A Southern Star (10 page)

“She says the worst thing is just the constant exhaustion.” Dimly, Christie heard their laughter.
 

“Not as bad as morning sickness, I’ll bet,” one of them commented, their voices finally fading as they reached the top of the staircase.
 

Shaking violently, Christie gripped the desk for support, her mouth dry. Her stomach swirled with nerves.
What if? What if?
Her mind repeated the same words over and over again, remembering the utter shock of the breakup, remembering the way she had felt since. The overwhelming tiredness, the other signs she had blamed on grief and stress. Suddenly her mind cleared; she straightened up.
I was using contraception,
Christie remembered, almost hyperventilating as she thought back.
But I should
— She tensed at her replacement’s cheerful greeting, excusing herself, almost bolting out of the front door of the hotel.

Chapter Five

An hour later, Christie fumbled to open the door of the crib, breaking down in tears as she blindly stumbled through the living room, falling onto the bed. Noticing her obvious distress the nurse had been practical, sympathetic as the test confirmed Christie’s pregnancy, suggested she make an appointment to see a doctor in Invercargill for a check-up.
 

Now, as reality set in, Christie started to question what the best course was, unable to stop her thoughts as alternatives spun through her overwrought mind.
But I can’t do it,
she thought brokenly.
I can’t have a termination.
She winced as she thought of the euphemism. Fresh tears overwhelmed her as she thought of Blake, desperately, irrationally, wanting him to be there with her.
Like he would,
she thought, distraught.
He would only want a casual hook up, he…
Christie wept, agonising memories of Blake joking with her, holding her, filling her mind.

Now suddenly, her life was going down a different path, even if a small, barely-heard voice inside her had wanted a summer romance, a casual relationship to forget the hurt of Paul and Amanda. Now even that possibility had been taken from her as the shadow of her pregnancy fell over her.
How am I going to cope,
she wondered, her thoughts twisting endlessly through the night.

The evening with Blake at Mason Bay taunted her with the vividness of her memory, only to be replaced with images of Paul in the first heady months of their relationship, his callous words when he told her about Amanda. Christie knew she would have to contact Paul, at least let him know, but the following days brought no relief to her exhausted mind. She barely got through work each day, relying on a deep core of professionalism but spending every spare moment sorting through plans in her mind. Christie avoided Lisa, making vague excuses and delaying replies to Lisa’s text messages.

Eventually, Lisa cornered her at the reception desk in front of Murray, insisting Christie join her and others for drinks on Saturday night. Trapped, not wanting to say anything in front of Murray, Christie nodded quickly. Guilt filled her as she thought of the wines she had drunk, oblivious to her pregnancy. The results of the furtive Internet searches she had done at the Internet café had terrified her; she wondered what Lisa would say when she saw Christie drinking juice.
I have to tell her too,
she realised, knowing Lisa would tell Blake, dreading the reaction.

Again, Christie left the hotel quickly at the end of her shift, wanting to return to the crib to think. She stared mindlessly at the television, realising she was at least starting to recover from the initial shock and starting to make tentative plans. Christie still had not told Paul, knowing the phone call to him would make it all real. She heard a knock at the door, looked around quickly. Her heart leapt and then relaxed, reasoning that Blake was more likely to go to the hotel than call in to the crib.
Especially after the way I behaved
, she thought, a mirthless smile on her face.

It will be Lisa,
Christie thought, dreading opening the door to her friend and her blunt questions. She reached for the front door hesitantly, stepping back abruptly as it was forcefully pushed open. “Christie, what is going on?” She closed her eyes briefly at Blake’s direct tone, the shock of seeing him in front of her making her throat ache with yet more tears.
I’m not ready for this
,
she thought weakly.
I just want to curl up in a ball and—
“Answer me,” he said, steel in his voice as he stepped into the crib.
 

“I’m fine,” Christie managed. Blake’s eyes raked over her, assessing, relentless.

“Spare me,” he returned. “Next you’ll be talking about porridge and the weather.” He strode into the lounge, not waiting to be invited in. Casually he set the sleeping bag down on one of the chairs.
 

“Thanks,” Christie said tonelessly, her mind filled with memories of Mason Bay, of the evening with Blake, returning his sleeping bag. Of him keeping her warm. Dangerous tears threatened; she blinked them away. He stood in the room, still watching her, his face unreadable. “How did hunting go?” she said lamely, wanting him to leave. Wanting him to stay, wanting to throw herself in his arms.
I don’t know what I want
, she thought, panicked.
And he is going to find out, whether I tell him or not.

“Really well,” he said briefly. “Apart from one morning, when there was a distraction.” Christie saw the warmth in his eyes, warmth that disappeared so quickly she thought she had imagined it.
 

“So your friend said,” she managed, barely able to cope with Blake’s presence let alone try to flirt with him.
 

“Forget him,” Blake said roughly, surprising her. “Scott told me what Greg said; he takes everything too seriously.”
 

Christie took a deep breath. “Actually, I’m not feeling that well, Blake. So I’ll let you head off. But thanks again for dropping off my sleeping bag. And for everything at Mason Bay.” Unable to continue she simply looked away, biting her lip.
 

“So that’s why you ignored me this afternoon by the hotel?” His voice was cool.
 

“I didn’t even notice you, Blake,” Christie said, her surprise genuine.
 

“Another win for my ego,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. Christie looked up at him, her heart breaking, knowing that whatever she said now, there would be no future for them.

“So you’re not well.” Blake repeated her words. She shook her head, not knowing what to say. He looked out towards the bay, knowing Christie was not being completely honest, not believing her. “The island rumour mill has you going into the medical centre waiting room a few days ago.” Christie tensed with shock, dimly remembering the crowded waiting room, realising any one there could have known Blake.
 

“Why ask me at all?” she said with difficulty. “You can just rely on gossip.”
 

“I prefer not to do that,” he said quietly, not mentioning that his friend had also thought Christie was upset. Christie remained stubbornly silent. Blake took a step closer to her. “We got to the part where you weren’t well. And you might have been to the medical centre.” His voice was low, dangerous. “But don’t bother telling me what’s going on.”

Christie heard his words, remembered his comments when she had returned his sleeping bag. She knew she should just tell him to go, let him find out through the rumour mill.
It doesn’t matter anymore,
she thought bleakly. Part of her still hoped desperately for Blake’s support, for the benefit of his practical clear mind.
I do need to tell him now,
she realised, bracing herself.

“I’m pregnant,” Christie blurted out, terror rushing through her as she saw the shock in Blake’s eyes. She waited for him to say something, anything, so she could gauge his reaction.
 

“Congratulations,” he said hoarsely, blinded by hurt. “I didn’t realise you were seeing someone on the island.” Before Christie could react he laughed bitterly. “Something the rumour mill didn’t pick up on.”

“I’m not,” Christie whispered, stunned at his automatic assumption.
 

“Well I know it’s not me, Christie. I guess that’s why you wouldn’t sleep with me.” Blake’s tone became derisive, sarcastic. “Even though we did actually sleep together.”
 

“No,” Christie said firmly, realising whatever answer she gave would anger him. “I didn’t know, Blake, until a few days ago.” She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes, not wanting him to think she had known but not told him.

“Christie,” he said deliberately, “you can’t have it both ways. You say you’ve only just realised, but you haven’t met anyone on the island. Get your story straight, at least.”
 

“I do have my story straight,” she said with dignity, inwardly flinching at his tone, the look in his eyes. “Just go, Blake, please.” She looked at him, his imposing height dwarfing the small room, his jeans and casual shirt only emphasising his fit, toned body.

“With pleasure,” he said, taken aback by her inherent strength and dignity, despite her obvious distress. Without another word he turned, striding away from her, wrenching open the door and disappearing into the night.

— # —

Christie sat with a group of staff from the hotel, trying to take her mind off her pregnancy. Cautiously sipping at a juice, she felt out of place, unable to relate to the happy atmosphere in the rest of the group. She had noticed Lisa glance at her a couple of times, made more of an effort to join the conversation. Blake had walked past earlier; as he had stopped next to Lisa, Christie had been unable to look at him for any length of time, taking a gulp of juice, her hand trembling slightly.

Her face had burned as she had heard Blake make a joking comment to Lisa, seen him casually put his hand on her shoulder as Lisa looked up at him, laughing at his comment, her dark eyes sparkling. Blake’s eyes had barely flicked over Christie, his gaze cold, impersonal as he continued to talk to Lisa. Eventually, at Lisa’s pointed look, Blake turned to Christie.

“Hello, Christie. How are you this evening?” His polite, almost formal tone made another girl in the group look twice at them both, obviously curious.
 

“Fine, thank you,” Christie said briefly, registering the other girl’s look, aware of the dark depths in Blake’s gaze. “How are you?” she added politely. Inclining his head, Blake said nothing further to her and left shortly afterwards, walking over to join a group across the pub.

Christie’s hurt only intensified over the evening; the conversation of the group becoming a blur as her worry increased, the exchange with Blake playing on her mind. Lisa had just left the bar to make a phone call away from the noisy crowd and Christie looked around, resolving to say her goodbyes and find Lisa outside. She caught a glimpse of Ian across the bar, apparently also preparing to leave.

“Stay for one more,” the guy who had been sitting next to Christie urged. “One more juice.” He laughed unpleasantly, too loudly. Christie shook her head; she had found him hard to talk to, conscious that he had obviously been drinking before he even got to the pub. She stood up, still worried, preoccupied, frowning to herself as he continued to make loud remarks about her leaving, his comments increasingly crude, even as she firmly told him to stop.
 

Christie sensed others at a nearby table turning to see what the problem was as her workmates also urged him to be quiet. She stepped away from the table, relieved as she saw both Ian and Mark approaching. Both of them obviously realised what was happening; Mark stepped close to her, glancing across the pub briefly, shepherding her away from the table silently as she heard Ian speak to the drunken patron together with the bar staff, his air of quiet authority sobering the other man instantly.

Christie started to feel disorientated as she realised the rowdiness of the pub was fading, dimly heard Lisa’s concerned voice as they walked into the foyer. “Mark, I don’t—” she said weakly, collapsing against him, barely aware of strong arms lifting her effortlessly before everything went black.

— # —

Christie opened her eyes groggily, heard Ian’s gruff voice talking to— Blake was carrying her! She tensed, tried to focus on Blake’s face, his dark eyes looking down at her as he realised she was conscious. “Just taking you to Ian’s place, Christie. His wife’s a retired nurse, and another nurse will meet us there.”
 

“I just fainted, Blake,” she said softly. Cold fear invaded her as she thought of the baby, Blake’s reaction, the fact he was carrying her now. She repeated herself, becoming more and more aware of Blake’s body, so close to her, his distant, impersonal tone.

“Fine,” he said gruffly. “Sort it out with Valerie.” Christie wavered on the verge of consciousness, blacked out again. When she woke up she was in a bed, fully clothed. Immediately, she sensed she was not alone, saw a lady sitting in a chair across the room, heard her introduce herself as Valerie, Ian’s wife.
 

“You’ll be fine, Christie. You’re just very tired, I suspect, and need to take things easy.” Christie thanked her, wondering how to ask about the baby. Valerie smiled reassuringly. “Blake said you’re pregnant, that you’ve only just told him. The baby seems fine. At first I was concerned that you might be miscarrying. But everything looks good.”
 

Christie barely heard the reassuring words. “Blake told you…”