Man Drought (12 page)

‘Amy did do the hard stuff,’ Imogen conceded, ‘but Gibson supported and encouraged her. He was incredible.’ She didn’t look at him when she said this, not wanting him to see the newfound respect and admiration in her eyes. She didn’t want his head to swell any larger than it already had. ‘Here, do you want to see pics?’

‘Yes please!’

As Cal and Pauli leaned over her phone and Imogen clicked through baby photos, Charlie and Gibson struck up conversation and the lingering blokes returned to their beers. In Imogen’s experience, men could only look at baby photos for so long, whereas women – even those who swore they’d
never
be clucky, like Pauli – could look for hours. Cal and Pauli served a couple of blokes in between, but it seemed like they’d been scrolling through the shots for hours when Imogen’s phone rang in her hand.

‘Jenna!’

‘Ugh, I feel terrible,’ came Jenna’s voice seconds later. ‘I’m never riding in a small plane again. How are things there? Tell Guy I’m sorry to have run off on him like that.’

Imogen glanced across the room to where Guy was playing pool. ‘Will do. How are Amy and the baby? Has Ryan seen him?’

‘Yes. But only briefly. He’s got to spend the night in the neonatal ward because he has low blood sugar and low body temp.’

‘Oh no.’ The anxiety Imogen had experienced when Amy was first in labour returned. ‘Is he going to be okay?’

‘Oh, yes, fine,’ Jenna rushed. ‘They’re feeding him through a tube for now to get him strong, but apparently he’s one of the healthiest babies in there. He’s a fighter.’

‘Thank God.’ Imogen hated being so far away. ‘Does he have a name yet?’

‘They’re discussing possibilities. Personally, I thought they’d have a better idea by now. I mean, I know he’s early but surely they have
some
preferences. Anyway, I wanted to ask you about my car. I’m going to need it on Monday, and obviously I can’t just get a cab out to Gibson’s Find to pick it up …’

‘I’ll drive it,’ Imogen decided there and then. ‘There’s a bus from Perth tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll catch that back.’ She’d have to cancel the second half of the slab party, but on the scale of importance, friends’ babies came before renovations. There’d be other weekends, or maybe she’d just hire tradies to finish the job.

‘Sorry,’ Jenna said. ‘If there was any other way … It’s just I really need my car for work.’

‘I know you do. It’s fine. I want to have a cuddle with the baby before he gets too big, anyway. Will that be possible?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Jenna replied. ‘I guess it depends how he goes overnight. At the moment, only Amy and Ryan are allowed to see him.’

‘Oh.’ Imogen couldn’t hide her disappointment. ‘Never mind, I want to see Amy and you, anyway. Our weekend together was cut short.’

‘For the bestest ever reason.’

‘Of course, but still. How about I meet you at the hospital tomorrow about twelve to give you your keys and visit Amy?’ Imogen asked.

‘Sounds like a plan.’ Jenna yawned. ‘Sorry Im, I’m going to have to go. I’m exhausted. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Can’t wait. I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight. See ya.’

Imogen ended the call and looked up to find Cal, Pauli, Gibson, Guy and Charlie all gathered around, staring at her, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. It seemed she wasn’t the only one invested in Amy and the baby now, and that warmed the cockles of her heart. After relaying everything that Jenna had said, Imogen glanced at the clock and realised it was past closing time. She rang the closing bell to get the boys’ attention.

‘Thank you so much everyone. It’s been one hell of a day and I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to postpone tomorrow’s work as I have to head to Perth to be with my friend and her baby.’

Whoops and cheers erupted around the room and then people started standing to leave. Imogen didn’t expect hugs from each and every attendee, but she welcomed them nevertheless, glowing in the warm congratulations offered by her new friends. When the men had left, only Gibson and her staff remained. He’d stayed to see Charlie home but mucked in with the rest of them, collecting glasses, wiping tables and even taking out the rubbish.

They’d barely spoken since entering the pub, so it surprised her when he grabbed her elbow as she passed him in the saloon. ‘Do you have a moment?’

She nodded, wondering what he could possibly want to say to her and trying to ignore the delicious vibrations ricocheting up her arm.

‘I’m going to visit my folks in the city tomorrow – Sunday lunch once a month.’ He rolled his eyes before continuing. ‘Seems silly for you to catch the bus when I’ll be driving back here anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘What do you say? Want to catch a lift back with me?’

Gibson woke early. Despite the late night, he leapt from his bed with more enthusiasm than he had in a long time. But it wasn’t the prospect of driving to Perth and having lunch with his family that put a spring in his step and a smile on his lips. It was the adrenalin still pumping through his veins after yesterday’s events. He’d delivered a baby!

Like a stamp at the front of his brain, the look on that baby’s face went with him as he downed coffee, showered, brushed his teeth and made sure Jack and Jill had food and water for the day. That magic expression, at being plucked from the womb and thrust into a brand new world, stayed with him as he began his journey. Was it shock? Horror? Excitement? Amy’s baby had his whole life in front of him, everything new and waiting to be discovered. So much potential.

Gibson found himself wanting everything for that child, and he felt a weird yearning to protect it. He was glad he’d arranged to
collect Imogen from the hospital, and couldn’t wait for lunch to be over so he could go and see the baby.

As he neared Perth and his parents’ house, thoughts of the baby took a back seat as thoughts of Charlie and his mum’s disagreement took precedence. Sure enough, the moment his mother opened the front door, she started.

‘Gibson!’ A breath of pause, not to smile at him but to summon more irritation. ‘Where’s Charlie?’

‘Nice to see you too, Mum.’ He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek before waving at his dad, who stood behind. Debbie wore her Sunday best, whereas Harry wore a chambray shirt, jeans and boots. You could take the man away from the farm but you couldn’t take the farm out of the man. ‘Are Paris and the kids here yet?’ he asked. He’d never spent much time with his niece and nephew, but he liked them, and today, playing
anything
with them would be better than sitting with the adults.

‘They couldn’t come,’ Debbie sighed. ‘There’s a family function on at Steve’s work.’ The scowl on her lips told Gibson her exact opinion of this so-called excuse.

Normally their absence wouldn’t bother Gibson, but today was the first lunch he’d been to since his mother had raised concerns about Charlie’s mental health. The first lunch he’d been to without Charlie. Without grandkids or Paris’ chattering to distract her, his mum would not be deterred from discussions of Charlie. She could be a very persistent woman when she wanted to be.

Unless … He stepped inside the house and before she could start up again, he said, ‘You’ll never guess what I did yesterday.’

His dad’s eyes lit up and he closed the door behind them. ‘Bought a new tractor?’

‘Sorry Dad, this isn’t farming related.’ He paused for anticipation. ‘I delivered a baby.’

‘You what?’ His mum steadied herself against the hall table.

Gibson caught her arm. ‘Why don’t we go through, get a drink and I’ll tell you all about it?’

Seemingly speechless, Debbie let herself be led into the kitchen-dining room, where she flicked on the kettle and then placed three mugs on the bench in front of her. Gibson took the milk from its little jug in the fridge, handed it to his mother and then sat at the table with his dad.

‘Whose baby?’ came his mum’s first question.

He took a breath, and then began the tale of what Amy was doing in Gibson’s Find and how he’d come to deliver her baby. At the end of his story, he got out his phone and showed his parents a picture he’d snapped of Amy and the child not long after the delivery.

‘Oh, he’s so sweet,’ his mum cried, tears welling in her eyes. ‘I remember when you and Paris were that big. What was it like? Delivering the dear little thing?’

As Debbie patted at her eyes with a tissue, Gibson struggled to find the right words. ‘Incomparable to anything.’ He couldn’t help his massive grin. ‘Amazing. I never imagined I’d ever do anything so meaningful.’

‘Good on ya, son.’ Harry, sitting beside Gibson, clapped his hand down on his shoulder in a show of masculine congratulations.

Debbie picked up her Royal Doulton cup (only the best for visitors and Sundays) and then put it back down. She stared at Gibson so he felt her eyes boring into him, forcing him to meet her gaze. ‘I understand that it was special, but there’s nothing like having your own child, you know, seeing your own baby born.’

Gibson tried not to flinch.
Would she ever let up?
He felt like Charlie. Ambushed. ‘I can imagine, Mum.’ He kept his voice light, but firm. ‘But my focus is the farm; another relationship isn’t on my agenda.’

She made a scathing tsk with her tongue. ‘You can’t stay in that big house all alone forever.’

That’s exactly what he planned to do. ‘I’m not thinking of forever right now, Mum.’ Another lie. ‘I know you think I’ve had long enough to get over Serena, but please just leave it. I don’t want to fight about this. It’s my business, not yours.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Clearly annoyed, Debbie pushed her chair back, abandoning her cup of tea as she yanked open the oven to check the roast. As usual, Gibson spied a chicken far too big for only three of them.

He smiled weakly at his dad and got a similar smile back. They both drank tea. When the cups were finished and Debbie was still fussing about – Gibson knew better than to volunteer catering assistance – Harry asked, ‘This friend of the mother, the one that’s bought The Majestic. What’s she like?’

‘Imogen?’ All the words that came into his head he immediately dismissed as inappropriate. ‘She seems all right. Hardworking. Charlie likes her and she says she wants to get involved in the community.’

Debbie couldn’t resist joining the conversation. She paused in the task of whisking gravy over the hot plate. ‘It doesn’t sound right to me. A single girl managing such an establishment. What’s she going to do if a six-foot gentleman gets rowdy one night?’

‘He’d hardly be a gentleman if he gets rowdy, now, would he, Debs?’ Harry commented.

Debbie shot him a practised glare. ‘That’s not the point, Harry.’

And the bizarre thing was that Gibson wanted to stick up for Imogen, despite the fact that he was guilty of exactly the same thoughts. He smothered this strange urge. ‘I don’t know, Mum. None of my business.’

‘Well, of course it’s your business. Charlie’s working there and it’s your local watering hole. If things go bad, you’ll be reeled in to it all. Case in point: whose friend’s baby did you have to deliver yesterday?’

‘Mum!’ Gibson scoffed at the absurdity of her argument. He didn’t even know why they were having this conversation. Why she cared.

‘Debbie. Is the lunch ready? Let’s eat,’ Harry suggested in a rare moment of authority.

‘Yes, let’s.’ Gibson couldn’t agree more. The quicker he downed lunch, the quicker he could make his excuses and leave the stresszone. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate right now.

As usual, lunch was superb. Debbie still cooked like it was Christmas every Sunday: a roast meat that varied depending on what the butcher had on special, a ridiculous assortment of veggies, stuffing
and
Yorkshire pudding. Gibson didn’t know anyone who made Yorkshire pudding like his mother – hell, he hardly knew anyone who made Yorkshire pudding – which meant his tastebuds always rejoiced in the monthly lunch, even if his blood pressure didn’t.

Somehow, they managed small talk while they ate. Harry mentioned he was thinking of putting in a fish pond out the front. Debbie said she’d joined a quilting club and was going to make a special quilt for each of her grandchildren. She stared pointedly at Gibson, but he refused to take the bait.

Then, when lunch was over, the table cleared and a massive apple crumble was about to be served, Harry turned the conversation to farming. ‘What are your plans for this year, son? Does Charlie get out to the farm much?’ Seconds after mentioning his father, Harry cringed, and rightly so. Debbie grabbed back on to the topic like a puppy with a new chew toy.

‘Yes. How is Charlie? I know you think I was overreacting last time I was there, but I know what I saw. Your father was with you out at the farm most of the time, so he didn’t notice how scatterbrained Charlie has become. I’m seriously worried.’

Gibson’s jaw tightened and he mentally counted to five before
responding. ‘I know, Mum, and I’ve already said I’ll keep an eye on him. But you didn’t expect him to welcome your announcement that you thought he had Alzheimer’s, did you?’

Debbie slapped a serving of apple crumble into a bowl and pushed it towards Gibson. ‘I’ve never seen any point in beating around the bush.’

Harry didn’t say a word, just scooped a spoonful of dessert into his mouth and chewed. Suddenly Gibson didn’t feel like his favourite pudding. He put down his dessert fork. ‘Look, Mum. We’ll have to agree to disagree about this. But I promise you, I’ll look out for Charlie. Just go easy on him, please.’

Debbie sighed. ‘Okay. I don’t want to be right, you know.’

Gibson wished he could believe her. But instead he chose to change the subject. ‘Tell me more about these quilts.’

The next half hour or so passed with as much tension as if Charlie were actually in the room with them. Gibson listened to his mum explain in minute detail the first quilt she was making, and all the while he sat there seething at the fact his father hadn’t said a word in Charlie’s defence.

At least there was one good thing about never being in a relationship again – he’d never be forced to leave the land he loved like his father had been.

Imogen met Jenna in front of King Edward Memorial Hospital for Women just before midday. Wearing large black sunglasses, skinny jeans and a silky tee accessorised with heeled sandals and a matching tote bag that looked to have the latest issue of
Marie Claire
poking out the top, Jenna looked like she’d just stepped off a Paris catwalk. In contrast, Imogen looked exactly like she’d spent the last three and a half hours sitting in a car, fretting
about what the hell she was going to talk about during the drive home with Gibson Black. She could almost feel the worry lines etched into her forehead.

‘Hey there,’ she tried to inject enthusiasm into her voice, waving as Jenna closed the gap between them.

‘I’m so glad to see you,’ Jenna said, embracing Imogen in a hug. ‘We need to talk. Visiting hours aren’t for a while, so why don’t we grab some lunch. I know a cafe round the corner.’

Jenna seemed more effusive than she should have been, considering that Imogen had all but accused her of being a slut yesterday. She wasn’t normally one to hold a grudge, but still.

‘Jenna,’ Imogen began as they pounded the pavement towards the cafe precinct, ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I should never have said those things about you and Guy, it’s just—-’

Jenna shook her head. ‘It’s forgotten. And you’re probably right, but with all that testosterone in one room and that gorgeous man practically begging me to make him smile, I couldn’t help myself.’

‘I totally understand. How do you think it is being surrounded by it
all
the time?’ Imogen asked before she could censor her words.

‘Tempting?’ Jenna suggested, slowing down and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. ‘I imagine that’s why you asked me for the vibrator?’

‘Shh, someone might hear you,’ Imogen hissed, quickly scanning the area and pulling Jenna onwards. ‘And that request was made in a moment of insanity.’

Jenna laughed. ‘They’re not illegal, you know. Neither is being attracted to someone other than Jamie.’

Imogen’s chest tightened. ‘I’m not looking for another relationship. When I made my marriage vows, I meant them.’

Jenna stopped outside a cafe but didn’t make to go inside. Instead, she turned to Imogen and took both her hands, shaking
them slightly as she stared into her friend’s eyes. ‘You said, till death do us part, not till you die too.’

‘I don’t know.’ Imogen sighed, anger rearing its head within her. Anger at Jamie – a hero to the world, but the man who ruined her life by leaving her way too early. She believed in one true love, in fate and living happily ever after. If Jamie had been The One – and she was damn certain he had – then how could she possibly fall in love with anyone else?

As if reading her mind, Jenna said, ‘You know you don’t have to love someone to have fun with them. This is the twenty-first century, people sleep together without a contract in place.’ She shrugged as she pushed her hand against the cafe door. ‘I’m just saying, it’s something to think about.’

And as they ordered a meal and wine (hey, she wasn’t driving again), Imogen thought about precious little else. But she wasn’t like Jenna. She couldn’t get her head around having sex with someone simply to scratch an itch. She was glad when the waiter took away their menus and Jenna pulled out the
Marie Claire
. ‘Business time,’ Jenna said, opening the magazine at a bookmarked page.

Imogen raised one eyebrow and peered down at the page. Jenna swivelled the mag around so Imogen could read the heading: ‘Stuck in a Man Drought? Look no further than rural Australia’s little reservoirs of untapped men!’ She began reading but Jenna launched into conversation before she’d even finished the first paragraph.

‘I was thinking about all those lovely, gorgeous,
horny
men you have in your pub when I woke up this morning. And then over my coffee, I flicked to this article. It must be fate. See,’ she tapped a beautifully manicured nail in the middle of the page. ‘You could run one of these weekends in Gibson’s Find, at The Majestic.’

Imogen glanced up at Jenna and then back down to the article.

Jenna took this as a cue to keep talking. ‘I’m more than happy to do my bit for the boys in the bush, but there’s only so much one
girl can do. I reckon that barmaid and chef of yours may have eyes for each other rather than the patrons, so I was thinking perhaps we should share.’

Giggling inwardly at Jenna’s fervour, Imogen held up her hand. ‘Can you just let me finish reading?’

The journalist had written about a number of Aussie towns that could have been Gibson’s Find – small pockets where men vastly outnumbered women; places where, when farmers talked about drought, they weren’t just referring to the weather. And then the focus switched to Australia’s cities, where women in their late twenties and early thirties lamented the shortage of available men. One of the women they interviewed said she was ‘on the lookout for a country bloke with a big heart and a big you-know-what.’ She claimed that nice guys in the city were few and far between, that most of them were full of airs and graces and believed themselves God’s gift, spending more money on skincare and fashion than women did.