Man Drought (13 page)

As if to prove the magazine’s point, a guy in a suit strolled by and bumped into Jenna and Imogen’s table. He didn’t bother to apologise, apparently too consumed with something on his smart phone.

Imogen thought of the men in her pub who probably didn’t even own a suit, who spent their days in Stubbies shorts and Blundstone boots, but would fall over themselves to apologise if they even nudged a woman by accident. She thought of Gibson, whose daily skincare routine probably extended as far as a block of soap, a bit of warm water and his hairbrush. A razor on the days he had the time or inclination to shave. But who just happened to be more attractive than all the men in this cafe.

She looked back at the page and focused on finishing the article. A woman in a Victorian town had started running weekend events to bring city chicks to the outback to meet potential husbands – like
The Farmer Wants a Wife
but without the television cameras.
Imogen could see the value, not only for her male and horny (as Jenna put it) patrons, but also for her as a businesswoman. This kind of program didn’t seem too difficult, but it had the potential to increase her income
and
to revive a dying town. There was merit in every angle she considered.

And perhaps if she focused more on other people’s relationships, she wouldn’t have time to ponder the lack of intimacy and companionship in her own life. She looked back up at Jenna as the waiter delivered two massive chicken caesar salads. ‘I love it. Would you help me? You’ve got loads more experience organising things like this.’

‘Will I help you?’ Jenna practically shrieked. She lifted her wine glass, indicating Imogen should do the same with hers. ‘I’m counting on being your right-hand gal. Besides, I need a good excuse to see Guy again, and this one seems as perfect as any.’

Both smiling, they toasted their plan and then dug into their salads. They were eager to get to Amy, see the baby and tell her their grand idea.

Five minutes before visiting hours began, Imogen and Jenna were outside the postnatal ward, giggling with excitement.

Ryan met the girls at the door of Amy’s room and the look on his face plucked at Imogen’s heartstrings. ‘Proud Dad’ didn’t even begin to cover it. He lifted his index finger to his lips. ‘Come on in ladies, but keep the noise down. Gibson’s sleeping.’

‘Gibson?’ Imogen looked past Ryan to Amy, who was lying on the bed cradling the baby in the nook of her arm, looking as pleased as her husband.

‘Uh-huh,’ Amy nodded, smiling as she gestured to the plastic visitor chair. ‘Come sit.’

After the first round of oohing and ahhing and careful hugs so as not to crush the baby, Imogen perched on the edge of her very uncomfortable chair and asked again, ‘Gibson? You’re naming the baby after
him
?’

‘Of course.’ Amy laughed as if this were the most ridiculous question ever.

Ryan sat beside her on the bed and gently caressed the baby’s head. ‘Seems more than appropriate. Amy told me he was a rock during the birth. I can’t wait to shake the guy’s hand and buy him a drink. We’ll be heading your way for a weekend as soon as possible.’

‘You won’t have to wait that long,’ Jenna piped up from her spot at the foot of the bed. ‘He’s picking Imogen up in about an hour.’

‘Oh, is he?’ Amy acted as if Jenna had just announced Hugh Jackman’s imminent arrival. She even made to straighten her wonky nightgown.

‘Yes,’ Imogen said brusquely. She’d managed not to think about him during lunch, but now the anxiety barrelled back with a vengeance. ‘He happened to be coming to Perth today, so it made sense to get a lift with him, rather than take the bus. I’ll get home quicker that way.’

Amy, Ryan and Jenna all raised their eyebrows and Imogen realised she’d been too effusive in her reasoning. Why did she feel she had to explain a perfectly logical, reasonable and innocent lift?

‘Anyway,’ she adopted a let’s-move-on tone, ‘When do I get a cuddle with the little guy?’

Happy to have the conversation back on her child, Amy beamed. ‘You can take him now, if you like, but you have to disinfect your hands with that lotion first.’ She pointed to a pump bottle attached to the wall. After Imogen had rubbed the disinfectant all over her hands and halfway up her arms, she sat back down.

Ryan lifted the baby from Amy’s arms and carried him round the bed like he was bearing the Crown Jewels, before laying him
in Imogen’s waiting arms. ‘We’re lucky he’s able to come out of the neonatal nursery during the day. He’s doing really well but not breastfeeding properly, so they have to top him up by tube after each feed. But it’s just so wonderful for him to be with us some of the time.’

Imogen’s arms shook as she adjusted Gibson (she wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to
that
name belonging to
this
baby) in her arms. ‘Should I even be holding him?’

‘Yes,’ Amy replied. ‘I want you to.’

At the sound of his mother’s voice, Gibson made a sweet noise in his sleep and wriggled as if positioning himself comfortably. Everyone laughed at his antics and Imogen stared down, taking in every tiny detail. One hand had escaped the muslin cloth he was tightly wrapped in, and she gently counted each miniscule finger. Miniscule but perfect. A red smudge – the baby’s stork mark – rested between his brows, but she resisted the urge to touch it, not wanting to move a muscle in case she woke him and broke the moment.

This was it
. This was as close as she was ever going to get to a newborn of her own. Before the accident, she and Jamie had been trying for a baby for a couple of months – still enjoying the process, not yet at the stage where they worried they might not be able to conceive – and the day he died she’d been waiting for her period. Desperately hoping and praying it wouldn’t come. When a couple of his colleagues and a police officer arrived at her house and delivered the dreadful news that Jamie wouldn’t be coming home, being pregnant – having his baby – became even more important. The arrival of her period only hours later had been like a double whammy of grief.

Two of her most precious dreams had died that day: the dream of spending the rest of her life with Jamie and the dream of becoming a mother, of having a family. Moving to the country and buying the
pub had been a symbol of moving on and making new plans, new dreams, but holding little Gibson now brought all the emotion and devastation of her loss flooding back. As if sensing her sadness, he twisted in her arms, opened his eyes, looked up into her watery ones and let out a wail. Less than a day old and already he only had eyes for his mum.

Like a seasoned mother, Amy tore her concentration from the conversation and held out her arms. ‘He’s hungry. I need to feed him.’ She pressed the buzzer beside the bed and called for a nurse.

‘Of course.’ Imogen checked her hold was firm and then stood to pass him over. Amy lifted her top and nuzzled the baby close against her chest. Imogen watched as Gibson moved his head, rooting around for his afternoon tea. He found the milk tap, attached himself and within seconds let out tiny satisfied mewls.

It was beautiful, but the emotion of watching her best friend doing something so natural, something she herself would never have the chance to do, made her chest physically ache.

A knock at the door interrupted her melancholic thoughts. She looked up to see Gibson (the big one) standing in the doorway and her chest ached in an altogether different manner. At the sight of him her bones turned to mush. Wearing snug-fitting, faded jeans and a pale-blue shirt that had the crisp, fine quality that only comes from an extremely high thread count weave, he looked like an advertisement for enhanced virility, and she felt the effect in her loins. He looked straight at Amy and his namesake and grinned, evoking a nasty bout of jealousy from Imogen. The feeling gave her the grumps worse than she already had. What kind of person begrudged a baby attention?

‘Congratulations,’ Gibson said, leaning over the bed and kissing Amy on the cheek. ‘I didn’t really get the chance to say that yesterday.’ He leaned down towards the baby, and then snapped back to a stand as if he’d been slapped. ‘Oh God, sorry, I didn’t realise.’
A gorgeous flush came over his face as it dawned on him he’d just been peering at a naked breast.

Amy giggled, shifting her bundle slightly. ‘It’s alright; you’ve already seen more of me than anyone aside from my husband, so there’s no need to be embarrassed.’

Gibson let out a relieved sigh and then turned to Ryan. He held out his hand. ‘You must be the father.’

‘G’day mate.’ Ryan shook Gibson’s hand and then pulled him into a hug. ‘I can’t thank you enough for everything you did. Lord knows what would have happened if you weren’t there. Amy’s been singing your praises all morning.’

Gibson looked a little uncomfortable in the embrace, but he accepted it and Ryan’s thanks gracefully. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, stepping back. ‘I’m so relieved the little guy is okay.’

‘He’s going to be grand.’ Ryan beamed at the baby. ‘My only regret is I wasn’t there to welcome him into the world, but I’m glad they were both in good hands. And thanks for picking up Imogen too. I hope you didn’t have to travel down especially.’

‘Nah, I had to see my parents anyway.’

‘They live in Perth, then?’

Gibson nodded. ‘Yeah, moved here a few years back.’

‘But they were farmers before?’

Imogen stilled at Ryan’s question. He’d always been such an open and friendly guy – in direct opposition to Gibson – but now his questions sounded prying. To her surprise, Gibson didn’t appear to notice.

‘Yes.’ He leaned back against the wall as if settling in for a long conversation. ‘My farm has been in Dad’s family for a couple of generations, but Mum is a city girl. She’s glad to be back amongst the shops and the restaurants.’

Ryan chuckled. ‘Must be great being your own boss, working the land. I love working outdoors, but it’s not quite the same in the city.’

‘Guess not.’ There was a slight pause, then Gibson added, ‘Next time you visit Imogen, you’re more than welcome to come out to my farm and have a look around.’

‘Really?’

Imogen resisted rolling her eyes – you’d think Gibson had just offered to
give
Ryan his property. The thought immediately irritated her. Why did she become uncharacteristically narky whenever Gibson was around? As she tapped her feet against the linoleum, it slowly dawned on her that perhaps Gibson wasn’t a grumpy, rude person all the time, but only when it came to her. There was no mention of her joining Gibson and the new parents when they visited his farm, and she felt the snub deeply.

Baby Gibson tired quickly, and the neonatal nurse took him away to finish feeding by tube. A tear trickled down Amy’s cheek as they all watched Gibson go.

‘Do you want to go with him?’ Ryan asked, taking her hand.

Amy sniffed. ‘No, I’m okay. I want to chat with these guys and I know he’s in good hands.’ She took a moment to blow her nose, then tucked her hair behind her ears and smiled at her visitors. She focused on Imogen. ‘I’m sorry for ruining your renovation weekend.’

Imogen waved her apology away. ‘Don’t be silly. There’ll be plenty of time for fixing up the pub later.’

After that, the conversation did the rounds of babies, farms and day jobs. An orderly came in to leave Amy her menu choices for the following day and everyone helped her make decisions about what to order. A croissant-versus-porridge debate erupted and the croissants won. About an hour later, when Amy started to get restless, Imogen suggested it was time for them to leave.

‘You must want to get back to Gibson,’ she said, leaning over the bed to give Amy a hug and a kiss. ‘Congratulations again. He’s perfect.’

‘Thank you,’ Amy whispered, her voice once again choked with emotion.

Jenna and Gibson offered their goodbyes and before Imogen knew it, they were all heading for the hospital elevators. In a matter of minutes Jenna would step into her Mini Cooper, leaving Imogen and Gibson alone.

Imogen could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She hated uncomfortable silences, and if their conversational efforts so far were anything to go by, this would be a very long three and a half hours. She should have made a mental inventory of things to talk about. The baby? His visit to his parents? Um …

‘Well, this is me.’ Jenna slowed in front of her silver car. ‘Thanks for driving it back, Immy.’

Already?
Imogen did a double take. She must have been in some kind of trance, for she couldn’t recall even leaving the hospital. ‘No worries,’ she managed above the ridiculous nerves that were churning up her insides. She hugged her friend, all the while reminding herself that this wasn’t a date, it was a car pool. If the silence got awkward, she could read the magazine Jenna had lent her.

‘Bye Gibson. Nice meeting you again.’ Jenna leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek. Imogen wondered what it would feel like to brush
her
lips up against his skin. And then she wanted to scream. Why couldn’t she control these unwelcome thoughts?

‘You too,’ Gibson replied, his voice warm and good-natured. That figured. Jenna had all the guys eating from the palm of her hand. ‘I guess I might see you round.’

‘Bye Jenna,’ Imogen said firmly. She didn’t want to hang around and watch Jenna work her magic with yet another male. Especially the unworkable Gibson. ‘We’ve got a long drive ahead, we should get going. I’ll call you soon about our plans.’

Jenna winked. ‘Can’t wait.’

Imogen turned to Gibson and said, a little too eagerly, ‘Right, let’s go.’

‘Sure,’ he replied.

Together they walked to his ute, which was parked only a short distance away. Gibson looked relieved when he opened the door for her, no doubt as eager as she was to get the uncomfortable journey over.

‘That was a heck of a weekend,’ Gibson said as he and Imogen clicked their seatbelts into place. ‘Probably not exactly as you’d planned, though.’ He added a chuckle for good measure.

Although not much of a chatterbox at the best of times, he was determined to make conversation with the publican over the next few hours. He wished he hadn’t offered to drive her, but Charlie had known about the visit to his parents in Perth and his granddad would never have forgiven him if he hadn’t at least offered. Charlie was always yabbering on about chivalry and the need to be a gentleman.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw her lush lips twist into a smile as she relaxed into the passenger seat. ‘And I bet delivering a baby wasn’t on your to do list either,’ she retorted.

‘Not this weekend,’ he said as he turned the key in the ignition, ‘but at least now I can tick it off my bucket list.’

‘Satisfying.’ She shuffled in her seat to face him. He kept his focus forward as he navigated them out of the busy hospital car
park and onto the even busier road. ‘Do you really have a bucket list?’ she asked.

He shrugged. ‘Sure, doesn’t everyone?’

‘I’ve never really thought about it,’ she admitted. Then, ‘Delivering a baby wasn’t really on yours, was it?’

‘No. But it was a thrill, and now I’ve done it, I think it’s something everyone should experience.’

‘Like having kids,’ she mused. He thought he detected a hint of sadness in her voice. ‘Typical bucket list stuff, really.’

‘Actually, that’s not on mine,’ he admitted. Of course, he wouldn’t tell her that he’d rewritten his list (metaphorically speaking) the day Serena had packed her bags. He turned onto the highway that would take them out of the city and home.

‘Do you mind if I open a window and turn off the air-con?’ she asked. ‘I sometimes get carsick and need fresh air.’

‘Sure.’

Imogen pressed the button and lowered the automatic windows; he did his to match. She gasped in some air, then flicked her hair back and stared out the window. He didn’t know if he was imagining things but she seemed intent on not meeting his gaze. Probably a good thing. Lord knew he didn’t need the temptation he’d felt those few times he’d been close enough to look into her eyes.

‘Shall we draft your bucket list?’ he said, clutching at straws for something to fill the awkward silence.

‘What?’ She sounded amused.

‘Hey, this is quite a drive and I’m distressed by the fact that you don’t have a bucket list. You must be one of the only people I know who hasn’t thought about this.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘You’re the only person
I
know who’s ever admitted to having one.’ But he could tell by the tone in her voice she was coming around, probably already ticking over her innermost dreams and desires.

‘You know you want to.’

She let out a derisive snort. ‘Okay. I want to go fishing.’

His turn to laugh. ‘That’s it?’

‘What’s so funny?’ she said, and he wondered if she’d whack him playfully again like she did last night at the pub.

He cleared his throat. ‘I’m talking big ambitions here – stuff like, you want to sail the world solo, be the youngest Australian Prime Minister, learn to speak Japanese.’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint, but fishing’s number one.’

‘You’ve really never been fishing before?’ Although he hadn’t fished for years, his memories of summer holidays – of the whole family heading down to Hopetoun, and Granddad and him spending all their mornings in the threadbare dinghy throwing lines – were as strong as ever. Once upon a time, he’d dreamt of taking his own family there for holidays.

Oblivious to his thoughts, she explained, ‘I grew up in an all-girl family. Dad was mostly working but the time he did have off, he’d take us to the movies or to shows. Outdoor pursuits weren’t really his thing.’

‘But you want to?’ He chomped down on the urge to offer to take her some time. The last thing he needed was a weekend away with a pretty girl. Not this pretty girl, anyway.

‘Definitely.’ She nodded. ‘It’ll probably bore me senseless – I’m not one for sitting still for long – but I’d like to be able to say I’ve done it.’

‘Fair enough,’ he said, ‘what next?’

‘Hmm …’ She fiddled with a plain gold ring while she pondered. It looked a lot like a wedding band but she wore it on the wrong hand. ‘Gamble in Vegas, skydive, learn to ride a motorbike, be an extra in a movie – preferably in Hollywood – go on a spontaneous road trip.’ She stopped and bent forward to rummage in her handbag.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Well, now you’ve got me started, I’m on a roll. I need to write this stuff down.’

They spent the next hour brainstorming their bucket lists. Laughs were loud and long, and as the roads got wider, the houses became fewer and the paddocks less green. The tense time at his parents’ place became a distant memory as they competed against each other over who could think up the most ludicrous ideas. Imogen wrote his list down too, which was a good thing, because he’d lied about actually having one. The first half of the journey flew by and Gibson found himself wanting to know more about her. These days, most women he came into contact with – usually at the odd party he attended in Perth – bored him stupid, reminding him far too much of Serena and their futile years together. But Imogen was different. Part of him was curious about the girl Granddad and all his mates couldn’t get enough of. But part of him knew it wouldn’t be wise to get any closer.

When they stopped midway at a servo for sustenance, he resisted the urge to ask if she wanted to take a break at the adjoining park and eat their hamburgers and chips in the fresh air. It wasn’t wise to prolong the journey. She insisted on paying for his dinner since he’d gone out of his way to collect her from the hospital and had already forked out for the petrol.

‘It’s not that out of the way,’ he said as they trekked back across the car park to his ute.

She turned and tossed him a sceptical glare. ‘Didn’t you say your parents live in Scarborough?’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded as he beeped his ute unlocked.

‘I wasn’t on your way.’ She smiled, balancing her meal on top of the vehicle as she opened her door. He should have opened it for her. ‘Not that I don’t appreciate it. So, was there a special occasion today? Or … Oh, you said you visit them every month, don’t you? Does Charlie ever go?’

They were in the car now, had clicked their seatbelts into position
and he’d turned the ignition on, but before he could answer, she went on.

‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’ She plucked a chip from its bucket and took a bite.

Normally, he’d agree. He wouldn’t normally talk about his family with anyone, but for some reason he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. ‘No, it’s fine,’ he said, turning onto the open road. With one hand he began unwrapping his burger. ‘Charlie and Mum aren’t seeing eye to eye at the moment. He usually comes with me every month, but not this time.’

‘Here, give me that.’ She leaned across and took his burger, unwrapping it and placing it on top of the paper, back on his lap, so he could more easily eat and drive. Her fingers brushed his groin when she returned the burger and he almost leapt out of his chair. Seemingly oblivious to his reaction, she continued, ‘Do your parents ever come back to the farm? To Gibson’s Find?’

He was silent, still recovering from the accidental encounter with her fingers, but also pondering the answer to her question. He didn’t want to paint his mum in too bad a light – she was how she was. She’d lasted on the land more than twenty years longer than Serena, and when it came to Charlie, she only had his best interests at heart, or so she thought. But her visits were rare and the last one had created such a storm he almost wished she hadn’t bothered. Imogen read his silence as reluctance.

‘I’m sorry, too many questions. Jamie always said I should have been a journalist.’

‘Who’s Jamie?’

‘My husband.’ Her voice cracked slightly on the confession. ‘Charlie didn’t tell you?’

Whoa
. He was silent again, turning over the idea that she too had a dud marriage under her belt. ‘No,’ he replied eventually. ‘Are you still married?’

‘No.’

So much sadness dwelled within that one word. So much that he felt uncharacteristically compelled to share his disastrous divorce with her. He hadn’t thought they had anything in common but it looked like he’d been wrong.

‘He’s dead,’ she uttered, so quietly he almost missed it.

But he couldn’t miss the vibe that hung in the air. Gone was the easygoing mood of their journey so far.
He’s dead!
And what the hell should he say to that? ‘Sorry’ didn’t seem to cut it, but he
was
sorry. Serena hadn’t died, she’d left. He couldn’t imagine losing a partner when you thought you still had the rest of your lives together.

‘You don’t know what to say, do you?’

‘No,’ he admitted.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, ‘I’ve heard a number of variations but none of them help ease the pain. It’s why I hadn’t planned on sharing my past with anyone in Gibson’s Find. I wanted a fresh slate.’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’

She chuckled lightly. ‘But you still want to say sorry, don’t you? I don’t need your pity.’

‘Hell, Imogen.’ He overtook a beat-up Toyota that was treating the wide road like a narrow English lane. ‘I wouldn’t have a heart if I didn’t feel something. How old are you? Twenty-five? That’s too young to lose a husband.’

‘I’m thirty,’ she informed him. ‘I was twenty-seven when he died but I don’t think there’s ever a right time to lose a partner. For whatever reason,’ she added.

Whether she meant it that way or not, Gibson heard her underlying meaning loud and clear.

‘Charlie told you, didn’t he?’

‘He may have mentioned something in conversation.’

Gibson snorted. ‘So how did Jamie die? Or would you prefer not to talk about it, like I’d much prefer not to talk about my ex?’

‘I don’t mind talking about it. It hurts but it’s getting easier every day.’ She took a sip of her Coke and sucked in a breath then puffed it out again as if psyching herself up. ‘Jamie was a firefighter. He was based in Perth, but they often went further afield when a bad fire took hold in a country area where there weren’t many local firies. Do you remember those terrible fires a few years back, down south, near Margaret River?’

‘Yeah.’ It had been all over the papers and the news.

‘Jamie rescued a little girl from a burning two-storey house. They’re still not entirely sure what happened. He threw the little girl down to his colleagues and was supposed to jump after her – they couldn’t go back through the house, the ground floor was already consumed by flames. But he never jumped.’ She paused a moment and he swore he heard her intake of breath. ‘The floor collapsed, and by the time his mates got to him, it was too late.’

‘I think I remember the headlines,’ Gibson said, racking his mind for something worthwhile to say. ‘They crowned him a hero.’

‘He
was
a hero,’ Imogen said forcefully. ‘He always cared more about other people than he did himself. Everyone adored him.’

Okay, okay
, thought Gibson,
I get it. Jamie the hero
. And then he realised how ludicrous his thoughts were.
What am I? Jealous?

‘I’m guessing that just because he died saving someone else, doesn’t make it any easier for you.’

She sighed deeply. ‘I think it might have made it even harder. For a while, I truly wished he hadn’t gone into that house. I would rather some parents have lost their daughter than me go through the pain of losing my husband. What kind of person does that make me?’

‘Normal,’ he said, the agony in her voice making him uncomfortable.

‘No,’ she replied vehemently. ‘It makes me someone I don’t like. I’ve just seen my best friend give birth. I can barely begin
to imagine the pain she and Ryan would go through if anything happened to little Gibson.’

‘Would you change the past now if you could? Not stop the fire, but swap Jamie for the little girl.’

‘No,’ she said again, the fervour of her earlier reply gone. ‘Of course not. That would have killed Jamie, anyway, if he’d failed at saving her.’

Neither of them said anything for a while. The burgers were finished, the chips and drinks consumed, another twenty or so kilometres travelled. When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, he asked her something they’d only touched briefly on before.

‘So why a country pub? Why Gibson’s Find?’ He got that she wanted to move away, go some place where everyone didn’t know her history, but it was a massive commitment.

She tapped on her empty Coke can, and in the rear-view mirror, he saw her smile again. ‘Does it sound strange to admit that I’ve always had a thing for the outback watering hole? Dad’s a cop, so we lived in a few country towns over the years, until we moved back to Perth so my older sister could start high school.’

‘Really?’ When he’d first seen her with Amy and Jenna, he’d never have guessed she’d spent time living rural.

‘Yes,’ she said, as if it were a stupid question. ‘Not just WA either. But anyway, the pubs … Wherever we went, whether we stayed or were only travelling through, the first thing I always noticed was the hotel. I just loved them. Their wide verandahs, decorative awnings, Aussie beer signs, dusty exteriors, even their names. I’ve actually got a photo album full of the pubs in all the country towns I’ve ever lived in or visited.’

‘You’re kidding?’

‘Nope. At one stage dad worried that I might turn into an alcoholic.’

‘Still, it’s a big step from taking photos of pubs to buying one. And in a place where you know no one.’

‘That was part of the appeal,’ she said. ‘And I know what you’re thinking: How did I afford it? What makes me think I have the wherewithal to make a success of it?’

All those questions had crossed his mind at some time in the past few weeks; right now they didn’t seem as pertinent. ‘You’re doing a good job so far, it seems.’

‘It seems?’ She snorted. ‘Was that almost a compliment, Gibson Black?’