But apparently not enough to stay with me, not enough to try to find another solution for Bree and the baby… I mean, Jo, I have been thinking these last weeks… I love Quent enough to face any situation with him that life can throw at us. I wouldn’t leave him for anything… But apparently he doesn’t feel the same way about me. And you know, if, if we were ever to get back together again I’d want it to be because he loves me like I love him, not because he feels some sort of obligation towards his child.’

It was as simple as that. I hadn’t fully realized how I felt until I vocalized my feelings to Jo, and now I’d said it, I knew it was true. And with it, I knew I truly had my focus back.

Chapter Fourteen

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