Suddenly You

Still, Pippa figured it was better to tell a few porky pies now, than have her mother sell her small condo or car later on.

As she’d hoped, the fib worked. “Oh, good. Because the last thing you need right now is car trouble.”

“I know. How has little miss been while I was out?”

Pippa sank to her knees to rest a hand on her daughter’s warm belly. Alice gazed at her with big blue eyes, her mouth working.

“Did you miss Mummy?”

Alice beamed, both hands gripping Pippa’s wrist.

“She’s been a little sweetie,” her mother said.

“That’s because she’s a shameless little con artist. Aren’t you, Ali bear? Have you been charming your grandma?” Pippa kissed her daughter’s cheek before rising to her feet. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“I can’t. Not if I want to make it home before midnight. I promised Mrs. Young that I’d drive her to bingo tomorrow and I don’t want to let her down.”

Her mother lived in Bendigo, a three-hour drive north. Single since Pippa’s father died when Pippa was sixteen years old, she was heavily involved in her local community, volunteering at the local retirement village and a number of charity shops.

Pippa did her best not to act relieved as she said her goodbyes. At least she didn’t have to put on a brave face for the rest of the evening—the only upside she could find to her situation right now.

She waited until her mother’s car had turned the corner before walking slowly into the house, Alice a heavy weight on her hip. She fed Alice, then made dinner for herself. With her daughter settled in her bassinet, happily gurgling away, Pippa fired up her laptop and logged on to her bank account to work out how on earth she would get together enough money to fix her car.

It was a depressing exercise. Despite months of scrimping and saving, she had just enough in the account to cover rent, utilities and food for the next month, but precious little contingency. Certainly nothing near the amount that Harry had implied she might need.

She stared at the figures on the screen, elbows propped on the table, fingers digging into her temples as she racked her brain. There had to be some way to find the money.

She could ask for more shifts at the local art gallery where she worked, but that would mean bailing on classes at university and she had exams coming up … Plus she was already sailing close to the wind in the attendance department. The last thing she needed was to fail because she hadn’t attended the requisite number of hours in class. The whole point of getting her Diploma of Education was to escape this cycle of hand-to-mouth, one-day-at-a-time living by landing a decent-paying job. She was halfway through her diploma, but all her hard work would be a complete write-off if she failed because of skipping class.

Of course, if she had completed her teaching degree ten years ago when she’d graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree, none of this would be an issue. She would have a decent job, a good income, and Alice would have a stable home. But Pippa had turned her nose up at teaching then, even though her mother had encouraged her to have “something to fall back on.” Pippa had been convinced that something else was out there for her, something amazing and creative and exciting. She’d spent a decade searching and had nothing to show for it except a woefully empty bank account and her beautiful, painfully precious daughter.

A headache started behind her left eye and she willed away the panic fluttering in her chest. She might not be able to see it right now, but there was a solution to her problem. She simply had to wait for it to reveal itself.

If Steve was even close to being a responsible adult, you wouldn’t have to think twice about calling a mechanic.

Pippa hated the impotent, acidic burn she got in her stomach every time she thought about her ex. Hated how helpless it made her feel. How stupid.

For six incredibly foolhardy months, she’d been infatuated with a real-life version of Peter Pan. She’d laughed at his antics, been beguiled by his laid-back, take-things-as-they-come lifestyle and ignored the little voice in her head telling her nobody could live like that forever. Then she’d discovered she was pregnant, and Steve had turned from a funny, irreverent larrikin to an angry, resentful asshole. Six months of laughs, good times and fun had gone up in smoke and Pippa had been left holding the baby. Literally.

I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for it. I’ll give you the money to make it go away. But if you decide to keep it, it’s all on you. I don’t want anything to do with it.

His words on that fateful day still lived large in her memory. She’d hoped his attitude would change once he’d gotten over the shock of her announcement, but he hadn’t budged on his stance. She’d been forced to contact Child Support Services to pursue him for support payments. She hadn’t wanted to, had tried everything in her power to work it out with him, not wishing it to become official and complicated, but Steve had point-blank refused to even come to the table. Pippa had been left with no choice but to take steps to ensure Alice had what she needed.

In theory, the law had supported her cause, but Steve had arrived with the books for his house-painting business and told the caseworker he was barely staying afloat. Alice had been awarded a paltry fifteen dollars per week based on Steve’s hugely under-reported annual income. She’d listened with disbelief when her caseworker explained the outcome. She knew how Steve lived. He never denied himself anything, from holidays to Bali to a new truck to three-hundred-dollar sunglasses. But because he was self-employed, he was able to manipulate the figures to make it look as though he barely made ends meet. She’d walked away with nothing but disillusionment and the advice that she needed to file a change of assessment request to empower the agency to go after Steve through tax and bank records. She’d done so two months ago, and was still waiting to hear the result.

No surprises there. She had no doubt that Steve was doing everything to avoid, delay and prevaricate. Meanwhile, she and Alice teetered on the brink of insolvency.

Pippa rubbed her eyes. No matter how much she willed it, the figure on the screen hadn’t suddenly grown an extra decimal point. She abandoned the computer and picked up Alice out of her bassinet and then lay on the floor with her baby resting on her belly. Alice pushed up on her arms and stared, eyes bright with curiosity. As usual Pippa felt the bulk of her worries slip away as she looked into her daughter’s trusting face.

This is what’s important. Only this.

Everything else would take care of itself. University, the car, the bills … Things would work out. She’d make them work out. She might not be loaded, but she was thirty-one years old and she was resourceful and resilient. If she had to sic yet another government agency on Steve, she would. If she had to somehow squeeze in more work shifts around her classes, she’d do that, too. Whatever it took.

She cupped her hand around her daughter’s silken head and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

Whatever it took.

CHAPTER TWO

HARRY WOKE THE next morning feeling thirsty and thick in the head. No doubt the result of the many beers he’d sunk last night, along with the fact he’d crawled into bed in the early hours.

He lay in the morning sun trying to muster the energy to get out of bed and take care of both his thirst and complaining bladder.

Details from the night returned: Steve crowing as he won yet another game of pool at the pub, completely ungracious in victory. Nugga making a fool of himself chatting up a girl way too young for him. The hot brunette with the tight tank top—no bra—who had punched her number into Harry’s phone and told him to call her.

Yeah, it had been a good one. Not quite up to the glory days of five years ago, when there had been more of them and fewer girlfriends and wives at home, but still a good night.

After a few minutes of drowsing, Harry threw off the covers and shuffled into the bathroom to take care of business. He hit the kitchen afterward, pouring himself a huge glass of OJ and took it to bed, which was when he noticed the sand in the sheets. He grinned, remembering the last part of the evening, when he, Steve and Bluey had played an unholy game of tag on the beach, whooping and hollering as they ran in and out of the surf and up and down the sand. They’d finally been sent home by one of the boys in blue, with a heavy-handed suggestion that they all grow up.

Harry finished the juice in one long pull. He checked his phone for the time and saw he had a text from Nugga asking if he wanted to catch a wave or two at Gunnamatta. He thought about it for a second. He didn’t have any other major plans for the day beyond a vague idea that he might drop in on his sister, Mel, and her husband, Flynn. A surf was a safer bet—the moment his sister saw him she’d be sure to invent some gardening job that required muscle strain, sweat and four-letter words. Not that she wouldn’t be in there right alongside him and Flynn, pulling her weight, but still.

He texted Nugga to say he was on the way, then rolled out of bed and stretched until his shoulders popped. Ten minutes later he was out the door in a pair of board shorts, a towel under his arm, a pair of thongs on his feet.

He threw his wetsuit and board into the back of his old truck and wended his way through quiet residential streets until he hit the highway.

Harry saw Pippa’s car from a mile off, a bright yellow beacon on the opposite side of the road. He frowned as he sped past. He’d thought she would call her mechanic yesterday to take care of it. But maybe she’d had trouble contacting him at the end of the working week. She’d need to deal with it in short order, however, because the local council had strong feelings about abandoned cars. If Pippa wasn’t careful, her car would be towed and she’d have to pay a release fee on top of everything else.

Seeing Pippa’s car reminded him of something else that had happened last night. Maybe it had been stupid of him given the circumstances and how close-mouthed Steve had always been about Pippa and Alice, but when he’d hit the pub he’d taken Steve aside to let him know what had happened with Pippa. Harry had figured that if it was his ex, the mother of his child, he’d want to know. But Steve had simply nodded as though Harry was talking about someone he barely knew and changed the subject. No interest whatsoever.

Big deal. They’re not together. And she sicced some government agency on to him to squeeze more money out of him. He’s got every right to feel the way he does.

It wasn’t as though Steve had gone looking to be a father, after all, and no one knew better than Harry how messed up and angry Steve had been when Pippa broke the news. And yet … his mate’s indifference didn’t sit well with Harry.

But he wasn’t in the habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. So Pippa would have to sort her car out on her own.

Except she didn’t.

When he drove to work on Monday morning the car was still there, and when he drove home at the end of the day. Tuesday, same deal. Wednesday morning he kept his eyes peeled and the moment he saw her hatchback, he pulled over. After three minutes of searching an online phone directory, he realized she must have an unlisted number. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a few seconds, then waited for a break in traffic before doing a U-turn.

Five minutes later he climbed the steps to Pippa’s front porch. It was only after he’d knocked that he questioned what he was doing. She was an adult, after all. She didn’t need him ordering her life or breathing down her neck.

Too late. Footsteps sounded within the house, then the front door opened and a bemused Pippa stared at him.

“Harry. Hi.”

Her hair was tousled, her eyes heavy. A fluffy dressing gown swamped her body, her bare feet peeking out beneath the hem.

She should have looked a mess—mumsy and suburban—but she looked good. Soft and warm and gently pretty.

“What’s going on with your car?”

She blinked and it occurred to him that he may have actually dragged her out of bed.

“Sorry if I woke you, but you should know that the Peninsula council is all over abandoned cars like white on rice. If someone reports you, your car will be towed and impounded.”

“Oh. Right.”

Somewhere inside the house, a baby cried. Pippa glanced distractedly over her shoulder.

“I’m a bit slow this morning. I’ve been up since five with Alice. I only got her down again half an hour ago.”

She backed up a step and gestured for him to follow her.

“Come in.”

She was gone before he could explain he’d already said what he’d come to say, neatly sidestepping her way around a detached door leaning against the hall wall before disappearing from sight. He hesitated on the threshold, uneasy.

“Do you want a coffee?”

Pippa’s question echoed up the hallway. He shook his head, then realized she couldn’t see him.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Harry entered the house, navigating his way past the detached door. He found Pippa cradling a blond-haired, blue-eyed baby in the bright kitchen, rocking from foot to foot as she attempted to soothe her.

“Shh, sweetheart, you’re all right. It’s all good.” Pippa’s voice was soft and achingly tender. She glanced at him. “There’s juice, too, if you’d prefer something cold.”

He was too busy staring at Alice to respond immediately. He hadn’t seen her since the day she was born. She’d been red and squashed-looking then, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, her hands clenched into tight little fists. Now, she was pink and plump, with pale, wispy hair. She looked like Steve. Almost disconcertingly so. It was weird seeing his friend’s features replicated on a tiny baby girl.

“She looks like Steve,” he said.

“Yes.”

The way she said the single word made him remember he had no business being here. Steve was his mate, after all. Harry owed his first loyalty to him.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway. The car. You should chase up your mechanic because the council are real sticklers about towing anything that looks like it’s been abandoned.”

“I didn’t realize. I thought I’d have a few weeks …”

A few weeks? To do what?

Then it hit him—her worry at the roadside, the slightly shabby house, the fact that she was a single mother.

She couldn’t afford to get her car fixed.

Hence her delaying tactics when he’d mentioned having her car towed, and hence her need to wait a few weeks before she had the funds to repair it.

He glanced around the room, racking his brain for a way to offer help without stepping on her toes—because he might not know Pippa that well, but he knew she had way too much pride to ask for help.

“Listen, Pippa, why don’t I get my dad to tow the car to your place? At least you won’t have to worry about it being impounded.”

She was shaking her head before he’d even finished speaking. “It’s great of you to offer again, Harry, but I’ll sort it. Thanks, though. And thanks for the heads up. I appreciate it.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I don’t want to hold you up.”

She was fobbing him off. Getting ready to send him on his way.

“How are you going to sort it?” he asked bluntly.

“Sorry?”

“How are you going to sort the car when you can’t afford to get it fixed?”

Her chin jerked with surprise. “That’s not what this is about.”

She was a terrible liar, her eyes blinking rapidly behind her glasses.

“So I should call A1 Towing and get them to take the car to my work and ask my boss to quote on it for you, then?”

She stared at him, her expression half frustrated, half chagrined. After a second she shook her head. “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

“I’m hoping I might have a chance of getting to work on time if we cut some of the back and forth out of the way.”

She gave a short, sharp laugh. “You always were honest to a fault. Okay, you’re right, Harry. I can’t afford to fix the car right now. I’m scraping some money together but the gas bill came in and I figure we need hot water more than we need a car. So maybe the council will impound my car and I’ll have to live with that until I can figure something out.”

Pippa shrugged as though she didn’t give a damn but her cheeks were pink and her shoulders tense.

He ran a hand over the top of his head, unsure where to go now that he’d gotten her to admit the truth. If it was one of his mates, he’d simply open his wallet and offer a loan on the spot. But as much as he liked her, Pippa wasn’t really his friend and he had no idea how she’d react if he offered her money.

“What about Steve?” Because it seemed to him that was the next natural step, no matter the tensions between them.

“No.”

One word, very firm.

“I know you guys have some issues, but he’d help out if he knew you needed it.”

“I appreciate that you’re trying to help. You’re very sweet. But I can handle this.”

“I’ll ask him. If it’d make it easier for you to swallow.”

He didn’t know why he was making a federal case out of it. It was her car, her life. She was free to do whatever she liked. Certainly none of it was his responsibility. So why was he offering to be her mouthpiece with his best mate?

Pippa sighed. “It’s incredibly generous of you to offer, but you don’t want to do that.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.”

“I know. But it won’t make any difference. Steve won’t want to help me.”

“Look, even if Steve’s pissed with you, he’ll step up.”

“It’s nice you believe that, but since he’s gone to the trouble of falsifying the books for his business to avoid paying child support, you’ll understand if I don’t hold my breath on that one.”

He was ready to jump to his mate’s defense. No way would Steve turn his back on his responsibilities. Alice was his kid, after all. His daughter.

Something stopped him before the denial left his mouth, however.

Maybe it was the world-weary note to Pippa’s voice and the steadiness of her gaze.

Or maybe it was the memory of the utterly blank, disinterested expression on Steve’s face Friday night.

“Like I said, I appreciate the heads up, Harry.”

A phone rang in the next room.

“I need to get that. It’s probably my boss….”

She slipped into the adjacent room. A few seconds later he heard her take the call. Harry glanced around the kitchen again, his gaze landing on a stack of textbooks on the table. He read the title of the top book—Teaching Studies of Society & Environment in the Primary School—before his attention was drawn to the large bowl in the center of the table. Filled with odds and ends, it clearly functioned as a tabletop junk drawer—and right on top was a key ring with two car keys.

In the next room, Pippa told someone she was ready and willing to do any and all extra shifts that were on offer. He could hear the strain in her voice. The fear.

He didn’t stop to consider it, simply pocketed the keys. When Pippa returned, he said goodbye and bowed out. Once he got to his car, he tossed her keys onto the passenger seat then drove to work.

He’d taken them on impulse, because the idea of walking away from her when she was clearly in need stuck in his craw, and because he couldn’t see any other way of convincing her to accept his help. Maybe it had been a mistake. Maybe he’d overstepped the mark, big time. After all, he had no vested interest in her or Alice or any of it.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d said about Steve, about him having engineered his finances to minimize his child support commitments. Harry couldn’t conceive of a circumstance where the mate he knew would do that. Steve was always first to buy a round of drinks or help out a friend moving furniture or some other favor. No way could all that generosity dry up when it came to his own flesh and blood.

Pippa must be exaggerating. It wasn’t as though things had ended well between her and Steve. She was probably bitter and angry with him. Disappointed, too.

Except she hadn’t exactly volunteered the information. Harry had had to push a few times before she’d spelled it out for him.

Deeply uneasy, he grabbed his phone and dialed his father at the workshop.

“It’s me. I need a favor. There’s an acid-yellow hatchback on the Nepean near the turnoff for the winery. Can you tow it to the workshop and I’ll come by to take care of it after work?”

“You think I’ve got nothing better to do than run around doing favors for your mates?” His father’s words were tough, but there was no rancor behind them.

“No. Can you do it?”

Harry half expected his father to have another go at him, but he didn’t.

“What’s the problem?”

“Head gasket, I think. I’ll do the work if you don’t mind me using the garage tonight.”

“I’ll make sure you’ve got the parts on hand. Who am I doing this for, by the way? Steve? That red-headed idiot?”

“Her name’s Pippa. She’s a single mum. I’m helping her out.”

A profound silence ensued on the other end of the line and Harry could practically hear his father’s brain grinding away.

“She’s Steve’s ex,” Harry added.

Just in case his father started getting crazy ideas.

“Fair enough. I guess I’ll see you tonight, then.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Don’t thank me yet. You haven’t seen my bill.”

There would be no bill. Mike Porter might look like a hard-ass, but he was the softest touch in town.

As Harry turned in to the parking lot at work, it occurred to him that instead of pulling out all the stops for Pippa himself, he could have simply called Steve and filled him in and let him take care of things. Proving to himself—and Pippa—that she was wrong.

If it hadn’t been for the blank look on Steve’s face the other night, Harry might have, too. But that look … that look combined with Pippa’s comments had sprouted some ugly ideas in his head, and the fact was, he wasn’t ready to have them confirmed.

He and Steve had grown up together. Played footy together. Had their first beers, their first fights, their first girlfriends together. He didn’t want to think that his mate was capable of letting down people he should care about so profoundly.

So Harry would help Pippa. And he would hold off talking to Steve until he’d had a day or two to digest. And he’d hope that someone, somewhere, had got it wrong.

TWO DAYS LATER, Pippa eased back onto the couch and propped her aching feet on a cushion. Alice lay on her play mat, batting at the Fisher Price mobile Pippa had bought from the local charity shop. It was Friday night and she was exhausted.

It wasn’t ordinary, run-of-the-mill exhaustion, either. Having no car meant everything had to be started early and finished late, which meant she was waking earlier, going to bed later. Alice’s day care might be around the corner and the gallery only a little farther than that, but when she threw in grocery shopping and other errands, plus getting to the university and back, Pippa figured she was walking more than ten kilometers a day. Great for her thighs and ass, not so great for her feet or her schedule.

In short, it sucked, hard. And she still had no idea how she would get her car repaired. She’d managed to scrape together nearly five hundred dollars, but the two mechanics she’d called had quoted a minimum of one thousand to fix a head gasket.

Pippa pressed her lips together, staring at her much-abused feet. There was no getting around it—she’d have to ask her mum for the money. She would pay her back, of course—but it would take time. And it was humiliating.

Thirty-one and running to Mummy. Well done, Phillipa. Way to be an adult.

To think that not so long ago she’d prided herself on being unconventional and marching to the beat of her own drum. Whenever one of her more conservative friends had asked if she ever worried about the future, about owning a house or being able to afford to retire or having a career, Pippa had laughed and assured them she didn’t lose sleep over that stuff because she was too busy enjoying the journey.