So what does she do?”
“At the moment? Eat. Sleep. Cry. Poo. She’s starting to crawl, too.”
“And that’s all going well, then?”
She laughed. He was trying. She had to give him points for that.
“She poos like a champion. And no one can reach the high notes like Alice when she’s really cranky.” Her street was coming up and she gestured with her chin. “This is me.”
He made a left turn.
“The one with the broken letterbox,” she said, indicating the fifties brick veneer that she’d been renting since she found out she was pregnant.
Harry pulled into the driveway, eyeing the unkempt, overgrown garden and the house’s faded sun awnings. Pippa felt an uncomfortable tug of shame over the shabbiness of it all. Between work and university and caring for Alice, she could barely stay on top of the inside of the house, let alone the outside. And no way could she spare any money from her already tight weekly budget to pay someone to worry about it for her.
She opened her mouth to explain, then shut it without saying a word. She didn’t owe Harry an explanation. He was breezing through her life. In all likelihood, she wouldn’t run into him again for another six months, probably even longer. Which was the way it should be.
“Thanks for the lift and the help with my car,” she said.
“Like I did anything to help with your car.”
“You destroyed my last vestiges of hope. Sometimes that’s very necessary.”
“Great. I’ll add that to my repertoire. ‘Crusher of hope.’ Has a real ring to it.”
“Actually, it sounds like a heavy metal band.”
He laughed. She smiled and slid out of the car.
“Have a good weekend, Harry, and a great Christmas.” It was only seven weeks away, after all, and it was unlikely she’d see him again before then.
“You, too, Pippa.”
She turned away, then spun back. “Nearly forgot my stuff.”
“Right.”
Before she could protest, Harry jumped out of the car.
“Don’t even think about carrying my shopping to the door for me, Harry. You’ve done more than enough.” Plus she wasn’t used to being fussed over like this.
Harry brandished the key at her. “This is an old-school car. No auto trunk release.”
“Oh.” She felt heat climb into her cheeks and attempted to cover her blush by pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
A small smile played around Harry’s mouth as he lifted out the bags and set them on the lawn.
“I’m leaving it here because I don’t want you having conniptions again.”
“Trust me, neither of us wants that.”
“Look after yourself, okay?” His gray eyes were direct and honest.
“I will. You, too. And keep dodging those bullets. The world wouldn’t be the same if you were domesticated.”
“I’ll do my best, don’t worry.”
Once inside the car, he backed onto the street. Pippa raised her hand in farewell. He waved in return, then was gone, the sound of the engine fading into the distance.
She headed for the house. Running into Harry had been the highlight of her day, which was probably a sad indictment of how pitiful her life was, but what the hell.
“Mum, I’m home,” she called as she let herself into the house.
“We’re in the sunroom.”
Pippa dumped her things in the kitchen before following her mother’s voice to the room that overlooked the rear garden. The carpet was a faded floral—probably original—the walls a grubby cream. Huge windows let in the afternoon sun. Her mother was sitting on the Art Deco couch Pippa had rescued from the side of the road and reupholstered a few years ago, a crossword puzzle book open on her knees, while Alice lay on a quilt at her feet, fascinated with one of her own small, pink toes.
“I was starting to get a little worried,” her mother said as Pippa dropped a kiss onto her cheek.
“Sorry. I had car trouble.”
The vague concern in her mother’s eyes became real worry. “Nothing too bad, I hope?”
“Nothing I can’t sort,” Pippa lied, because she knew if she didn’t the next words out of her mother’s mouth would be an offer to help pay for the repairs.
Julie White had retired from teaching three years ago and was on a limited, fixed income. Despite her financial limitations, she’d bent over backward to help Pippa once she’d learned of her daughter’s pregnancy. Pippa had been doing her damnedest to stem the tide of her mother’s generosity in recent months—she point-blank refused to be the reason her mother had to cut corners in her retirement—and little white lies like this were becoming more and more commonplace in their conversations.
Still, Pippa figured it was better to tell a few porky pies now, than have her mother sell her small condo or car later on.
As she’d hoped, the fib worked. “Oh, good. Because the last thing you need right now is car trouble.”
“I know. How has little miss been while I was out?”
Pippa sank to her knees to rest a hand on her daughter’s warm belly. Alice gazed at her with big blue eyes, her mouth working.
“Did you miss Mummy?”
Alice beamed, both hands gripping Pippa’s wrist.
“She’s been a little sweetie,” her mother said.
“That’s because she’s a shameless little con artist. Aren’t you, Ali bear? Have you been charming your grandma?” Pippa kissed her daughter’s cheek before rising to her feet. “Are you staying for dinner?”
“I can’t. Not if I want to make it home before midnight. I promised Mrs. Young that I’d drive her to bingo tomorrow and I don’t want to let her down.”
Her mother lived in Bendigo, a three-hour drive north. Single since Pippa’s father died when Pippa was sixteen years old, she was heavily involved in her local community, volunteering at the local retirement village and a number of charity shops.
Pippa did her best not to act relieved as she said her goodbyes. At least she didn’t have to put on a brave face for the rest of the evening—the only upside she could find to her situation right now.
She waited until her mother’s car had turned the corner before walking slowly into the house, Alice a heavy weight on her hip. She fed Alice, then made dinner for herself.
