First Comes Baby.... Michelle Douglas
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they’d kissed—it had the potential to destroy their friendship. Instinct told her that. And Ben’s friendship meant the world to her.
‘So?’
She glanced up to find him studying her intently. ‘So…’ She straightened. ‘You go catch up on some Zs and I’ll—’
‘Go for a walk along the spit.’
It was where she always went to clear her head. At low tide it was safe to walk all the way along Fingal Beach and across the sand spit to Fingal Island. It would take about sixty minutes there and back, and she had a feeling she would need every single one of those minutes plus more to get her head around Ben’s bombshell.
Her hands opened and closed. She had to find out what had spooked him, and then she needed to un-spook him as quickly as she could. Then life could get back to normal and she could focus on her impending single motherhood.
Single. Solo. She’d sorted it all straight in her mind. She knew what she was doing and how she was going to do it. She would not let Ben mess with that.
‘Take a water bottle and some fruit. You need to keep hydrated.’
‘And you need to eat something halfway healthy before you hit the sack.’
‘And we’ll meet back here…?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘Three o’clock.’ That was five hours from now. Enough time for Ben to grab something to eat and catch up on some sleep.
He nodded and then shifted his feet. ‘Are you going to make me go to Elsie’s?’
She didn’t have the energy for another fight. Not even a minor one. ‘There are four guest bedrooms upstairs. Help yourself.’
They’d both started for their figurative separate corners when the doorbell rang. Meg could feel her shoulders literally sag.
Ben shot her a glance. ‘I’ll deal with it. I’ll say you’re not available and get rid of whoever it is asap.’
‘Thanks.’
She half considered slipping out through the back door while he was gone and making her way down to the bay, but that seemed rude so she made herself remain in the kitchen, her fingers drumming against their opposite numbers.
Her mind whirled. What on earth was Ben thinking? She closed her eyes and swallowed. How on earth was she going to make him see sense?
‘Uh, Meg?’
Her eyes sprang open as Ben returned, his eyes trying to send her some message.
And then Elsie and her father appeared behind him. It took an effort of will to check her surprise. Her father hadn’t been in this house since he’d handed her the deeds. And Elsie? Had Elsie ever been inside?
Her father thrust out his jaw. ‘We want to talk to you.’
She had to bite her lip to stop herself adding please. Her father would resent being corrected. She thrust her jaw out. Well, bad luck, because she resented being spoken to that way and—
‘We brought morning tea,’ Elsie offered, proffering a bakery bag.
It was so out of character—the whole idea of morning tea, let alone an offering of cake—that all coherent thought momentarily fled.
She hauled her jaw back into place. ‘Thank you. Umm…lovely.’ And she kicked herself forward to take the proffered bag.
She peeked inside to discover the most amazing sponge and cream concoction topped with rich pink icing. Yum! It was the last kind of cake she’d have expected Elsie to choose. It was so frivolous. She’d have pegged Elsie as more of a date roll kind of person, or a plain buttered scone. Not that Meg was complaining. No sirree. This cake was the bee’s knees. Her mouth watered. Double yum.
She shook herself. ‘I’ll…um…go and put the percolator on.’
Ben moved towards the doorway. ‘I’ll make myself scarce.’
‘No, Benjamin, it’s fortunate you’re here,’ her father said. ‘Elsie rang me when she heard you arrive. That’s why we’re here. What we have to say will affect you too.’
Ben glanced at Meg. She shrugged. All four of them in the kitchen made everything suddenly awkward. She thought fast. Her father would expect her to serve coffee in the formal lounge room. It was where he’d feel most comfortable.
It was the one room where Ben would feel least comfortable.
‘Dad, why don’t you and Elsie make yourselves comfortable in the family room? It’s so lovely and sunny in there. I’ll bring coffee and cake through in a moment.’ Before her father could protest she turned to Ben. Getting stuck making small talk with her father and Elsie would be his worst nightmare. ‘I’d appreciate it if you could set a tray for me.’
He immediately leapt into action. She turned away to set the percolator going. When she turned back her father and Elsie had moved into the family room.
‘What’s with them?’ Ben murmured.
‘I don’t know, but I told you last time you were here that something was going down with them.’
They took the coffee and cake into the family room. Meg poured coffee, sliced cake and handed it around.
She took a sip of her decaf and lifted a morsel of cake to her mouth. ‘This is very good.’
Her father and Elsie sat side by side on the sofa, stiff and formal. They didn’t touch their coffee or their cake. They didn’t appear to have a slouchy, comfortable bone between them. With a sigh, Meg set her fork on the side of her plate. If she’d been hoping the family room would loosen them up she was sorely disappointed.
She suddenly wanted to shake them! Neither one of them had asked Ben how he was doing, where he’d been, or how long he’d been back. Her hand clenched around her mug. They gave off nothing but a great big blank.
She glanced at Ben. He lounged in the armchair opposite, staring at his cake and gulping coffee. She wanted to shake him too.
She thumped her mug and cake plate down on the coffee table and pasted her brightest smile to her face. She utterly refused to do blank. ‘While it’s lovely to see you both, I get the impression this isn’t a social visit. You said there’s something you wanted to tell us?’
‘That’s correct, Megan.’
Her father’s name was Lawrence Samuel Parrish. If they didn’t call him Mr Parrish—people, that was, colleagues and acquaintances—they called him Laurie. She stared at him and couldn’t find even a glimpse of the happy-go-lucky ease that ‘Laurie’ suggested. Did he resent the familiarity of that casual moniker?
It wasn’t the kind of question she could ever ask. They didn’t have that kind of a relationship. In fact, when you got right down to brass tacks, she and her father didn’t have any kind of relationship worth speaking of.
Her father didn’t continue. Elsie didn’t take up where he left off. In fact the older woman seemed to be studying the ceiling light fixture. Meg glanced up too, but as far as she could tell there didn’t seem to be anything amiss—no ancient cobwebs or dust, and it didn’t appear to be in imminent danger of dropping on their heads.
‘Well!’ She clapped her hands and then rubbed them together. ‘We’re positively agog with excitement—aren’t we, Ben?’
He started. ‘We are?’
If she’d been closer she’d have kicked him. ‘Yes, of course we are.’
Not.
Hmm…Actually, maybe a bit. This visit really was unprecedented. It was just that this ritual of her doing her best to brisk them up and them steadfastly resisting had become old hat. And suddenly she felt too tired for it.
She