Jo runs into the room. ‘Quent! You’re here!’

‘Hi Mum,’ he says quietly, his eyes never leaving my face.

Jo immediately senses the tension between Quentin and me, immediately feels that we’re not OK. She takes both of us by the hand and tugs. ‘Come on, you two, we are going to have a talk. In the kitchen, the both of you.’

We follow. We sit on the stools she indicates. We hang our heads. I feel Quentin’s hand close around mine, and although I tense up, I can’t bring myself to pull my hand away. That warm glow, inside, and a sea of sadness…

‘Now listen, the two of you,’ Jo begins, addressing us like we were wayward teenagers. ‘It’s a very serious situation you’ve gotten yourselves into, and you both need to be adults about it. There is a baby involved. Now,’ She turns and looks at me. ‘I know what you told me, you didn’t want to tell Quent about the baby, because you didn’t want him to come to the rescue just for the baby’s sake when he wasn’t sure of his love for you, but I think…’

‘That true, Tazzie?’ Quent interrupts, a startled look in his eyes, his hand gripping mine tight. ‘You not sure of how I feel about you?’

I nod, take a deep breath and, somewhere deep inside me, find the courage to say how I feel. ‘Yes it’s true,’ I go, ‘I know you say you love me, but you just left, when Bree rung; you just left me.’ I turn to face him, speaking softly, but feeling my anger flare up. ‘You didn’t ask me how I felt about it, or if I had any ideas how we could solve this problem together, because apparently I wasn’t high up enough on your priority list, Quent. We weren’t high up enough on your priority list. You just left. Broke it off, and…’ I move my hand through the air. Swallow. Then continue, painfully: ‘…you know, I’d never have; there would have been nothing in the world that could have made me leave you. We could have worked something out, together, or at least we might have tried…’

‘You’re speakin’ in the past tense…’ Quent observes, low, pained. ‘But I’m here now, Taz, doesn’t that mean something? I mean, bloody hell, I didn’t think you wanted me back, when I said I missed you so, on the phone, when I just got back to Sydney… You didn’t say a fuckin’ word in reply. If you would have, I’d have been here flat out, first heli I could get. And we’d have worked something out, I’m certain of it. I nearly lost it when I heard your voice again, no way I could have gone back to Bree and married her, after that, even if the baby…’

‘Well I didn’t know that, did I… I just got so choked up when I heard you, I couldn’t get anything out…’ I whisper, adding, more boldly: ‘…doesn’t change the fact though that you left in the first place…’

‘Yeah, that was a bloody brilliant move on my part, I know,’ Quentin berates himself cynically,  ‘don’t think I haven’t told myself that a million times. But Christ, Taz…’

He sighs. I sigh. We fall silent.

Jo picks up the thread again. ‘Quent, you will have to understand that, in a relationship, when the both of you are committed, you can’t just decide on your own any more. Tazzie’s right, you know, when you’re together, you face your problems together as well.’

‘Mum. I’m not that stupid.’ Quentin sighs, a little exasperated. But then he seems to have a bit of a think. ‘Or maybe I am. I probably am,’ he then says to me, very sincerely. ‘I’m sorry, Tazzie, I really am.’ He squeezes my hand.

I squeeze back and sigh a ‘…yeah…’ of my own, not really knowing what else to say.

‘So Taz… are we…. are you…’ Quent asks hesitantly. ‘Are you… staying?’

I think long, and hard. Part of me wants to say yes, desperately so, and just forget what has happened. Go on as if Quentin never left in the first place. But another part of me hesitates. What proof do I have that he won’t do it again? I feel so confused; I shake my head to clear it.

‘No? You’re goin’ back home anyway…?’ Quentin mutters, shock and disbelief in his voice.

‘Well I need to… meet up with my agent, and my publisher…’ I hear myself say, half in shock as well. Apparently I’ve made a decision already. ‘And besides, Quent…’ I turn to look at him. ‘I do love you, so very much, but I really need to, well, to think, I reckon. I need some space… You know? Normally people have a stable relationship for some time, get to know each other really well, you know, build something, and then they decide to have a baby…  didn’t work that way for us, did it? I really need to… sort things out in my head.’

Quentin hesitates, then nods, looking fraught. ‘You need to think about me? Or about the baby? Or… you do want to keep it, don’t you? Tazzie…?’

I know how important it is to him, but that’s not the reason why. Well, not entirely, anyway. ‘I do. I want this baby, Quent, I wouldn’t dream of…’

He sighs, relieved, and suddenly goes limp against me, as if someone’s cut his string. His head rests on my shoulder. ‘So it’s me you need to think about…?’ he mutters, very low and sad, so softly that I’m sure Jo hasn’t heard.

My arms go around him of their own accord, and I softly stroke his hair behind his ear. He snuggles up into my neck a little, and my heart melts for him. God, I love him, but I don’t know, I honestly don’t know if we can have the sort of relationship that I’d need, especially as parents. He’s just really… wild, I reckon… untamed almost. Untempered. Being like that has its beauty, I would never deny that, but I’m not sure I could deal with that part of him on a daily basis. I just can’t be sure. He’s hurt me so terribly, so thoughtlessly…

What hasn’t changed is how much I want him; I nearly fall off my stool from pure desire. He gives me two quick nipping kisses under my ear and breathes warmly against my neck. My resolve quakes along with my insides. ‘Quent,’ I say, nudging him softly to sit up again, ‘Quent, come on…’

He complies, but stays disconcertingly close. ‘So what do we do now, Tazzie-luv…?’ he says into my ear, his voice rippling right through me.

I think for a bit, fighting the urge to lean against him and almost, but not quite, winning. His arm sneaks around me. ‘Well, I… think I should just go back, as planned…’ I finally say, my voice surprisingly calm, compared to how I feel inside. It’s really weird, but I have some trouble actually saying “going back home”. Nana sort of feels like home, too. I feel so confused, and not just from the physical sensations that I get when Quent is close. ‘…and I think we should, you know, keep in touch, see how things develop… I’d want you to be involved with the baby, and we’ll just have to see how things go between the two of us, I reckon... but, um, right now, I really need to, um…’

‘Yeah,’ rumbles Quentin, his teal eyes travelling over my face, ‘you need some space… Well I can give you that, luvvie, I promise I can, so long as you’re not telling me we’re completely off…’

In the mean time, as our sad exchange flowed back and forth, Jo has busied herself with the water heater to give us some space, and now she turns back to us with two steaming tea mugs.

‘We’re not completely off, Quent…’ I softly say. ‘Definitely not. Just a bit of a break. And perhaps we could try again in a bit, you know, be a little more sensible about it…’ I smile wanly, and sip my tea.

Jo gives the both of us an encouraging look.

Quentin’s hand runs over my back, up, and down again, and he sighs: ‘OK, so I’ll drive you to Coffs in the morning. That OK, luvvie? I wanna see you off, make sure you get on safely…’

I nod. He nods in return. We sit and drink our tea.

~*~

Dinner is a quiet business. The folks are glad to see Quent, but it’s so obvious it isn’t a happy reunion for him and me that the general mood is fairly subdued. I can’t really eat that much, and I feel Quent’s eyes on me almost constantly. He’s really quiet as well.

After dinner, I excuse myself to go to sleep. I’m exhausted. Quent gets up when I do, and walks me to the guest room door.

‘Night, luvvie,’ he says into my hair, pulling me into a one-armed embrace. ‘Get some sleep, tomorrow you’ll have a long day travelling...’

Leaning against him for an instant, I get a good noseful of his addictive scent and I’m feeling his confused emotions churn through my soul. And this heat, this intoxicating, befuddling, sensual heat...

I straighten and create the tiniest bit of space between us. Quentin immediately feels it and sighs, regretfully letting his arm slip away. I lean in again and quickly kiss him on the corner of his mouth. ‘Night, Quent... Thanks...’

He gives me a lopsided smile and lets me go into the room, softly closing the door behind me.

Inside, I leave the light off, take a quick shower, throw a tee over my head and huddle under the bedcovers, not knowing what to do, how to feel. I love him, I want him, but at the same time, I really, honestly feel like I just can’t pretend like nothing happened… I need to be on my own, maybe mourn, maybe… I don’t know. Maybe just feel my child grow inside me. I fall asleep, dreaming in fitful fragments.

Until I wake up with a start, in a pitch dark room. Clunk, clatter… Something breaking, followed by a string of curses.

I climb out of bed, open the door and pad into the kitchen, where I find Quent in his tee and shorts, wielding a broom, a little work light on and a pint glass of milk standing on the counter. He looks up.

‘Oh Christ, I woke you up… Shit, I’m sorry… Eh, don’t come in, Taz, stay right there, I knocked over a bowl, there’s bits and pieces every fuckin’ where…’ he mutters, sweeping frantically.

I stand there, still half asleep, waiting until he’s done; then I carefully pick my way in. I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

He looks like a little boy with his rumpled T-shirt and bed hair, and his glass of milk. When he puts down the glass, he wipes his mouth and grins at me. ‘Couldn’t settle. Reckon I’d better give up the grog for now, what with the baby and all, so I have to find something else to put me to sleep, hey?’ His eyes twinkle. His grin is so seductive.

I step closer, and closer still; I can’t stay away from him. He stretches out an arm and just reels me in against his solid chest, wraps me in his arms and buries his face in my neck. ‘Mmm, you smell sleepy… can’t I just hold you like this until I fall asleep, Tazzie-luv?’ he hums against my skin.

‘That’s probably not a very good idea,’ I drowsily sigh into his ear, feeling that slow melt starting at my core as he’s nipping at my earlobe, nuzzling my cheek, then quietly plucking a couple of sticky kisses off my bottom lip. I can’t possibly resist him.

‘Wanna be with you, Taz… I can’t sleep at all when I’m not with you…’ he mutters against my mouth, his eyes closed.

I run my hand through his hair, giving his head a bit of a scratch. He sighs delightedly, pulling me in closer, and then suddenly we’re kissing, really kissing, and it’s just as beautiful, just as bewildering, just as impossible to stop as it was before he left. My mind may be messed up but my body isn’t lying; I feel myself respond to him eagerly, hungrily, and a little moan that blatantly refuses to be held back rises up out of me.

It’s all the encouragement Quentin needs. His hands are under my tee, all over my back, then cupping my breasts, hitching up the fabric to feel the skin of my belly. My hands work on his shirt as well and he slowly backs me up against the counter. I feel his excitement hot and hard against me and then I’m actually on the counter (how did he do that?), my legs wrapped around him, and we’re into this endless, bottomless kiss that has all my nerve endings humming and he’s grinding against, yes! exactly against my most sensitive spot and I can’t think; we shouldn’t be doing this but it just feels too fucking good and all I can think is I want to fuck, I want Quentin to fuck me, oh God and then I can’t think any more, I’m just sensation…

Finally, we break away from the kiss, keeping still for a second, both breathing hard. Quentin trembles, eyes still closed; he tries to say something but only manages little fragments: ‘…mh, oh fuck, Taz, c’mon, c… mh… come on…’ he wraps his arms around me tight and pulls me into his body, spluttering into my hair: ‘…before I’ll have ya right… the fuck… here on the counter…’ He practically drags me off and half carries me back to the guest room. My knees buckle with interrupted lust and I hang limply against him, too overwhelmed to protest.

Inside, in the darkness, Quent quickly closes the door behind us and leans me against it, his big warm body pressing me into the wood. He breathes slow and deep, regaining control, and I feel more than see him angle his head towards mine. His hand tips up my chin and I feel him softly rub his nose against mine before he touches my lips with the pad of his thumb. Lovingly. Reverently, almost. My hand tangles in his mop and pulls his head to mine, and the tip of my tongue slips out to wet his lower lip with a swift little lick. I hear a small gasp coming from him, and then his mouth devours mine again, thoroughly, his hips heatedly rubbing against me.

He tears away with effort, mouth slack, and manages: ‘…fuck it, Taz, I’m tryin’…  but you’re drivin’ me… unh…’ before he pulls me against him again and walks the both of us towards the bed. The bed we were in the night he had too much to drink… I’m suddenly overcome with memories of that night as we tumble in messily.

It’s still too narrow for the both of us, but we snuggle up and he pulls the covers up around us and tucks us in until we can barely move. I can feel Quentin’s want, and his iron restraint, trembling inside me. He doesn’t kiss me, doesn’t run his hands over me, he just holds me.

Slowly, we calm down and lie still in the glow of being together, being close; we breathe in unison. Quentin cautiously moves his hand over my body until it covers my belly, the way I myself have done so often in the past weeks. He moves his fingers and whispers ‘…ours…?’ in wonder, bringing tears to my eyes. I hide my face in the crook of his neck and sniffle, and he soothes a quiet ‘shh…’ into my ear. The moment stretches out eternally.

‘Luvvie?’ he whispers after a long while.

I lift my face up to his, but it’s too dark to see more than the glitter of his eyes.

‘Did you miss me?’ he softly asks, his breath caressing my ear. ‘You never said, you know…’

I nod, and swallow.

‘Say it, Taz,’ he urges quietly but insistently, ‘I need to hear you say it.’

‘I’ve missed you,’ I finally say to his chin, with some difficulty, ‘I’ve missed you like mad, Quent. It hurt so much…  thought I was going to die…’

‘I’m so sorry, luvvie,’ he sighs, rolling us over and covering me with his warm body, as if to console me purely with his physical presence. He rubs his cheek against mine, I feel his lips on my skin, and when I turn my face to him, our mouths lock again almost by accident. We slowly submerge in a sweetly flowing river of a kiss, forgetting everything else. We’re safe in this warm cocoon of bed covers, our bodies closely attuned to each other and communicating wordlessly, and to my surprise I suddenly find that Quent has slipped himself inside me, my legs have wrapped around his hips, and we’re gently, soothingly rocking, merging, melding, then gradually gaining momentum, so gradually that we barely notice when we enter that blinding, blazing state of primeval desire to finish, to reach that moment of weightless bliss.

We get there together, and shudder and clutch at each other until we regain consciousness.

Slowly, very slowly, the haze lifts and I begin to feel uncomfortable about what we’ve just done, but Quent softly shushes into my ear before I can even say something.

‘Don’t worry about it, Tazzie-luv, we both needed it… now sleep, shh, just sleep…’

His half-whispered, half-hummed words are hypnotizing, comforting… I can’t help myself but I feel wonderfully happy and fulfilled, and I drift off to sleep, my head on his shoulder.

~*~

The next thing I know, our little bubble of safety is pierced by the alarm in my mobile. I feel like I only closed my eyes five seconds ago. Quentin groans, his nose practically in my ear. We’re a tangle of limbs and bed covers, and it takes a bit of coordinating before I can stretch out an arm to grab my mobile off the nightstand.

6:30. Time to get up, go to the airport. I squeeze my eyes shut as I kill the beeping, leaning my head against Quentin’s shoulder for an instant. Then, I give him a soft nudge. ‘Quent... will you still drive me to Coffs?’

Another groan form Quentin. He rubs at his eyes with the fingers of one hand, then proceeds to practically rub his whole face off, trying to wake up. From under his hand, he mutters: ‘...you still goin’ then?’

‘Yes I am,’ I say, feeling cold all of a sudden as reality seeps in. I don’t want to leave this bed. His warm body wrapped around mine. I don’t want to. But I have to.

‘...I was hopin’,’ Quent says softly, pulling the covers up, preserving the last bit of warmth and safety, ‘...I reckon I was hopin’ you’d feel differently, after tonight...’ he pulls me close, softly stroking my hair. I feel his disappointment, bordering on a quiet despair, humming inside me, and I want to stay, just for him I want to say that everything is OK, just to reassure him...

Focus. I think of the baby. And find the strength to slowly disentangle myself from him, get up, move into the bathroom. I feel his eyes upon me all the time.

We eat a silent, sad breakfast. He puts my bag into Jo’s car. We’re ready for departure, and then Jo comes down the stairs, Sadie in her wake, and it’s a round of hugs, kisses, promises to stay in touch... Martin makes his way over from the paddocks just in time, he was already out… I’m shitty at saying goodbye and bear it as best I can. I start crying when we drive away, a quiet, steady stream of tears that roll down, one after the other.

Quentin drives for awhile, glancing sideways from time to time, but when the tears don’t stop, he pulls over and faces me. ‘Taz… You really sure you want to do this?’ he asks quietly, cupping my cheek in his hand and wiping the tears off with his thumb.

I nod, eyes closed. More tears.

Quentin sighs. Stares out the front window for a while, biting his lip.

‘Won’t we miss the plane?’ I ask very softly.

‘Taz, I…’ begins Quent, vehemently, ‘I don’t want you to go.’ He hits the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. ‘Fuck’s sake, I don’t want you to go away, I love you, I wanna be with you, and our… our…’ a shuddering breath, and another couple of smacks on the steering wheel. ‘I need to control my temper,’ he says into the rear view mirror, then turns to me, the look in his eyes raw. ‘Don’t go. Please.’

I almost give in. I teeter on the brink, drowning in his eyes; for a second it can go either way, but then something gels inside me and I say, as gently as I can: ‘I have to, Quent… I simply have to.’

He nods, just once, then drives me to the airport in complete silence. Walks me inside, helps me to check in my luggage, then takes me to the exit. Some people do a double take when they see him, but no one bothers him. I walk beside him, dazed, feeling like I’m in a bad dream, and still neither of us have said a word.

And then it’s time to go. We stand nose to nose, silently looking into each other’s eyes, and then suddenly he grabs me and kisses me hard, long and possessively, in full view of everyone in Coffs’ small airport. When we break apart, he whispers an almost inaudible ‘…sorry…’.

There’s only one thing I can say before I step outside the terminal.

‘No apologies, Quent…’

And then I’m on the plane, and Quentin is a tiny figure, framed in my airplane window, until the plane rolls onto the runway. I can’t see him any more and the tears start welling up again.

Chapter Sixteen

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