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‘OK, mate. Up you come.’
Jacko squealed with delight as Joe swung him high, over the side of the cot. Then, for a heady moment, Joe held the boy in his arms, marvelling at his softness, at his pink and gold perfection.
Hell. He could remember when this healthy, bouncing kid had been nothing more than a cluster of frozen invisible cells in a laboratory—one of the sproglets that had caused him and Ellie so much hope and heartbreak.
Now the collection of cells was Jacko, their miraculous solo survivor.
And, after everything they’d been through, Joe found himself in awe.
‘Wee-wee!’ announced Jacko, wriggling with a need to be out of Joe’s arms.
He quickly set the kid down. ‘Do you want the toilet?’
Jacko nodded and clutched at the front of his shorts, pulling a face that made the matter look urgent.
‘Let’s go.’ With a hand on his shoulder, Joe guided him quickly down the hallway to the bathroom, realising as he did so that, despite having several young nieces and nephews, this was a brand new experience.
‘I think you have to stand on this fellow,’ he said, grabbing a plastic turtle with a flat, step-like back and positioning it in front of the toilet bowl.
Jacko was red-faced as he climbed onto the step and tugged helplessly at the elastic waistband on his shorts. It was a moment before Joe realised he was needed to help the boy free of his clothing, which included pulling down a miniature pair of underpants printed with cartoon animals.
‘OK. There you go. You’re all set now.’
And then, out of nowhere, a fleeting memory from his own childhood flashed. Tearing a corner of paper from the roll on the wall, Joe dropped it into the bowl.
‘See if you can pee on the paper,’ he said.
Jacko looked up at him with open-mouthed surprise, but then he turned back and, with commendable concentration, did exactly as Joe suggested.
The kid was smart.
And right on target.
‘Bingo!’ Joe grinned. ‘You did it. Good for you, Jacko!’
Jacko beamed up at him. ‘Bingo, Joe!’
‘You’ve earned a high five!’ Joe held out his hand.
‘What are you two up to?’
They both turned to find Ellie in the hallway behind them, hands on hips. Beautiful but frowning.
‘I did Bingo, Mummy,’ Jacko announced with obvious pride as he stood on the turtle with his shorts around his ankles.
‘Bingo? What are you talking about?’ She directed her frown at Joe.
He pointed into the bowl. ‘Jacko hit the piece of paper. I thought it would help him to aim.’
‘Aim?’ Ellie stared at him, stared at both of them, her dark eyes frowning with disbelief. As comprehension dawned, her mouth twisted into the faintest glimmer of a smile—a smile that didn’t quite make it.
‘He’s not in the Army yet,’ she said tightly. ‘And don’t forget to wash your hands, Jacko. It’s time for your afternoon tea.’
* * *
‘So, do you have a job for me?’ Joe asked once Jacko was perched on a stool at the kitchen bench and tucking into a cup of juice and a plate of diced cheese and fruit.
Ellie looked pained—an expression Joe was used to seeing after a phone call from her mother. No doubt Angela Fowler had once again piled on the sympathy for her poor daughter’s terrible fate—this time, being forced to spend Christmas with her dropkick ex.
In the past, that pained look had irritated Joe. Today, he was determined to let it wash over him.
‘Perhaps I could assemble the Christmas tree?’ he suggested.
‘That would be helpful.’ Ellie didn’t follow through with a smile. ‘The tree’s in one of the boxes on the veranda.’
‘You’d like it in the lounge room?’
‘Yes, please.’
* * *
Ellie took a deep breath as she watched Joe head off to the veranda.
Conversations with her mother had always been heavily laced with anti-Joe sentiments and today had been a doozy.
This is a dangerous time for you, Ellie. I don’t like the idea of the two of you alone up there. You’ll have to be very careful, especially if Joe tries anything.
Tries what, Mum?
Tries to...to win you back.
Of course, Ellie had assured her mother there was no chance of that. Absolutely. No. Chance. But she wished this certainty hadn’t left her feeling quite so desolate.
These next few days were going to be hard enough with the two of them stuck in the house while the rain continued pelting down outside. It would be so much easier if she could carry on with the outside work, but the cattle were safe and until the rain stopped there wasn’t a lot more she could do.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t even give Joe a decent book to read. Since Jacko’s birth, she’d only had time for cattle-breeding journals, women’s magazines and children’s picture books.
Ellie decided to let Joe get on with the tree while she cooled her heels in the kitchen with Jacko, for once letting him dawdle over his food, but as soon as he’d finally downed his afternoon tea, he was keen to be off.
‘Where’s Joe?’ was the first thing he asked.
So they went back to the lounge room and, to Ellie’s surprise, Joe had almost finished assembling the six-foot tree. He made it look dead easy, of course.
Jacko stared up at the tree, looking puzzled, as if he couldn’t understand why adults would set up a tree inside the house. As an outback boy, he hadn’t seen any of the city shops with brightly lit trees and Santa Clauses, although he had vague ideas about Christmas from books and TV.
‘This is our Christmas tree,’ Ellie explained to him. ‘Mummy’s going to make it pretty with lights and decorations, and soon there’ll be lots of presents underneath it.’
At the mention of presents Jacko clapped his hands and took off, running in circles.
‘Well, that got a reaction,’ said Joe, amused.
‘He can still remember the pile of presents he scored for his second birthday.’
Too late, Ellie remembered that Joe hadn’t sent the boy anything. Lordy, today there seemed to be pitfalls in even the simplest conversation.
Joe was grim-faced as he fitted the final top branches in place.
Ellie went to the CD player and made a selection—a jaunty version of Jingle Bells. She hoped it would lift the dark mood that had lingered since her mum’s annoying dire warnings on the phone.
Determined to shake off the grouchiness, she went to the second carton and took out boxes of exquisite tree ornaments. Decorating the tree had always been her favourite Christmas tradition. Today it was sure to lift her spirits.
‘Ooh! Pretty!’ Jacko squealed, coming close to inspect.
‘Yes, these ornaments are very pretty, but they’re made of glass, Jacko, so you mustn’t touch. They can break. I’m going to put them on the tree, and they’ll be safe there. They’ll make the tree beautiful.’
Jacko watched, entranced, as Ellie hooked bright, delicate balls onto the branches. She knew it was too much to expect him not to touch but, before she could warn him to be very gentle, he batted with his hand at a bright red and silver ball.
Ellie dived to stop him and Joe dived too, but they were both too late. The ball fell to the floor and smashed.
Ellie cried out—an instinctive response, but probably a mistake. Immediately, Jacko began to wail.
It was Joe who swept the boy into his arms and began to soothe him.
Ellie was left watching them, feeling strangely left out. She waited for Jacko to turn to her, to reach out his arms for her as he always did when he was upset. But he remained clinging to Joe.
Joe. Her son’s new, big strong hero.
She refused to feel jealous. If she was honest, she could totally understand the appeal of those muscular, manly arms.
Once upon a time Joe was my hero, too. My tower of strength.
Now, she would never feel his arms around her again.
Yikes, where had that thought sprung from? What’s the matter with me?
She hurried out of the room to get a dustpan and broom and, by the time she returned, Jacko had stopped crying.
Joe set him down and the boy stood, sniffling, as he watched Ellie sweep up the glittering broken pieces.
‘I told you to be careful,’ she felt compelled to remind him as she worked. ‘You mustn’t touch these pretty ornaments, or they’ll break.’
‘He’s too little to understand,’ said Joe.
Ellie glared up at him. ‘No, he’s not.’ What would Joe know about little kids?
Joe shrugged and looked around the room. ‘Perhaps we can find something more suitable for him to play with. Something like paper chains? They might distract him.’
Ellie had actually been thinking along the same lines and it annoyed her that Joe had made the suggestion first. ‘So you’re suddenly an expert on raising children?’
‘Ellie, don’t be like that.’
‘Like what?’
Joe simply stared at her, his blue eyes coolly assessing.
Oh, help. It was happening already. All the old tensions were sparking between them—electricity of the worst kind. Dangerous. Lethal.
All she’d wanted was a simple, relaxing afternoon decorating the tree.
‘There are paper chains in those shopping bags,’ she said, pointing to one of the cartons. Then, summoning her dignity, she rose and took the dustpan back to the kitchen.
By the time she returned, Jacko and Joe had trailed bright paper chains along the shelves of the bookcase and they were now looping them around a tall lamp stand.
The CD was still playing. The singer had moved on to Deck the Halls, and Ellie set about decorating the tree again, hoping for peace on Earth and goodwill towards one particular man.
She couldn’t deny that Joe was great at playing with their son. Every time Jacko became too curious about the tree, Joe would deflect him. They played hide and seek behind the sofa, and Joe taught Jacko how to crawl on his belly, Commando style. Watching this, Ellie winced, sure that Joe’s injured leg must have hurt.
She almost said something about his leg, but held her tongue. He was a big, tough soldier, after all.
Joe hid Jacko’s teddy bear behind a cushion and the boy squealed with delight every time he rediscovered the toy. After that, Jacko played the game again and again, over and over.
Ellie tried really hard not to feel left out of their games. She knew that the nanny, Nina, played games like this all the time with Jacko, while she was out attending to chores around the property. But she’d never imagined macho Joe being quite so good with the boy.
It shouldn’t have bothered her. It didn’t bother her. If Joe was proving to be an entertaining father, she was pleased. She was even grateful.
She was. Truly.
Meanwhile, the Christmas tree became a thing of beauty, with delicate ornaments and shiny stars, and trailing lines of lights and silver pine cones.
After Jacko’s umpteenth game of hiding the toy bear behind the cushion, Joe strolled over to inspect Ellie’s progress.
‘It’s looking great,’ he said. ‘Really beautiful.’
His smile was genuine. Gorgeous? It sent unwanted warmth rippling through her. ‘At least it helps to make the house look more festive.’
Joe nodded and touched a pretty pink and purple glass spiral with his fingertips. ‘I remember these. We bought them for our very first Christmas.’
To Ellie’s dismay, her eyes pricked with the threat of tears. Joe shouldn’t be remembering those long ago times when they were still happy and hopeful and so blissfully in love.
‘I’d rather not rehash old memories, Joe. I don’t think it’s helpful.’
She saw a flash of emotion in his eyes. Pain? Her comment hadn’t hurt him, surely? Not Joe. He had no regrets. Not about them. He’d gone off to war without a backward glance.
And yet he definitely looked upset.
Ellie wondered if she should elaborate. Try to explain her caution.
But what could she explain? That she hadn’t meant to hurt him? That, deep down, she still cared about him? That the memories were painful because she cared?
How could those sorts of revelations help them now? They couldn’t go back.
Confused, Ellie felt more uptight than ever. She spun away from Joe and began to gather up the empty boxes and tissue paper that had housed the decorations, working with jerky, angry movements.
To her annoyance, Joe simply stayed where he was by the tree, watching her with a thoughtful, searching gaze.
‘You could always help to clean up this mess,’ she said tightly.
‘Yes, ma’am.’ He moved without haste, picking up the shopping bags that had housed the paper chains. Crossing the room, he dropped them into one of the cartons and, when he looked at her again, his eyes were as hard and cool as ice. ‘You can’t let up, can you, Ellie?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re determined to make this hard for both of us.’
‘I’m not trying to make it hard,’ she snapped defensively. ‘It is hard.’
‘Yeah? Well, you’re not the only one finding it hard. And it doesn’t help when you make it so damn obvious that you can’t stand the sight of me.’
Ellie smarted. ‘How can you say that?’
‘How?’ Joe looked at her strangely, as if he thought she’d lost her marbles. ‘Because it’s the truth. It’s why I left four years ago.’
No! The protest burst on her lips, but she was aware that Jacko had stopped playing. He was standing very still, clutching his teddy bear, watching them, his little eyes round with worry.
They were fighting in front of him, which was terrible—the very last thing she wanted.
‘If we’re going to survive this Christmas,’ Joe said tightly, ‘you’re going to have to try harder.’
Ellie felt her teeth clench. ‘I know how to behave. I don’t need a lecture.’
‘Well, you certainly need something. You need to calm down. And you need to think about Jacko.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘This atmosphere can’t be good for him.’
How dare you? Of course she was thinking about Jacko.
Ellie was stung to the core. Who did Joe think he was, telling her off about her parenting? Was he suggesting she was insensitive to Jacko’s needs? Joe, who hardly knew the boy?
She was Jacko’s mother. She knew everything about her son—his favourite food, his favourite toy and favourite picture books. She knew Jacko’s fears, the times he liked to sleep, the way he liked to be cuddled.
She’d been through his pregnancy on her own, and she’d given birth to him alone. She’d raised Jacko from day one, nursing him through colic and croup and teething. Later, chickenpox. Jacko’s first smile had been for Ellie alone. She’d watched him learn to roll over, to sit up and to crawl, to stand, to walk.
Around the clock, she’d cared for him, admittedly with Nina’s help, but primarily on her own.
She and Jacko were incredibly close. Their bond was special. Incredibly special.
How dare Joe arrive here out of the blue and start questioning her mothering skills?
Without warning, her eyes filled with tears. Tears of hurt and anger. Scared she might start yelling and say things she’d regret, she turned and fled from the room.
* * *
Damn. What a stuff-up.
As Ellie hurried away, Jacko stared up at Joe with big, sad blue eyes. ‘Mummy crying.’
Joe swallowed the boulder that jammed his throat. Why the hell had he started a verbal attack on Ellie? This was so not the way he’d wanted to behave.
How do I tell my two-year-old son that I’m the reason his mother’s crying?
Anxiety and regret warred in Joe’s gut as he crossed the room to the boy and squatted so they were at eye level. ‘Listen, little mate. I’m going to go and talk to your mum. To...ah...cheer her up.’
Joe had to try at least. It took two to fight. Two to make peace. He had to pull in his horns, had to make an effort to see this situation from Ellie’s point of view.
‘I need you to be a good boy and stay here with Ted.’ Joe dredged up a grin as he tickled Jacko’s tummy.
Obligingly, Jacko giggled.
The kid was so cute. Already Joe knew it was going to be hard to say goodbye.
‘How about we hide your bear behind the curtain over there?’ he suggested, pointing to the floor-length curtains hanging either end of the deep sash windows that opened onto the veranda. He showed Jacko how to hide the bear behind them, just as they had with the cushions, and the little boy was thrilled.
‘Ted!’ he squealed, astonished by the big discovery when they lifted the curtain. ‘Do it again, Joe!’ At least he was all smiles again.
‘You have a go at hiding him,’ said Joe.
Jacko tried, frowning carefully as he placed the bear behind the curtain. Once again, he lifted the fabric and saw the bear, and he was as excited as a scientist discovering the Higgs boson particle.
‘OK, you can play with him here,’ Joe said. ‘And I’ll be back in a tick.’
‘OK.’
Reassured that Jacko would be happy for a few minutes at least, Joe went in search of Ellie.
CHAPTER SIX
ELLIE STOOD AT one end of the long front veranda, elbows resting on the railings, staring out at the waterlogged paddocks. The rain had actually stopped for now, but the sky was still heavy with thick, grey clouds, so no doubt the downpour would start again soon.
She wasn’t crying. She’d dried her tears almost as soon as she left the lounge room and she was determined that no more would fall. She was angry, not sad. Angry with herself, with her stupid behaviour.
She’d been determined to handle Joe’s return calmly and maturely, and when he’d been forced to stay here she’d promised herself she would face that with dignity as well. Instead she’d been as tense and sharp-tongued as a cornered taipan.
She was so disappointed with herself, so annoyed. Why couldn’t her behaviour ever live up to her good intentions?
You make it so damn obvious that you can’t stand the sight of me.
Did Joe really think that? How could he?
It seemed impossible to Ellie. The sad truth was—the sight of Joe stirred her in ways she didn’t want to be stirred. She found herself thinking too often about the way they used to make love.
Really, despite their troubles, there’d been so many happy times, some of them incredibly spontaneous and exciting.
Even now, irrationally, she found herself remembering one of the happiest nights of her life—a night that had originally started out very badly.
It had happened one Easter. She and Joe were driving down the highway on their way to visit her mum, but they’d been so busy before they left that they hadn’t booked ahead, and all the motels down the highway were full.
‘Perhaps we should just keep driving,’ Joe had said grimly when they reached yet another town with no spare rooms.
‘Driving all night?’ she’d asked. ‘Isn’t that dangerous, Joe? We’re both pretty tired.’
He’d reluctantly agreed. ‘We’ll have to find a picnic ground then and sleep in the car.’
It wasn’t a cheering prospect, but Ellie knew they didn’t have much choice. While Joe went off to find hamburgers for their dinner, she tried to set the car up as best she could, hoping they’d be comfortable.
She’d shifted their luggage and adjusted their seats to lie back and she’d just finished making pillows out of bundles of their clothing when Joe returned. He was empty-handed and Ellie, who’d been ravenous, felt her spirits sink even lower.
‘Don’t tell me this town’s also sold out of hamburgers?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said simply.
Her stomach rumbled hungrily. ‘Are all the shops closed?’
‘Don’t know that either. It doesn’t matter.’ Joe’s sudden cheeky smile was unforgettably gorgeous. He held up a fancy gold ring, dangling keys. ‘I’ve booked us into the honeymoon suite in the best hotel in town.’
Ellie gasped. ‘You’re joking.’
Still smiling broadly, Joe shook his head. ‘Ridgy-didge.’
‘Can...can we afford a honeymoon suite?’
He shrugged, then slipped his arm around her shoulders, pressed a warm kiss to her ear. ‘We deserve a bit of comfort. We never had a proper honeymoon.’
It was the best of nights. Amazing, and so worth the extravagance.
All thoughts of tiredness vanished when they walked into their suite and saw the champagne in an ice bucket, a huge vase of long-stemmed white roses and chocolate hearts wrapped in gold foil on their pillows.
Like excited kids, they bounced on the enormous king-sized bed and then jumped into the spa bath until their room service dinner arrived. And they felt like film stars as they ate gourmet cuisine dressed in luxurious white fluffy bathrobes.
And, just for one night, they’d put their worries aside and they’d made love like honeymooners.
I shouldn’t be thinking about that now...
Ellie was devastated to realise that she was still as physically attracted to her ex as she’d been on that night. The realisation made her panic.
What a mess.
With a despairing sigh, she sagged against a veranda post. How had she and Joe sunk to this? She’d thought about their problems so many times, but she’d never pinpointed a particular event that had killed their marriage. It had been much the same as today. Ongoing bickering and building resentments had worn them down and eroded their love.
Death by a thousand cuts.
But why? How? How could she be so tense and angry with a man she still fancied? It wasn’t as if she actively disliked Joe.
She supposed they should have seen a marriage guidance counsellor years ago.
Joe had been too proud, of course, and Ellie had been too scared—scared that she’d be psychoanalysed and found lacking in some vital way. But if she’d been braver, would it have helped?
She probably would have had to tell the counsellor about her father’s death and how unhappy she’d been after that. Worse, she would have had to talk about her stepfather and how she’d run away from him.
Ellie didn’t actually believe there was a connection between Harold Fowler and her marriage breakdown, but heaven knew what a counsellor might have made of it. Even now, she still shuddered when she thought about Harold.
And here was the thing: it was the sight of Harold that Ellie couldn’t stand. Not Joe.
Never Joe.
Her mum had married Harold Fowler eighteen months after her father died, after they’d sold the farm and moved into town. Harold owned the town’s main hardware store—he was loud and showy and popular, a big fish in a small country pond. And a couple of years later he was elected mayor. Ellie’s mum was thrilled. She loved being the mayor’s wife and feeling like a celebrity.
Harold, however, had given Ellie the creeps. Right from the start, just the way he looked at her had made her squirm and feel uncomfortable, and that was before he touched her.
She’d been fifteen when he first patted her on the bum. Over the following months, it had happened a few more times, which was bad enough, but then he came into the bathroom one night when she was in the shower.
He was full of apologies, of course, and he backed out quickly, claiming that he’d knocked and no one had answered. But Ellie had seen the horrible glint in his eyes and she was quite sure he hadn’t knocked. Her mother hadn’t been home that night, which had made the event extra-scary.
And Harold certainly hadn’t knocked the second time he barged in. Again, it had happened on a night when Ellie’s mum was away at her bridge club. Ellie was seventeen, and she’d just stepped out of the bath and was reaching for her towel when, without warning, Harold had simply opened her bathroom door.
‘Oh, my darling girl,’ he said with the most ghastly slimy smile.
Whipping the towel about her, Ellie managed to get rid of him with a few scathing, shrilly screamed words, but she’d been sickened, horrified.
Desperate.
And the worst of it was she couldn’t get her mother to understand.
‘Harold’s lived alone for years,’ her mum had said, excusing him. ‘He’s not used to sharing a house with others. And he hasn’t done or said anything improper, Ellie. You’re just at that age where you’re sensitive about your body. It’s easy to misread these things.’