Trouble in Nirvana (13 page)

Primrose studied her plate. If she refused she’d seem unnecessarily stubborn. A pregnant woman, especially Nirupam, didn’t need extra worry and stress. She needn’t speak to Tom beyond civilities. He wouldn’t want to talk to her that was for sure. “All right. Do you want to come?”

“You stay here in the dry.” Fern patted Nirupam’s arm. “Rosie will bring him home safe and sound.”

“The roof’s leaking,” Mojo shouted. A steady stream of water ran down the wall by the back door and even as they all leapt to their feet big drops began plummeting into the salad bowl on the table.

Fifteen minutes later, after mopping and helping place bowls and buckets strategically through the house, Primrose sprinted to her car sheltering from the downpour under a wonky black umbrella someone unearthed in the laundry. Everything from the thighs down was drenched within five paces of the verandah. Her yellow cotton pants stuck uncomfortably to her legs and her oldest sandals were mud soaked and ruined almost instantly.

Muttering dire things about Danny, the weather, the rotten, leaky house and anything else which sprang to mind she scrambled into the shed and lowered the umbrella. The wheels slipped and slid in soft mud as she backed out. Rain pelted onto the windscreen and even with the wipers on double speed visibility was minimal. The track up the hill presented a challenge beyond anything she’d encountered on the way in. The rear end fishtailed alarmingly as the wheels spun and gripped and spun some more. With one side on the rough grass verge she discovered traction was marginally improved and reached the top of the rise safely. Here the trees sheltered her from the worst of the rain but the hail had shredded leaves and downed smaller twigs and branches to create a different hazard. If Danny had been caught half way home he could be in trouble on the motorbike.

She drove peering intently through the sheeting grey rain not only to keep the car on the track but also, she admitted to herself with a sick sensation, for any sign of a wrecked motorbike or a huddled motionless figure. Her brother.

The little white bridge appeared dimly through the grey wall after fifteen minutes of tense, finger cramping travel. The halfway point, the river—down a slight dip and up on the other side. She could barely see the bridge let alone the flood level beneath the flimsy structure. The roar on the roof pounded relentlessly into her brain, making her ears ring. She crawled across the wooden bridge holding her breath until the wheels once again sank into the soft muddy surface on the far side.

Puddles stretched across the road at each curve and undulation. Some were shallow and she bravely ploughed straight through. Around others she edged as wide as possible to skirt the unknown depths, always conscious of the soft verge and the possibility of becoming bogged.

Tom’s gate finally, thankfully, emerged on the right. She turned in with a sigh of relief. A few more minutes and the house appeared squat and solid through the grey curtain. Primrose drove as close as she could to the honeysuckle-covered gate and turned off the engine. She sagged against the seat and released her death-grip on the steering wheel. Her hands were aching. She flexed the fingers and shook her wrists. Rain thundered onto the car, deafening.

Primrose manoeuvred the umbrella out unfurling it against the drenching onslaught. Along the path, up the three big steps, and suddenly the rain pounded onto the verandah roof instead of her. She kicked off her filthy shoes which were already leaving unsightly muddy footprints on Tom’s decking, and eased the cotton pants away from her legs. Spotted with mud they clung sodden and chilly and dripped pools of water onto the verandah. At least her top half was dry.

She knocked on the door. And waited. Knocked again. Hard. Still no answer. She pulled wide the screen and opened the front door.

“Hello? Tom?” Her feet were clammy and cold. Drips fell to the floor from her pants.

No answer. The silence invited her to walk boldly through to the kitchen, passing Tom’s bedroom and its roiling memories with averted eyes. No-body. She opened the back door and peered out. Rain lashed down. The closest building was about fifty metres across a soggy stretch of ground.

She walked around the covered verandah to her umbrella and shoes. May as well make a run for it, she’d come this far and couldn’t go home to report nothing to Nirupam without checking.

Half way across to the shed her right shoe slipped then stuck, throwing her off balance. Rain belted into her face as the umbrella flailed wildly and next thing she was falling. “Aah,” she screeched as her left knee crashed into the boggy ground. “Urgh,” as her hip landed on a hidden stone. “Bugger,” as she rolled sideways into a puddle.

Primrose righted herself slowly. Her backside was soaked through. Cold, clammy cloth clung to her skin. Her previously dry T-shirt was now artfully decorated with slimy tan mud and her hair straggled down over her face. She used the umbrella as a prop and hauled herself to her feet. One knee hurt but it was functioning and her hip would have a bruise. No point running now.

She hobbled the remaining distance to the open doorway through which she could now see a glimmer of yellowy light. The first thing she saw was Tom’s white ute, the second, Danny’s motorbike and the third, two familiar male faces staring at her in astonishment which turned very swiftly to amusement, complete with huge guffaws of laughter.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Danny gasped when he’d recovered enough to speak. Tom rose from the chair where he’d been sitting casually with legs stretched out before him, and came toward her grinning. There was some sort of engine on a bench beside them. Boy stuff.

“Here.” He tossed her a small blue striped hand towel he’d plucked from a cardboard box on the floor.

“I came to find you, and I fell over,” Primrose snarled at Danny. She wiped her face and neck, eyes averted from the two heartless idiots who were enjoying the spectacle so immensely. “And it was a horrible drive. I didn’t think I’d make it. The bridge is nearly flooded.” Only a slight exaggeration.

“Why did you come?” Laughter gone in an instant, replaced by an angry curl of the lip.

“It wasn’t my idea! Nirupam was worried and she mustn’t be worried. You shouldn’t stay away so long when you tell her you’ll be half an hour, Danny.” Chilly droplets ran down her neck from her saturated hair. She blotted at them with the now uselessly damp towel. It had grease marks on it, she noticed for the first time. Maybe she’d applied grease to her person to go with the mud. “She thought you’d had an accident on the bike in the rain.”

Her brother had the grace to look slightly ashamed. “I forgot the time. We were talking.” He glanced at Tom for assistance but Primrose was in no mood for explanations. They’d been sitting cosily drinking coffee and chatting while everyone else was either worrying about being flooded or worrying he’d had an accident.

“Don’t tell me, tell Nirupam,” she exclaimed as the fury rose like molten lava. “And by the way the roof’s leaking. I don’t know how you expect a baby to survive in a dump like that.”

“Hey!” Danny leapt to his feet. “How dare you come here telling me what to do. You don’t have to stay—just leave us alone. Clear off back to the city.”

Tom stepped forward with raised hands. “Calm down, you’re like a couple of little kids, for Christ’s sake!” He frowned at Primrose then Danny. “Danny maybe you should go home and see Nirupam. Rosie’s right, she doesn’t need any extra stress at the moment.”

Danny glowered but retreated under Tom’s stern gaze. “I can’t ride home in this.” He gestured at the sheeting rain.

“I’ll drive you,” said Primrose with clenched jaw, but the thought of the return journey filled her with dread. And all Danny would do was criticise her driving. Or throttle her and throw her in the river.

Tom said, “Let Danny take your car and you come in and get cleaned up.” He looked her up and down, skating past the wet T-shirt plastered to her breasts and focussing on the mud on her hips. “You’re a mess. Your car seats'll be ruined.”

Primrose hesitated. Car seats? What did he care? She glanced at Danny standing with a face like murder. “You look just like Dad,” she blurted and immediately regretted it. His expression changed to one she recognised from childhood—lost bewilderment, almost fearful. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Danny, I’m sorry. You’re not like him at all. I didn’t mean it.”

“Where are your keys?” Blank-faced now.

“In the car.”

Danny pulled on his leather jacket. “See you later, Tom.” Head down he ran for the car.

Primrose took two hurried steps after him and called, “Drive safely,” but he either didn’t hear or chose not to acknowledge her.

Tom flicked a switch and the shed was plunged into gloom. He hoisted the umbrella overhead. “Let’s go.” He strode out into the deluge.

Primrose scurried after him. “Wait a minute. What about me?” she shouted through the onslaught.

“You’re already wet,” he called over his shoulder. “You can’t get any wetter. I’m dry, so far.”

She had no comeback to the indisputable fact other than contemplating a shove in the small of the back to send him into the mud as well. But that would be far too nasty, although very tempting, so she splashed after him meekly instead.

Primrose stood shivering in the laundry washing her feet in a bucket while Tom went for a towel and dry clothes. What he’d produce for her to wear was anyone’s guess.

Even though they’d both left their boots and shoes respectively outside on the verandah her feet and ankles were covered in mud. He told her to clean up before trekking through to the bathroom, as if she was in the habit of leaving a trail of filth wherever she went.

“You know where the bathroom is, don’t you?” he asked as he disappeared through the kitchen door. Primrose poked her tongue out in his general direction.

She left the bucket of muddy water standing in case she got into trouble for pouring it wastefully down the drain, and headed for the bathroom, carefully negotiating the doorway so as not to leave muddy decorations. Tom met her in the hallway with an armful of clothing. “Sweatshirt and track pants with a drawstring waist. Best I can do.” He shoved the lot into her hands. “Use the green towel. I’ll make a cup of tea.”

“Thanks.”

He turned away. Primrose, for the second time, luxuriated in Tom’s shower.

Tom busied himself with the tea, his mind awhirl. He wasn’t prepared for her. Not so soon. He hadn’t recovered from last night, hadn’t got his thoughts in order and his armour in place. Having Danny turn up this morning threw him as well. For a moment he thought he’d come to defend his sister and tell Tom not to come bothering her any more. The next moment he’d realised that was ridiculous. Danny went out of his way to avoid confrontation, which was his main problem.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have chased after her as soon as he realised she’d left. But it infuriated him she should sneak away without even so much as a goodbye kiss or word of farewell. After a night like theirs. So bloody insulting! Her scathing words had stalled him, though, “Don’t tell me you love me.” Did he? If he didn’t, what was he doing there at four fifteen in the morning? If he didn’t love her she was right, he should be pleased she wasn’t clinging and wanting more.

Of course he didn’t love her! Tom thumped two mugs on to the bench. She was just the first woman he’d been intimate with for a while. He’d forgotten how it felt to be so close...

Whatever had happened last night he wasn’t going to be the one clinging and wanting more. She’d made her position very, very clear. Anyway, a woman less suitable for the hard life on a rural property he had yet to meet. And underpinning any runaway fantasies he may have was the inescapable fact he couldn’t give her children. And she made no secret of the fact she wanted babies. No doubt she’d go after that goal with the same determination she pursued everything else she wanted. Thank God he hadn’t told her that.

The shower stopped. A few minutes later Primrose appeared, rosy cheeked from the hot water, towel dried hair already wisping about her cheeks and neck, his sweatshirt draped over her slender frame and the track pants bundled around her waist with the legs rolled up around her ankles. A delicious, fragrant armful.

“Better?” He grasped the teapot to avoid grabbing her and kissing both of them senseless.

“Thanks. I left my wet clothes in the laundry tub.”

“Fine. How do you like your tea?”

“Same as you.”

Of course, she’d made tea when he called in the other day. The day she’d offended him with her accusations. Should have held that thought and they’d both be better off. Trouble was she’d set out to seduce someone last night and he was easy game, already halfway there. He put her mug on the table and she sat down.

“What’s with you and Danny?”

Primrose lifted the tea and drank. She’d better give him an answer. He deserved one, especially after witnessing that incredible explosion of bitterness and anger. “We weren’t ever very close. He’s four years older.”

“He never mentioned you.”

Primrose raised her eyes to meet his, defiant, as though he’d accused her, implied that the omission was her fault. “He hates me.”

“I don’t think he does. Perhaps he feels you’re judging him all the time.” He said it mildly but his message was clear. “Nobody likes to be judged.” Tom returned her gaze calmly.

She looked away out the window to where rain still fell. Less heavily now but solid, like drops of lead nailing her to this place, imprisoning her in his house. Her expression screamed,
What did he know
?

“I came here for his help.”

“Why, if he hates you?”

“There isn’t anyone else. We’re all we have left of our family.” She blinked. “After Martin dumped me I realised I wasn’t going to have a family of my own in the foreseeable future. I really wanted, I still really want, babies.” She shrugged as though helpless to explain something she didn’t fully comprehend herself. “I don’t know. I wanted to see if anything could be saved.”

“You might have your own family one day. You’re not old.” He must sound at a loss as to how to react, withdrawn and distant, uninterested but this topic was too uncomfortable Way too intimate despite having spent half a night together.