Focus back or no focus back, it took me another couple of days before I had the courage to finally open that box and do the test. And now I’m here, right where I started when I began telling you my story. I’ve been at Nana a good three months and in that time, I have reluctantly but no less thoroughly fallen for Quentin, I’ve gotten my heart broken and... I stare at the test stick that has turned a bright blue. I’ve managed to get pregnant.

Things certainly have gotten more complicated. But then again, maybe they haven’t. After all, I have my return ticket booked, I know what I’m going to do. Maybe it will all be so simple, if I can keep my focus.

And then my mobile rings.

‘Quent?’ I quickly pick up.

‘Taz, oh, fuck, Tazzie, I’m losing it, Jesus Christ, I’m…’

Total pandemonium on the other end of the line. My heart speeds up as I ask: ‘…what? What’s wrong, Quent, are you all right? What’s going on?’ Focus, I try to tell myself, but all I can feel is worry for Quentin’s safety. His breathing is really fast, he’s walking, he sounds like…

‘I got the – eh…’ he goes, and I hear him fumble for a fag, light up and exhale. That seems to calm him a little. ‘I got the test results, just a second ago,’ he then manages, ‘and, fuckin’ hell I can’t believe I’ve been this stupid.’

‘What do they say?’ I ask quietly, not knowing if I fear the one possibility more that the other.

‘Well,’ he calms himself with another mighty drag on his cigarette, ‘it’s definitely not mine. In fact, she probably was pregnant already when the court case was on. I can’t be sure that she knew there and then, but… Shit, you know, Tazzie?’

I’m counting in my head. ‘When, how long is she…?’ I’m asking.

‘From just before… or just after, I proposed to her,’ Quentin growls poignantly.

‘Jesus…’ I whisper.

‘Yeah, “Jesus” indeed… God, fuck, I feel like such a bloody idiot.’ His voice is hard and full of pain.

‘Well you couldn’t have known, could you? I mean, your intentions were good?’

Something of resignation seems to land in his voice. ‘Yeah they were. Only I picked the wrong woman to have them with, hey?’

‘Well, at least now you know…’ I softly say, not knowing what I could come up with to make him feel a little better.

‘Yeah…’ he sighs, ‘Thanks, though, Tazzie-luv, for being such a good friend… I wouldn’t have known what to do if I hadn’t had you to talk to… Shit, I feel fuckin’ awful, I can’t get anything right… but at least... you know, you and I, we’re still mates…’ He sounds about as wistful as I feel.

A good friend, mates… If I needed any proof of the inequality of the feelings we have for each other, well, this is it. It also reinforces my belief in having made the right choice, not telling him about the pregnancy. He’d feel forced to come to the rescue again, and I’d rather have my baby on my own than with a man who wasn’t truly committed, well, committed to me, in his heart.

I sigh. There is something that I do have to tell him though. ‘Quent, listen, I’ve got my return ticket booked… Day after tomorrow I’m leaving…’

There is an eternity of silence on the other end. Then, finally, he mutters: ‘…yeah, ‘course you are… uh… give me all your details, luvvie? I need to be able to get in touch with you in London… You want me to book you a jet? ‘s A lot more comfy for you…’

I smile a sad smile. ‘No it’s fine, Quent, it’s already booked, I’ll just fly commercial.’

‘Oh. Right. You coming past Sydney on your way out, um, will I see you?’

‘Probably not, I don’t think I’ve got enough transfer time to get out of the airport…’

‘Oh…’ another fumble for a fag, the sound of a lighter and the sharp exhale of smoke.

We are silent for a bit, neither of us knowing what to say. I feel my heart burn in my chest and keep my eyes trained on the pregnancy test stick. Bright blue. Focus.

‘…so I’ll ring you in the mornin’, yeah?’ Quentin finally croaks at me through his cigarette smoke.

‘OK,’ I reply, and hang up immediately after, or else I would have listened to him breathing for another I dunno how long.

I take one last long look at the stick, then toss it into the bin and turn around to go outside for a long walk. Clear my head. I need that.

I walk for at least an hour and a half, the weather is fine, sunny but not too hot, and I have a last good look around at the spots I have come to love most in the last months. Then, I plan to go back inside and get some stuff packed, then maybe do some work. I’ve not been able to get much done the last couple of weeks; I was either too heartbroken or I had my head in a bucket. Or both. I give myself a rueful grin and when I look up, to my surprise I see Martin jogging up the path towards me.

‘Bloody hell, woman, where were you? I’ve been all over the place tryin’ to find you, Christ!...’ he pants at me. He stands with his hands in his side, breathing hard, like he’s been running for a long time. Sweat is glistening on his face.

‘What, what is it, something wrong with Jo?’ I ask hurriedly, my eyes wild.

‘Well that’s just so you, isn’t it, Tazzie, always thinkin’ about someone else first,’ Martin manages between laboured breaths. ‘But don’t worry, no one died. Yet.’  Suddenly his eyes are glistening hard.

I start to worry even more. Have I done something to upset him? Did I miss a clue somewhere…? I lift my hands in the air.  ‘Please, Martin. Tell me what’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong?’ says Martin, stepping closer into my aura, ‘you’re preggers is what’s wrong, Tazzie, and my brother not knowing about it!’

‘I… How do you…’ I gasp.

‘Saw the bloody test stick in the trash, Taz, and since I know it’s not my daughter and my mother’s beyond it, you’re the only logical candidate. Why are you keeping quiet about it? I asked Mum, she told me you’re not tellin’ Quent. He has a bloody right to know, Tazzy, for Christ’s sake, he’s the Dad. Even if he’s suddenly findin’ out he’s got two kids, doesn’t fuckin’ matter, he’s got a right to know!’

‘Bree’s child is not Quent’s,’ I mutter, my head down. ‘I’ve just come off the phone with him, he rang me the minute he found out. He was really upset, as you can imagine…’

‘All the more reason for you to tell him. He needs to know, Tazzie, I dunno what you’re afraid of but you’ll have to get over it, ‘coz…’ Martin shakes his head. Then what I just said really sinks in. ‘He’s not the dad? Of Bree’s baby I mean?’

‘No, he isn’t.’

‘Whoa, that’s a fuckin’ relief.’

I grin hesitantly.

‘Yeah, it is,’ Martin goes on. ‘I don’t want that crazy sheila makin’ my brother unhappy when I know that he could be with the likes of you… What?’

Now I’m the one shaking my head, my eyes burning. ‘It’s not going to happen, Martin. He doesn’t feel that way about me.’

‘What the fuck are you on about? I saw the two of you together.’

‘Well, he left, didn’t he? He left the minute he heard about Bree’s pregnancy, and he didn’t even stop to discuss it with me, to see if we could come up with some sort of solution, the two of us. I guess that shows how important our relationship was for him, don’t you think? And besides, when we’re on the phone, he never says anything… I dunno, he only says how happy he is we’re still good friends.’

‘Yeah, but he phones you every fuckin’ day. Doesn’t that tell you something, Tazzie? And the minute he gets these bloody test results, who’s he ringing?’ He looks at me poignantly.

‘Well he needs a mate, I reckon,’ I almost whisper.

‘Jesus Christ, are you bloody naïve or what?’ Martin explodes. ‘I rung him coupla days ago, you know, just to see how he was holdin’ up, and actually I wanted to give him an earful about leavin’ you like that, but he was so fuckin’ depressed that I couldn’t bring myself to do it… Quent misses you like crazy, Taz. He said he hardly sleeps, doesn’t know what to do with himself… He told me about why he did what he did – I mean, finally he tells me, took him bloody forever didn’t it, anyway, he said he explained to you why he had to go, but he broke his own heart just as much as he broke yours. Stupid fucker.’

‘So what is it you’re trying to say to me?’ I softly say, my head reeling.

‘Taz, are you deaf? You need to tell my brother about the baby. He’ll come for you; I know he will. He’s just waiting for an excuse to get his arse back here. He needs that; I think he’s afraid to… You know, I’ve never heard him like that, on the phone, he was like… I dunno, really insecure. He thinks you don’t want him anymore. So just tell him about it, Taz, he’ll be here so fast…’

‘Wait!’ I grind out, finally finding my voice, lifting up a hand. ‘That’s exactly what I don’t want, Martin. Don’t you see? I don’t want him to come rushing here just because he finds out I’m pregnant – that’s precisely the same as what he did with Bree. It wouldn’t mean a thing. I… I really love your brother, with all my heart, but I’d rather have my baby on my own than using it to tie him to me. If he doesn’t want me the way I want him, you know, regardless, it’s all completely pointless. Don’t you think?’

I feel myself droop. I hang my head and feel the tears starting to roll down my cheeks. I thought I had cried myself dry these last weeks, but apparently there’s still a lot more in there, and I quietly shake while Martin steps closer, wraps his arms around me in a bear hug and silently rubs my back as I let it all pour out.

‘Tazzie,’ he says quietly as the sobbing winds down, ‘if you don’t tell him, I will.’

‘No, please don’t…’ I sniffle weakly into his shoulder, but deep down in my heart I know that I do want him to know. Of course I want him to know about his child.

‘Come on then,’ Martin says quietly, ‘I’m takin’ you back to the homestead. You’ve done enough irrigation for the day.’

I grin through my tears and let him walk me back to the big house, his arm protectively around me.

~*~

When I come back in, apparently everybody knows about my, erm, situation. Bush telegraph again, I reckon. Everyone is extremely sweet and caring to me, but it makes me feel like I’m terminally ill, or made of china, and it drives me bonkers within the hour.

So I lock myself in the guest room, where I start throwing stuff in my bag, thinking about what I would have to wear for the journey, what I would need for my last day at Nana…. I would have to leave really early, the day after tomorrow, and Jo has promised to drive me to Coffs for the first leg of the trip: the local flight to Sydney airport.

Then, I flip open my laptop and start on a load of emails and posts that have gathered over the last weeks. I’ve been a lazy bum, what with all the, well, excitement; I should have gotten back to work days ago, I berate myself. What’s happened to my work ethics?

As the time for dinner approaches, Jo knocks on my door. ‘Have you seen Marty?’ she asks, sticking her head in. ‘My ute’s missing, and so is he. You think he drove to Coffs, maybe went to the pub or something?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know, he never said anything to me…’ I answer, but then I get a jolt. He can’t be driving all the way down to Sydney, can he? That’ll be like seven, eight hours solid driving. He can’t be. If he wants Quent to know he can just ring him? Oh… Christ… I feel myself go pale and my stomach starts to burn.

‘Taz!’ Jo shouts. ‘You’re white as a sheet, what is it?’

‘No… I… He said he was going to…’ I manage, then I dash for the bathroom, making it just in time.

Jo is sweet as ever, she cleans me up and wraps her arms around me as I start to cry again, hiccupping at her: ‘H-he said he’d t-tell Q-quent… about the b… baby…’ I’m shivering like I’m really, really cold.

I sigh, fight for a little composure, then manage to say: ‘…he said if I wouldn’t tell him, he will… He can’t be driving all the way to Sydney, can he, Jo?’

‘Well not in my ute I hope!’ says Jo indignantly, ‘if he’s stupid enough to do that, he can drive the damn car right back as well, far as I’m concerned. Has he gone completely nuts or what? Well, I can only hope he got on the plane at Coffs. That would be a lot more sensible.’

‘I thought he’d just phone him,’ I mutter.

‘Oh, Taz, be serious, it’s hardly the kind of news Quentin needs to hear over the phone, now is it?’ Jo looks at me sternly.

‘Well, Bree rung him to tell him…’ I reply wistfully.

‘Yes, well, you’re not Bree, and neither is Martin. He knows his brother, knows how stubborn and downright stupid he can be, sorry I have to say it, Tazzie, but it is the truth. Guess Marty’s gone over to do the big brother thing, tell Quent to get his act together. Maybe you should try to postpone your flight, love, see how this comes out. It would be a shame if you’d just miss Quent, and he’d have to come after you, follow you all the way to London… Now wouldn’t it?’

I hesitate for just a second. But then, I think focus!, and I shake my head at Jo. ‘No, I’m going. Like I planned. It wasn’t my idea to tell Quent, I’m not going to sit here like a helpless… waiting for them to…’ I shake my head, tears streaming down my cheeks again.

Jo sighs. ‘Tazzie, you’re just as stubborn, and just as stupid, as my son. But if that’s what you want, I’ll drive you to the airport day after tomorrow, I don’t know in what yet, but I’ll drive you… I promised, after all, so I will. But my goodness, am I the only one here who recognizes the fact that you and Quent should be together?’

‘Martin thinks so too, apparently…’ I smile through my tears, only to start crying again all the harder.

‘Oh, be still, shush,’ says Jo, wrapping her arms around me again, ‘think about your situation, this can’t be good for your baby, Tazzie…’ she wipes the hair out of my eyes. ‘It’s my grandchild we’re talking about, you do realize that don’t you?’ And she gives me such a brilliant, happy smile that I can only smile back at her, and I feel myself calming down.

~*~

I’ve hardly slept, and now the day has begun, my last day at Nana, and as I’m slowly and carefully packing all my belongings, the finality of it is truly sinking in. I’ve always had trouble saying goodbye, in any situation, but now it is truly monumentally hard. My soul burns and grieves, not only for Quentin but for the beautiful time I’ve had here. Beautiful and immeasurably sad. I guess I’ll be back here at some point, with my child, as he or she will have to get to know his or her Australian family, but still… I wish… I don’t know what I wish.

The day drags itself out, the weather seems to mourn right along with me, as it drizzles the whole day, the sky a depressing grey. No sign or sound of Martin and Quentin. He’s not coming, it goes in my mind, he’s not even phoning, like he promised. He doesn’t care. Told you, didn’t I? Remember the little voice? Well, there it is again, right there, muttering its dissent, and poisoning my heart. Focus! I tell myself and fire up my laptop. Thank God there’s a lot of work to be done on my correspondence, and there’s an urgent message from my agent who wants to meet up in London as soon as possible. I tell him I’ll be there in about 48 hours. And sigh. And sigh again.

Jo keeps telling me she is going to miss me, but I’m really happy she doesn’t try to make me postpone my flight again. I don’t know if I could have withstood her for long if she had tried, and I would have felt immensely stupid, since he’s not coming. He’s not coming. Martin’s travelled all the way to Sydney to tell him in person and he’s not coming. Told you, didn’t I? Yeah, yeah, I bend my head and try to crawl into my laptop screen, trying to forget everything else. And I almost succeed, at least for a time.

Dusk is falling, when there is an unusual noise outside, a noise that slowly penetrates my deep concentration. Car tyres screeching, car doors being slammed shut - in London, these sounds wouldn’t even have attracted attention, they would be so normal there. But here in Nana… I look up from my laptop, and immediately after, I hear a door in the house being slammed open, running footfalls, and my name being called, growled, breathlessly, desperately: ‘Taz? Fuck, Tazzie? Ta…’ And then he’s in the room with me.

Quentin.

I fly out of my chair and back up a couple of steps.

His eyes dash from left to right, his hair’s dishevelled and he looks unkempt, in a rumpled tee and holed jeans. He looks like he’s slept in his clothes. He takes a tentative step in my direction. ‘Tazzie?’ he almost pants, stretching out a hand.

I take another step back.

‘Taz, is it true?’ His eyes are imploring.

I swallow. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.

He steps towards me, faltering, a look on his face between pain and bliss, ‘We havin’ a baby?’

‘Yes,’ I whisper again. My senses go haywire. He’s here, in the room with me, and I feel his desperation, his elation, mingling, crackling like electricity, his presence filling my whole being with a warm longing for his arms around me, his body against me, a longing for everything that we had.

Focus! I tell myself. Focus.

I take another step back until I’m backed up against the wall, and I close my eyes.

And suddenly, Quentin’s arms are around me, his hand is in my hair, his lips against my temple. ‘Oh I’ve missed you so, I felt so bloody awful without you, Tazzie, my Tazzie-luv, Christ, I thought you didn’t want to see me again, I’m so glad Marty came to tell me about… What, what, luv?...Luvvie?’

I relax against him for only a fraction of a second; I just can’t help myself. He feels so good, so extremely good… It’s like this coming home, feeling his arms around me, smelling his wonderful smell… We would be so happy, Quentin and me, and our little…

NO! Focus! Quentin wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my pregnancy. He’s not here for me. I stiffen in his arms, and slowly, reluctantly, he lets go of me, whispering another desperate ‘…luvvie?!’

‘Quent… Oh… Quentin, we need to talk, we need to…’ I rub my forehead, frowning, laying a hand on his upper arm. Now that he’s here, I’ve felt him again, I find it almost impossible not to touch him, he’s so close. My Quent. I can’t believe everything went so wrong.

Chapter Fifteen

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