Authors: Anya Forest
Blake looked at the doctor, swallowing hard. “What did she tell you?” he asked, his voice raw. The doctor carried on talking as though she hadn’t heard him. “And the level of support you showed, you knew exactly what to say and do, stayed calm yourself, kept Christie calm. Well done.”
“Thank you,” Blake said automatically. “But…what did she say?”
“She told me to listen to you,” the doctor said simply. “To keep the plan in the back of my mind, but she gave you absolute authority to make any decisions necessary. For her or the baby.”
Shocked, Blake could only look at the doctor silently, his mind whirling as he realised what the doctor had said. That Christie had trusted him not only to make critical decisions during labour on her own behalf, but also in relation to Isla, the precious infant Christie loved so much. “Thank you,” he said eventually, hope soaring through him.
The doctor paused as she turned to walk into the shop, smiled at Blake. “People always say doctors have a tendency to play God.”
— # —
Brenda walked across the lounge towards Blake, still radiating the confidence and happiness that had been so evident when she had greeted Christie earlier. Watching her, Christie caught her breath painfully, memories flooding back.
Brenda’s a different person now,
Christie thought, remembering the slightly sad, quiet woman she had first met only in
January. Christie had hardly expected Blake to attend, had known she could not ask Brenda or Lisa about whether he had been invited, had known she herself had no alternative but to accept Brenda’s invitation to this birthday lunch.
Brenda’s height was only emphasised by the high heels and perfectly cut trousers she wore, her glossy dark hair falling to the shoulders of her flattering long sleeved top. As Christie watched, Brenda looked towards her briefly, her dark eyes sparkling, her smile flashing as she acknowledged Christie before reaching Blake. Christie saw Blake’s face light up, his dark eyes meeting Brenda’s as he hugged her, handing her a beautifully wrapped gift, gesturing to the bottles of wine he had placed on the breakfast bar.
In those heels she’s almost as tall as Blake is,
Christie thought, shaking her head slightly as Brenda exclaimed over the gift, clearly thrilled to see Blake, her smile one of pure happiness.
Christie thought back to the argument she had heard between Blake and Brenda.
That seems a lifetime ago,
Christie thought wonderingly, remembering Blake dropping her off after lunch with his parents. A memory tugged at her, a memory of Brenda talking to Blake in the hospital.
Uncomfortably, Christie thought of the words she had flung at Blake after Isla was born, words she had never really tried to talk to him about, make amends for. Suddenly nervous, Christie faltered before bringing herself back under control as she realised Blake’s parents—and Rebecca and her husband—had also arrived. Christie knew Blake had seen her, saw the recognition in his eyes as they briefly fixed on her before he turned to his parents.
Christie bitterly regretted her rash words at the hospital, her rash actions in looking through his phone, thinking back to that morning at the cottage. Acknowledging with a terrible finality that she still loved Blake, despite everything.
It doesn’t matter to me,
she thought brokenly.
It just doesn’t matter, but why couldn’t he tell me anyway…Because it mattered to him,
she realised. Christie thought back again to the lunch at Blake’s winery, to
Brenda leaving the hospital early, to the look in Blake’s eyes as he watched Christie with her own parents
. Envy
, she realised now.
I want to try.
From deep in her heart came the thought, filling her with sudden determination even as she repeated it to herself.
Then at least I’ll know for certain. And it will be easier to face Blake socially knowing the truth. Maybe it’s not too late…
He could just want a fling,
Christie thought.
Or nothing,
she realised, acutely aware of the way she had hurt him, unable to forget his fraternal, teasing approach; for every romantic gesture there was equally a blunt, brotherly counterpoint.
I haven’t heard from him since that lunch at the winery…but what encouragement did I really give him?
Christie asked herself, her head bowed as she thought of her continual rejection of Blake.
Is it really any wonder he finally cut his losses?
Intruding on Christie’s thoughts came the loud comments of another group of guests, clustered close to the table where Brenda had started to place food. Christie tensed as she realised the subject of their discussion, focused around a current affairs programme Christie knew from advertisements had been on evening television recently. One of the guests was particularly cutting about a person that had been interviewed as part of a reporter’s investigation. Christie’s heart ached, suddenly acknowledging her own hurt paled in the face of the real distress that such unthinking words could cause, realising that Brenda was close by in the kitchen, and Blake…
Blake flinched as he heard the woman’s loud, judgmental comments, fell silent, all of his previous insecurities fighting to surface. He knew that Brenda had been pleased to see him and he was enjoying himself here; despite his doubts, her family had welcomed him, seemed happy that he was present.
And Christie…
Memories of her distress at the long ago hospital check-up dragged him away from his own situation; he knew Christie would also inevitably have heard the comments.
Like most of the room,
he thought wryly, an image of Isla flashing through his head.
Trying to cover his emotion Blake swung around, suddenly unable to bear even listening to the rugby conversation he had been an active participant in only moments before. Even as he scanned the room for Christie, Blake realised she was standing next to him, looking up at him.
“And what’s worse, the baby would then have to have formula,” Blake said, trying to joke, his own emotion almost overpowering him. Too late, he realised Christie would be able to see straight through his attempt at humour, noticed the concern on her face. He tried again. “Christie, no one knows what it’s like to have to make that decision unless—”
“I know that, Blake,” Christie said clearly. “And I decided to keep Isla anyway. But I think you should go and talk to Brenda. She looks upset.” Stunned by the strength in Christie’s tone, her perception, Blake looked towards the kitchen, saw Brenda leaning over the counter, her shoulders hunched. He looked back at Christie, tried to speak, finding it suddenly impossible.
— # —
Christie watched as Blake moved quickly across the lounge to the kitchen, leaning casually against the pantry, obviously talking to Brenda. Doubt filled Christie as she wondered if she had done the right thing.
Blake might not appreciate being told what to do…
A rueful smile lit her face as she acknowledged Blake definitely would not appreciate being told what to do, especially not about something so personal. Christie silently shrugged to herself, knowing it was too late to change what she had done, thinking with black humour that Blake could hardly think worse of her after her earlier behaviour, the lack of trust she had demonstrated time and time again.
Now her mind snapped back to Isla as she began to fret; automatically, Christie began to comfort her, trying to soothe Isla’s increasingly loud crying. Christie saw other guests move over to the buffet lunch, deciding to wait, knowing she could hardly leave Isla in this state. She looked around as someone spoke, realising with a start that Blake’s mother was standing there, asking if she could help with Isla.
Blake stopped abruptly as he saw his mother approach Christie, watched them both trying to settle Isla. He wished he could hear their conversation, debated joining them. Instead, he walked towards the buffet, an idea forming in his mind.
Christie looked up as Blake stood in front of her, holding a heaped plate of food, watching as he placed it on the coffee table next to the sofa. “I’ll take her, Christie, then you and Mum can get some food.”
“If there’s any left,” his mother said, smiling as she stood up, glancing at his plate. Blake sat down next to Christie as his mother walked across the room towards the buffet table. Stunned at Blake’s casual words, his lack of reference to Brenda or anything that had just occurred, Christie was momentarily silent. She looked at Blake, suddenly thinking of the last time they had seen each other. “I’ll just stay here with Isla until she settles,” she said lamely, unable to even think of food now that Blake was sitting next to her.
“No worries, then,” he said equably. “You can share my plate.” Her heart pounding, Christie sat back, still holding Isla, realising Blake had got extra food deliberately. Some welcome steel straightened Christie’s spine.
I will talk to him
, she thought.
I want to know where I stand. Otherwise I’ll torture myself every time I see him.
Filled with sudden resolve, she turned to him.
“Actually, Blake, would you mind keeping an eye on Isla while I get a drink?” She found his eyes, held them with her gaze, saw the flash of emotion.
“I’ll get you a drink if you want one,” Blake said after a brief hesitation, trying to maintain a casual tone, hearing the rowdy echo of that long ago night at the pub.
Instantly, Christie saw the reply she needed to make. “Either way I trust you, Blake,” she said, thankful her voice echoed the sincerity she felt. She saw his face change, the sparkle return to his eyes. She smiled at him, a hint of mischief in her expression. “There seemed to be pinot noir,” Christie continued innocently. “I don’t know much about the winery, but the label looked good.”
Hope, real hope, soared through Blake. “Fishing for compliments, are we?” he said softly, his eyes warm. To him, Christie’s genuine grin lit up her face as her incredible blue eyes sparkled with mirth.
She watched him walk over to the drinks, relief flooding through her.
Maybe I can really talk to him,
she thought, hope flaring as she replayed his words. Blake hastily poured a glass of pinot noir from one of the advance bottles of the current harvest he had brought to the party, wanting to return to Christie. Images from the last several months crashed through his mind as he grabbed a beer for himself, his heart pounding as he thought back to a decision he had made months ago, impulsive and yet so simple. At the time.
A decision that had seemed so obvious, so clear cut, and yet…
He had not been prepared for the rush of emotion, for the consequences of his actions.
He and Lisa couldn’t not be friends, were so similar, but now…
He could see Brenda, talking to his—mother. And he could see Lisa talking to Rebecca. He shook his head slightly. Clearly, Lisa was making an effort; he was aware she was only ever polite to Rebecca for their families’ sake. Families that had suddenly become so much closer once he had talked to Brenda, sorted things out with his parents.
Just then his father walked past the drinks table, smiled. “Changed your mind about the taste, have you?”
Blake looked at him for a moment, then grinned, realising his father was referring to the sip of beer he had once cheekily taken from his father’s pint as a child. “Yeah, well at least I’ve got my own beer now.”
Blake’s gaze fell on Christie and Isla, suddenly certain of the way forward. Decisively, he started to walk back to the sofa, handed Christie the glass of wine. “How’s Isla going?” he asked, realising how much he wanted to know while inwardly cursing the predictable question. “The monitor…the formula?”
Christie smiled. “She’s fine.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief before becoming serious. “There’ve been no problems, thankfully. At least the monitor has meant I don’t worry so much. I mean, I do worry, but—”
“Peace of mind,” Blake interrupted, understanding what she meant.
Christie nodded, took a deep breath. “Thank you for that, Blake. For all your help at the hospital. My parents arrived, I didn’t really get a chance to thank you.” She looked at him. “I was so relieved when you said you’d stay when I was in labour.”
He met her gaze, amazed at her sudden openness. “I was relieved when you asked me to stay,” he said simply.
Christie looked down at Isla quickly, unable to believe Blake’s reply. A surge of confidence filled her. “I thought you didn’t want to stay,” she said quietly. “You swore when I…” She stopped as he started laughing. He leaned closer, whispering to her. Christie blushed, swatting Blake’s arm playfully as he confided what he had been thinking. “Now you’re the one fishing for compliments,” she couldn’t resist saying, was rewarded by a look that took her breath away.
Christie’s face became serious. “I shouldn’t have looked at your phone,” she said bluntly. “I don’t know what came over me, because I do trust you.”
Blake smiled at her. “I know.” Christie tilted her head, wondering what had made Blake realise. She was about to ask just as she sensed a guest approaching the sofa, heard Blake’s pleasant greeting. Christie smiled politely as Blake introduced her to the older man, realising he was Brenda’s father, that he obviously had not seen Blake for many years.
Eventually, Christie excused herself, wanting to mix a bottle of formula for Isla. Lisa saw her, offered her the use of a guest bedroom if she needed it for Isla. Smiling, Christie thanked her. “Of course, you might want to stay on the sofa,” Lisa continued. “Even Rebecca’s said something.” Christie kept smiling, her face radiant as she returned to Blake, who was holding Isla and still talking to Brenda’s father.
I think I will go into the guest room to feed Isla
, she thought, smiling to herself as she thought of Lisa’s cheeky comment.