Suddenly You Read online

  Not exactly your usual white-knight material, yet she knew Harry well enough to know he was a big softie underneath his fierce exterior.

  “Got a big weekend planned?” she asked as he started the car.

  “Always.” The smile he flashed her was confident, bordering on cocky.

  “Fathers of Melbourne, lock up your daughters.”

  “Fat lot of good that’ll do.”

  It was true. She’d seen Harry in action enough times to know he didn’t have to go hunting for women. They came to him, flicking their teased blond hair and sashaying their miniskirted hips. Watching him charm them out of their underwear had fascinated her—but then she’d long recognized that she had a self-destructive penchant for bad boys. Witness her six months with Steve, who was the blond, blue-eyed version of Harry—a teenage boy’s mind in a grown man’s body, all about fun and good times and no responsibility.

  As always, thoughts of Steve Lawson tightened her stomach, so she pushed them away. There was no point getting herself all bunged up over a situation she could do nothing to change.

  “Let me guess—you’re kicking off at the Pier. Then you’ll move on to the Grand or the Twenty-First Century, and you’ll wind up at Macca’s place playing pool in the garage till three in the morning,” she said.

  “Sounds pretty good, except Macca’s moved in with Sherry and the pool table went west.”

  It wasn’t hard to interpret the disapproving note in Harry’s voice. He and Steve had never been shy about their disgust with their mates who’d met the right woman, married and bowed out of their boys’ club.

  “Oh, dear. Another one bites the dust. Next thing you know you’ll be taking on a mortgage and buying golf clubs, too, Harry.”

  “When hell freezes over.”

  He sounded so grimly determined she had to laugh. “How old are you?”

  “Thirty.”

  “Getting up there.”

  He shot her a look before taking a right turn off the highway. “You sound like my sister.”

  “Relax. I’m only yanking your chain. I honestly can’t imagine you settling down. You and Steve like your lives too much the way they are to change them.”

  She bit her tongue, but it was too late. She’d drawn attention to the elephant in the room. A short silence followed. Harry glanced at her but she kept her gaze front and center.

  “For what it’s worth, for a while there I thought you had him on the ropes.”

  “The question is, would I have wanted him once I got him?” Again, the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. She held up a hand immediately, signaling she knew she’d stepped over the line. “Pretend I didn’t say that, okay? Strike it from the record.”

  Harry was the last person she wanted to vent to about Steve. The absolute last.

  “So is Alice walking and talking and stuff yet?” Harry asked after a small silence.

  “She’s six months old, Harry.” Was he really so clueless?

  He raised his eyebrows, clearly wondering what he’d gotten wrong. Apparently he was that clueless.

  “Babies don’t generally start doing any of that until twelve months,” she explained.

  “Right. So what does she do?”

  “At the moment? Eat. Sleep. Cry. Poo. She’s starting to crawl, too.”

  “And that’s all going well, then?”

  She laughed. He was trying. She had to give him points for that.

  “She poos like a champion. And no one can reach the high notes like Alice when she’s really cranky.” Her street was coming up and she gestured with her chin. “This is me.”

  He made a left turn.

  “The one with the broken letterbox,” she said, indicating the fifties brick veneer that she’d been renting since she found out she was pregnant.

  Harry pulled into the driveway, eyeing the unkempt, overgrown garden and the house’s faded sun awnings. Pippa felt an uncomfortable tug of shame over the shabbiness of it all. Between work and university and caring for Alice, she could barely stay on top of the inside of the house, let alone the outside. And no way could she spare any money from her already tight weekly budget to pay someone to worry about it for her.

  She opened her mouth to explain, then shut it without saying a word. She didn’t owe Harry an explanation. He was breezing through her life. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t run into him again for another six months, probably even longer. Which was the way it should be.

  “Thanks for the lift and the help with my car,” she said.

  “Like I did anything to help with your car.”

  “You destroyed my last vestiges of hope. Sometimes that’s very necessary.”

  “Great. I’ll add that to my repertoire. ‘Crusher of hope.’ Has a real ring to it.”

  “Actually, it sounds like a heavy metal band.”

  He laughed. She smiled and slid out of the car.

  “Have a good weekend, Harry, and a great Christmas.” It was only seven weeks away, after all, and it was unlikely she’d see him again before then.

  “You, too, Pippa.”

  She turned away, then spun back. “Nearly forgot my stuff.”

  “Right.”

  Before she could protest, Harry jumped out of the car.

  “Don’t even think about carrying my shopping to the door for me, Harry. You’ve done more than enough.” Plus she wasn’t used to being fussed over like this.

  Harry brandished the key at her. “This is an old-school car. No auto trunk release.”

  “Oh.” She felt heat climb into her cheeks and attempted to cover her blush by pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

  A small smile played around Harry’s mouth as he lifted out the bags and set them on the lawn.

  “I’m leaving it here because I don’t want you having conniptions again.”

  “Trust me, neither of us wants that.”

  “Look after yourself, okay?” His gray eyes were direct and honest.

  “I will. You, too. And keep dodging those bullets. The world wouldn’t be the same if you were domesticated.”

  “I’ll do my best, don’t worry.”

  Once inside the car, he backed onto the street. Pippa raised her hand in farewell. He waved in return, then was gone, the sound of the engine fading into the distance.

  She headed for the house. Running into Harry had been the highlight of her day, which was probably a sad indictment of how pitiful her life was, but what the hell.

  “Mum, I’m home,” she called as she let herself into the house.

  “We’re in the sunroom.”

  Pippa dumped her things in the kitchen before following her mother’s voice to the room that overlooked the rear garden. The carpet was a faded floral—probably original—the walls a grubby cream. Huge windows let in the afternoon sun. Her mother was sitting on the Art Deco couch Pippa had rescued from the side of the road and reupholstered a few years ago, a crossword puzzle book open on her knees, while Alice lay on a quilt at her feet, fascinated with one of her own small, pink toes.

  “I was starting to get a little worried,” her mother said as Pippa dropped a kiss onto her cheek.

  “Sorry. I had car trouble.”

  The vague concern in her mother’s eyes became real worry. “Nothing too bad, I hope?”

  “Nothing I can’t sort,” Pippa lied, because she knew if she didn’t the next words out of her mother’s mouth would be an offer to help pay for the repairs.

  Julie White had retired from teaching three years ago and was on a limited, fixed income. Despite her financial limitations, she’d bent over backward to help Pippa once she’d learned of her daughter’s pregnancy. Pippa had been doing her damnedest to stem the tide of her mother’s generosity in recent months—she point-blank refused to be the reason her mother had to cut corners in her retirement—and little white lies like this were becoming more and more commonplace in their conversations.

  Still, Pippa figured it was better to tell a fe
w 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, Ste
ve 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.