Free-Falling (25 page)

Almost two months had passed since his ‘night together' with Belle. Bazza was in the car park one evening, sorting through some of the storage he kept in his parking spot. He saw her chucking her shoulder bag into the boot of the car, presumably about to head out to the gym, judging by the clothes she was wearing. He hid himself behind the wall – he had no idea how she'd react if she saw him. Although hiding behind a wall to watch her was probably making him look like some kind of stalker or something.

As he watched her climb into the car, he had to do a double-take. Was it just him, or was her stomach a lot rounder than when he'd seen her last? He squinted his eyes then clapped his hand to his mouth. Yep, there was no denying it. That was a pregnant stomach. If he was from some tacky tabloid magazine, he'd be calling it a ‘baby bump'. He had five older sisters and between them they'd had about fifty bloody babies. Okay, slight exaggeration – but he'd seen them go through a lot of pregnancies and he recognised the look of that stomach.
Fuck off.
He hadn't just got steamy with a girl on the night after her fiancé died; he'd done it with a
pregnant,
grieving, engaged chick.

‘Jeez, woman, you're killing me here!' he murmured to himself as he watched her drive away.

Feeling worse than ever, he decided to go out for a walk. For some reason it seemed even more important now that he find a way to make things up to her. The poor girl was about to have a baby all on her own. And he'd recognised the expression on her face as she drove away – it was the exact same look she'd had when she was hanging in that tree:
helpless
.

He thought of his sisters and what they were like when they were expecting, and wondered what they might have wanted someone to do for them.
Right, time to call in some reinforcements.
He pulled out his mobile and dialled his sister Catherine's number. ‘Hey, Cath,' he said when she picked up. ‘I'm after a bit of advice.'

‘Sure thing, little bro – just give us one sec . . . MAX, GET AWAY FROM YOUR SISTER! I DON'T CARE IF SHE BROKE YOUR TRANSFORMER, YOU RELEASE HER FROM THAT HEAD LOCK RIGHT NOW! . . . Sorry about that. Okay, I'm all yours, what's up?'

‘Ah, you sure you can talk?'

‘Sure, why not?'

‘All right, I'll make it quick then. Last time you were pregnant, what did Dean do for you, you know, to make you happy or more comfortable or whatever?'

‘Baz, I don't want to even know why you're asking this question. If you knocked some girl up, I do
not
want to know about it.'

‘Yeah, yeah, just answer the question, all right.'

‘Okay, let me think about it. Mostly he looked after the kids for me when I was tired, and there was going out and getting weird foods for me when I had cravings.'

All right, not helpful so far.
He had no idea what sorts of food Belle might be wanting, and was pretty sure there were no other kids he could help out with.

‘What else you got?'

‘Oh, I don't know. He carried the heavy shopping bags and stuff for me when it was getting too difficult . . . Umm . . . Wait! I know. I remember one time I was just in my second trimester with Max, feeling so down – I don't even know why – and Dean surprised me with this beautiful bunch of flowers. Sometimes there's nothing better than an impromptu bunch of flowers to make your day.'

‘Really? Flowers? Isn't that a bit of a cliché?'

‘Only if you get roses. As long as you get the kind she likes, she'll love 'em.'

Bazza thanked his sister and hung up. Well, flowers seemed to be the only option. He really didn't know what else he could do for her. Catherine had added, before hanging up, that helping out with the housework was always a winner too, but he didn't think Belle would appreciate him breaking into her apartment to tidy up.

He changed direction and headed for the shops so he could pick up the flowers right away. All he had to do was figure out which ones to buy. At the florist, he scanned the display and a large bunch of lilies caught his eye. The white flowers arranged with some greenery looked classic and simple in comparison to all the other garishly colourful bunches. He decided they would do.

Back at home, he hung around his apartment, glancing at the flowers every now and then, wondering when he should take them upstairs and give them to her, and what he was going to say. How long would she be at the gym for? Eventually, he decided he'd waited long enough and
took the lift up to level three. He stood in front of her door. He was certain this was her apartment; everyone in the building had been talking about the murdered guy from 13C.

Then he panicked. What was he going to say to this girl? What if she never wanted to see him again? Suddenly handing her a bunch of flowers didn't seem like such a great idea. Maybe he should just leave them by the door? He pulled a pen out of his pocket and scribbled the word ‘Sorry' on the tag attached to the flowers. He didn't think it would be a good move to expand on that any further. After all, what could he write – sorry I felt you up just after your fiancé died? He also figured there was no point signing his name – it's not like she would know who he was anyway. He made his way back downstairs to his apartment, feeling like he'd at least made a start in making things up to her.

A week later, Bazza had just hopped on the bus to head in for a midday lecture. He took a seat near the front and gazed aimlessly at the street while the rest of the people from his stop filed on. As he stared out the window, he spotted Belle, walking up the hill from their apartment block towards the main road. Was she trying to make this bus?

He looked back at the people getting on – only one or two more to pay their fare – then back at her. He saw her start to jog, a worried expression on her face. The last person was on and she was only just getting to the top of the street. She was never going to make it.

‘Hey, buddy,' he said, leaning forward to tap the bus driver on the shoulder. ‘Wait a minute, there's a girl over there trying to make this bus.'

‘Yeah, mate, my heart bleeds for her. Too bad. I gotta timetable to keep to here.' The driver closed the doors and indicated to pull out into the traffic.

‘C'mon, mate, she's pregnant and her fiancé just died. Give the girl a break.'

‘What are you, her fairy godmother?' the driver asked, chuckling at his own wit as he manoeuvred out.

Bazza looked back and saw Belinda stop running, her face crestfallen as she turned around to return down the street.
Desperate times . . .

‘All right, I'll give you fifty bucks right now if you stop and wait for her.' Bazza hastily pulled a fifty-dollar note out of his wallet to prove he was serious. If any of the guys found out he'd spent fifty bucks making a bus wait for some girl, they would absolutely cane him. But as far as he was concerned, it was worth it.

The driver's foot hit the brakes and he started reversing, causing the cars behind to beep indignantly. When she climbed aboard the bus thirty seconds or so later, Bazza buried his face in one of his textbooks, hoping she wouldn't notice him. He was already feeling a bit embarrassed about the whole thing. At first, offering the driver that fifty bucks had seemed chivalrous, charming! But after the bus had reversed down a busy road, it just seemed a bit over the top.

A few days later, he was in Mrs Crease's apartment, fixing a blockage in her sink, when she took him completely by surprise by asking him out of the blue if he had a crush on the ‘young lass upstairs'. He banged his head on her kitchen bench as he backed out of the cupboard.

‘What, what makes you say that?' he asked as casually as he could.

‘I was on that bus on Wednesday, a few seats back – you didn't notice me. I saw what you did for her. That was very chivalrous of you.'

Ah-ha! Chivalrous: that's exactly what I was going for!

He couldn't lie to Mrs Crease. He sat down at her dining table and told her the
entire
story.

‘So you
are
trying to be her fairy godmother then?' she asked when he was finished, a twinkle in her eye.

‘I think I'd prefer the term “knight in shining armour”. Or even “undercover secret agent” – you know, 007-style.'

‘Nope. Fairy godmother it is. Now I've got a tip for you, fairy boy—'

‘Great, now we're shortening it to
fairy boy
?' he interrupted. ‘I spend months trying to get you to call me Bazza instead of Barry – but fairy boy you take to straight away.'

She continued on, unfazed. ‘If you really want to help her out, I heard her on the phone to someone the other day as she was getting in the lift. Apparently her car battery is dead. You're fairly mechanical, aren't you? Way to a girl's heart is definitely through the car engine. You mark my words, fairy boy.'

‘And what makes you think I'm trying to get to her heart?'

‘You can't tell me this is just about a guilty conscience, boy. You kissed the girl back when she was grieving – big deal. There's more to it than that, you have feelings for her. Trust me, the car battery is the way to go.'

‘Cheers, Creasy. I'll be sure to give that some thought. You realise the more secret things I do for her, the more in danger I am of looking like a stalker, right?'

‘Nonsense. This is how real men court women. Now be off with you, fairy boy!'

He picked up a new car battery from the servo up the road the next afternoon and was down in the car park wondering how he was going to pop the hood without the car keys, when he heard voices coming from the front garage door.

‘Yep, wouldn't start when I tried to drive it last Friday. I'd left one of the doors ajar, so the interior light had been on all night. It's just down here.'

Shit! It was Belle with the NRMA guy.
He panicked and dumped the battery by the car then took off. There was a fire exit a few car spots down. He disappeared through it just as they were rounding the corner.

The thrill of almost getting caught by her was starting to get a bit much for him. He'd take the rush of jumping out of a plane over this any day – his nerves were just about killing him. He decided it might be a good idea to lay off on the ‘fairy godmother' act for a while; after all, it was possible he'd gotten a tad carried away, thanks to Mrs Crease's advice. The poor girl was probably just going to get freaked out by all his anonymous good deeds. He threw himself into his work instead (literally).

It was time for his new client's first-ever solo jump. She was definitely more than ready to do it, and he was feeling quite proud of her as they stood together with John, the second instructor, at the door of the plane, waiting for the okay. She was looking pretty damn together for someone about to do their first solo. Jumping on your own was completely different from going tandem – a whole new experience. But then her face started to change – a look of dread sweeping across it like a shadow.
Uh oh, someone's having second thoughts. Time to get this show on the road.

‘I know what you're thinking!' he yelled out. ‘But you're completely ready for this!'
Time to go, McGavin, you're all over it baby!
He coaxed her with his thoughts.

She gave him one last look of sheer terror and then they jumped.

Brilliant! She did it!

When it came to jumping, Bazza had no fear whatsoever. Falling alongside her, he couldn't help grinning like a fool. Eventually he gave her the nod, indicating it was time to pull their chutes. He got the feeling she may have forgotten to count out each thousand
feet like he'd taught her. Not to worry: that's why they were there alongside her. Once her parachute had been safely deployed, he and John pulled their own, Bazza feeling mildly disappointed, as he was every time, that it was time to stop free-falling.

It was while they were eating Tim Tams and drinking coffee, enjoying the post-jump rush, when she suddenly lost it. One minute she was drinking her tea through a biscuit, the next minute she was storming out of the place. Her face rigid and her eyes icy.

‘Fuck me, what just happened?' he said out loud. He took off after her. He'd known all along there was something going on. It was time he found out what it was.

It took all his powers of persuasion (and admittedly a bit of ignoring of what he'd learnt in his psychology course so far) to get her to open up and talk to him. After she'd had a good cry into his shoulder (Bazza couldn't stand to watch a woman cry; he had a serious weakness for it) and he'd cracked a few jokes to try to lighten the situation, he convinced her to come out drinking with all the staff from SkyChallenge.

He finally got to hear her story. She didn't tell him everything. Only that her son had been killed a few months back and she was struggling to deal with it, especially considering she'd already lost her husband years ago and her other son wouldn't open up to her. She explained how it was her son James who was supposed to be going skydiving, but she had forbidden him and then, on the spur of the moment, she'd taken his place.