Authors: Anya Forest
“Whatever you need,” he said, stunned by her offer. “Just let me know, here—” He took out his wallet; she waved it away. She had seen Blake had arrived with a sheaf of papers, pamphlets; now he opened them up on the table. She hid her surprise as he pointed to one of the pamphlets; sat down with her coffee, her face intent as she spun the pamphlets around so she could see them, focusing on the notes Blake had made.
He left some time later, hugging her again. “Blake.” He looked down at her, his eyes calm but purposeful. “Christie’s not the only person you need to sort things out with.” She saw his face change, become guarded suddenly, knew she had said enough. For now.
— # —
Christie was relieved to be back on Stewart Island after a week in the Queenstown District, slipping back into the work routine, counting down to the baby’s birth. Every evening, every morning, she thought of Blake, agonising over his behaviour, missing his reassuring presence, his teasing, his concern. He had not contacted her again after leaving her at Lisa’s place so abruptly and there had been no sign of him on the island.
I don’t need another Paul,
Christie told herself, desperately clamping down on the insistent voice inside her, telling her to contact Blake, talk to him, hear his explanation, apologise again for her own lack of trust. She took comfort from the stunning scenery of the island, resolving to come back one day, return to Mason Bay, do more tramping.
Memories overwhelmed her as she thought back to her visit to Mason Bay, Blake again at the forefront of her mind. Paul had become a distant, shadowy figure in her thoughts; dully, she wondered whether that would change once the baby was born.
On Christie’s final night on Stewart Island she met Lisa, Murray and a few colleagues in the pub, smiling at Ian and others around the room she had met over her time on the island.
“You know where we are, Christie,” Ian said to her gruffly in what she had come to realise was the typical Southerners’ way of asking her to keep in touch. Later, as she sat in the crib, staring out at the moonlight illuminating the black sea, she thought back to her arrival, acknowledged how much she loved the island, what her stay had taught her.
She knew, deep in her heart, that she had had a lucky escape not marrying Paul.
I’m just having his baby instead,
she thought ruefully. And tomorrow she would be travelling back to Arrowtown with Lisa, who had even arranged for a friend to drive Christie’s car up from Bluff so Christie could have it with her in Queenstown. Lisa had promised to help her move into the apartment, and the baby’s birth was only around six weeks away now, in the autumn.
On receiving Christie’s telephone call, her mother had instantly made firm plans to travel to Queenstown to support Christie for the birth, would arrive in just over a month, stay with Christie for several weeks. The memory of hearing her mother and then her father on the phone, their unconditional love and support evident, still made Christie tear up with emotion when she thought about it.
She ran through her plans for contracting again, her hands moving to cradle her stomach, trying not to think of Blake’s touch, the night at Mason Bay, in Dunedin, at his cottage.
At least he got Paul out of my head,
she thought to herself. Despite herself, she wondered what Blake was doing, how the house was progressing, remembered him asking her to help, his comments about Rebecca.
Still troubled, Christie readied herself for bed, her thoughts swirling.
That phone call Blake received was just so unusual. It was obviously a major thing for him. All of his behaviour that morning was so out of character. Leaving me outside Lisa’s parents’ place, his failure to carry my bag in, when from the first day I met him he refused to believe I could lift anything heavier than a cup of coffee. It all stemmed from that call.
She got into bed, remembering Blake putting his hand on Lisa’s shoulder at the pub, remembering Lisa introducing her mother to Christie, dismissing her conclusions as fanciful.
But what if I’m right,
she thought to herself as she slipped into sleep.
Chapter Fourteen
Christie woke up suddenly, turning uncomfortably in the bed at the Queenstown apartment, trying to relax, thinking of her mother’s imminent arrival. It was not even dawn; she frowned as she became conscious of a dull ache across her back.
But the baby isn’t due for another two weeks
, she thought, trying to get comfortable. Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through her; she gasped, struggled to sit up.
She reached for her mobile in the darkness, trying to remain calm. Her midwife had explained the stages of labour, told her the signs to look for, emphasised Christie could call at any time for peace of mind. She scrolled through her stored numbers, called the midwife, not wanting to take chances. Christie tensed as the midwife asked her to come into the hospital as a precaution, saying she would meet her there.
“Is that type of pain normal?” Christie asked. “The sharp pain, I mean?” The midwife reassured her, confirmed she would be waiting at the hospital. Christie hung up, trying to focus. Her mother would be arriving in just a few hours, but she needed to get to the hospital. The offer Brenda had recently made flashed into her mind; as she only worked part time she had offered to be Christie’s emergency contact in case there was any problem prior to the arrival of Christie’s mother.
Embarrassed to be calling so early but increasingly concerned about the baby, Christie again scrolled down the list she had stored in her phone, looking for Brenda’s name. She found it just as another aching pain spread through her; her fear intensifying as she fumbled to press the button on the phone, barely able to focus through the pain. Christie held the phone to her ear, desperately willing Brenda to answer, hearing the ringing stop with profound relief.
“Brenda? It’s Christie. I’m sorry to call so early but—”
“It’s not Brenda.”
Christie closed her eyes, overwhelmed as she heard the familiar deep voice, seemingly wide awake, realising in her panic she had mistakenly called the name before Brenda’s on the alphabetical list—Blake. She was silent for a moment, wondering what to say, inhaled quickly as another intense sharp pain shot through her. “I meant to call Brenda.”
“Christie, is it the baby? Are you in labour?” Blake’s voice was calm, reassuring.
“I think so,” Christie said, trying to speak normally.
He heard the faint tremor in her voice. “Where are you? Have you called the midwife?”
“At the apartment. The midwife wants me to come into the hospital. Just as a precaution,” Christie added hastily. “Brenda said I could call her…My mother arrives this morning. I—”
“’Right then.” He interrupted her, realising that she was worried but trying to disguise it. “You wait at the apartment. I’ll call Brenda. I’m closer to Queenstown than Brenda is, I’ll leave now to get you. Brenda can meet us at the hospital.”
Christie floundered at Blake’s calm assumption of control.
The baby
, she thought.
I want to get to the hospital.
“Okay.” Her immediate agreement made Blake realise how frightened Christie must be.
“I’ll be there soon, Christie. Wait in the apartment for me.” He remembered to ask for the address as he ended the call, dressed quickly, waiting for Brenda to answer his call as he left the cottage.
Christie slowly got out of bed, struggling into clothes, too worried about the baby to allow herself to lose control over her mistaken call to Blake.
Hearing his voice after so long…
She deliberately shut her mind to her emotional quandary, thinking only of the baby, the midwife’s reassurance. She heard the security buzzer, then a knock at the door, looked around, taking a deep breath, walking awkwardly to the door, opening it. Seeing Blake again, his towering presence, almost took her breath away.
The baby
, Christie repeated to herself. He stepped inside the apartment, his dark eyes raking over her. She winced as the ache suddenly intensified, not knowing what to say, not meeting his eyes.
I feel so vulnerable, Blake always sees me at my worst…
“Christie.” The way he said her name made her look up at him. “This is natural. Not something to be ashamed of. Let’s get to the hospital, see what’s happening.” Surprising her, he stepped close to her, although he did not touch her. “Something must be wrong though, you’ve waited for me to lift your bag. Where is it?”
Dangerously close to bursting into tears, Christie told him; he returned quickly, keeping close to Christie as they left the apartment. Blake had parked his car out the front, had the door open and the passenger seat reclined. Without asking, Blake almost lifted her into the car, offered to adjust the seat, seemed about to say something more.
An hour later, Christie looked around, wondering where Blake was, frowning as she realised Brenda had not arrived either. The midwife had been there waiting for them; Blake had stayed close, reassuring her with his presence yet strangely impersonal. He had asked a couple of questions of the midwife; then left abruptly when the midwife suggested examining Christie.
The midwife had confirmed Christie was in the early stages of labour, was progressing well. She tried to relax, reminding herself she was at the hospital, thought back to what she had read about the birth process, thinking things through. Feeling ill at ease without Blake’s reassuring presence, Christie found it hard to keep perspective; sudden thoughts of Paul swirled around in her mind. She pleated the thin hospital sheet in her hand, tensing involuntarily as the ache of a contraction intensified, focusing on the pleats she had made.
My mother
, she thought suddenly.
She’ll be landing in a few hours, I was going to meet her...
Overwhelmed, Christie finally burst into tears, the aching waves of discomfort only increasing her distress. She heard footsteps, realised Blake was back at her side, felt herself enveloped in an embrace, listening to his matter-of-fact words. “I still can’t get hold of Brenda, Christie. Lisa’s tracking her down now. I know you want her here.”
Too upset to respond properly, not taking in what Blake was saying, Christie said nothing, torn between the feeling of being back in Blake’s arms and worry about the baby.
Worried about Christie, upset at her lack of response to his words, Blake tried to think what to say, how to bridge the distance that had grown between them. He was painfully aware things had remained unresolved between them since the night she had stayed with him. Agonising at the lack of trust she had demonstrated, he shut that night away, trying not to think of Christie, smiling, laughing even and then—
And now she was distant, distraught, would not have even rung him unless by accident.
I should have explained sooner, tried to make amends…My pride got in the way.
Blake had left two messages for Brenda, finally got hold of Lisa who likewise had been unable to contact her mother, was driving to her parents’ house now after he had outlined the situation. He took a deep breath, rubbing Christie’s back, trying to comfort her.
A mistake,
he thought harshly.
Rubbing her back
.
He cursed as he fought the memories.
Christie heard him, tensed.
He’s impatient with me,
she thought.
He’s only here under sufferance.
Her heart plunged. “Blake,” she said softly, making a supreme effort. “I’m sorry to be like this, to call you. I know it’s a hassle. You’ll need to head off to work soon.”
“Brenda’s not here.” He deliberately did not answer Christie directly, closing his eyes at her words, his heart sinking.
I would support her, if only she’d let me,
he thought. The cruel irony of Brenda, maybe on her way, maybe seeing her here with Christie, filled him with emotion.
One thing at a time,
he thought eventually, his incisive, practical mind finally taking charge.
The focus now needs to be on the baby
.
Blake had had a private talk with the midwife, not correcting her assumption that he was Christie’s partner or support person, asking several questions he had not wanted to ask in front of Christie. The midwife had assured Blake there was no need to transfer Christie to Dunedin or Invercargill, emphasised the priority was to support and reassure Christie. “She’s very strong, been very focused in our meetings,” the midwife had commented. “You just need to keep an eye on her; she doesn’t say much about any worries she’s having.”
You’re telling me,
Blake had thought silently.
Fine. I can do that.
Suddenly he thought of his words to Christie, that she would help anyone but him with the interior of a home. Despite everything, he knew he needed to help her now, as he would anyone. His mind made up, he drew back slightly, unable to continue rubbing her back, face the memories the action evoked. Christie felt the physical distance Blake imposed, tried to bring herself under control.
“Christie, let’s have a talk for a moment, sort out what’s happening. What has the midwife told you?” Blake’s authoritative voice made Christie focus; he ached to comfort her, knew he could only get through this by remaining calm, controlled.
He listened as Christie haltingly explained the timeframe the midwife had estimated, the options she had discussed with Christie, the decisions Christie had tentatively made. “Sounds easy,” he deadpanned.
“Just another scene from the farm,” Christie said in the same tone, determined not to lose control again in front of Blake.