of long groan as everything ground to a halt.
It had been happening all over Melbourne—the power outages every evening as the lucky people who had air-conditioning selfishly cranked it up to full. Ben just had a fan—which now, of course, wasn’t working.
He went outside to check the power box, just in case it was only him, and glancing down the row of units he saw Celeste checking her power box too.
She was in lilac shorts this time, and a black singlet. Her hair was wet and she looked thoroughly fed up.
‘Again!’ She rolled her eyes, gave him a brief wave and headed back into what would surely soon be a furnace—unlike his unit, Celeste’s got the full questionable glory of the afternoon sun.
And that was when that niggle hit him again—an unfamiliar, long-forgotten feeling that gnawed at his stomach as he pulled open the dark fridge and pulled out the plastic containers he had got from the deli—a strange niggle of worry for someone else.
Ben didn’t want neighbours who dropped in on him and he had certainly never thought he’d be a neighbour who did just that—but there he was on her doorstep. She had come to the door holding a bowl of cereal and was clearly irritated at the intrusion but trying to be polite.
‘The electricity should come back on in a couple of hours—it’s been happening a lot lately,’ Celeste said, and went to close the door. She wasn’t actually irritated with him and didn’t mean to be rude, she was just trying not to notice he was wearing only shorts. Which was normal, of course, in the middle of a heat wave. Had he knocked just two minutes later, she’d have had to put her top back on herself before answering the door!
The sight of all his exposed skin made her own turn pink, though, and she didn’t want him to notice!
‘Have you had dinner?’ he said to the closing door, and she paused, glancing guiltily down at the bowl of cereal—which was probably not the best dinner for a heavily pregnant woman and she was instantly on the defensive. ‘I can hardly cook with no electricity.’
‘No need to—I’ve got plenty.’ He held up the dishes to tempt her. ‘Let’s go and eat on the beach—it will be cooler there.’
It was. There was a lovely southerly breeze sweeping in and Celeste walked in the shallows. Ben could practically hear the sizzle as her hot, swollen, red ankles hit the water.
‘I should have come down earlier.’ Celeste sighed in relief. ‘I keep meaning to, I mean, I’m so glad I did when I get here…’
‘I’m the same.’ Ben smiled, and it was so nice after such a busy day to just walk and say not much, to watch the dogs and the boats and the couples—to just be.
And then to sit.
Chicken in tarragon and mayonnaise, with a crisp Greek salad, was certainly nicer than cereal, and washed down with fresh fruit salad, it was bordering on the healthiest dinner of her pregnancy. The baby gave an appreciative kick as she sank down onto her back.
‘That was yum—thank you!’
‘You’re welcome.’ Ben gave a small uncomfortable swallow. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I dismissed you a bit at work.’
‘You didn’t.’ Celeste frowned.
‘I did,’ Ben said, ‘or rather I didn’t let on that we’d already met.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘I just like to keep work separate…’
‘That’s fine,’ Celeste said. ‘This evening never happened.’ She turned and smiled at him where he still sat. ‘How are you enjoying your new job?’
‘It’s good.’ Ben nodded.
‘You were in Sydney before?’ Celeste checked because she’d heard Meg say so.
‘Yes.’ Ben didn’t elaborate. ‘How long have you worked there?’
She didn’t reply for a moment as she was busy settling herself back on the sand, closing her eyes in sheer pleasure. ‘Nearly three months.’ One eye peeked open. ‘I don’t think they were particularly thrilled when I turned up for my first shift.’
Thankfully he wasn’t so politically correct that he pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. Instead, he just grinned and Celeste closed that eye and finally, finally, finally she relaxed.
‘God, this feels nice,’ she sighed after five minutes of lovely comfortable silence.
And it also looked nice, Ben thought, it looked very nice indeed. Her lashes were fanning her cheeks, her knees were up, and her stomach was sort of wriggling of its own accord—like Jennifer’s had, Ben thought, and then abruptly stopped that thought process.
‘So there is no Mr Mitchell?’ he asked.
‘Nope.’ Her eyes were still closed.
‘Do you see him at all, the father of your baby?’
‘Nope.’
‘Does he know?’ Ben asked, even though it was none of his business. ‘I mean, is he helping you out?’
‘He thought he was,’ Celeste said. ‘He gave me money to have an abortion.’
‘Oh.’ Ben stared down at her.
‘I was on my maternity rotation at the time I found out I was pregnant, babies everywhere—not that it made me want one, it terrified me actually, but…’
‘You don’t have to say anything else if you don’t want to.’
But she did want to—lying there with her eyes closed, lost and lonely and really, really confused. Maybe, as everyone said it would, talking might help clear her head. It was worth a try, anyway, because yoga certainly hadn’t worked!
‘He’s married.’ She opened her eyes then and closed them—and even in that teeny space of time she saw it pass over his features. That moment where you were judged, where opinions were cast, where assumptions were made. ‘I didn’t know that he was, not that that changes anything.’
‘Did you go out for long?’ he wanted to know.
‘Three months.’ Celeste sniffed. ‘He was my first real…I just believed him. I mean, I knew why we didn’t go out much, and why we couldn’t go to each other’s homes…’
‘Sorry?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she muttered.
‘So where did you go out?’
‘For drives, for dinner, to a hotel sometimes…’ She gazed up into his clear green eyes. ‘He’s a bit older than me, quite a bit older actually,’ Celeste said, and then she was silent for a while.
Rightly or wrongly, he did judge—he tried not to, but he did.
Why didn’t people think? Why were people so careless?
