Abby and the Bachelor Cop

CHAPTER NINE

HOW to sleep after a night like this? She did at last, but not until dawn. She woke and it was ten o’clock and she’d been meant to meet Philip for breakfast at the yacht club.

She phoned and he was fine.

‘No problem. I have three newspapers and Don’s here with his plans for the new supermarket. As long as it’s safe and clean, I can do without my wallet until later. I’ve hardly realised you weren’t here.’

That was supposed to make her feel better?

She showered slowly, washed her hair, took a long time drying it.

Kleppy watched, looking anxious.

‘I’m not going anywhere today where I can’t take you,’ she told him. ‘It’s the weekend.’

He still looked anxious. He climbed onto her bed, and then onto the dressing table. Wriggled himself a spot next to her cedar box. His new favourite thing.

‘I guess last night upset you,’ she told him, abandoning her hairdryer to give him a hug. ‘I’m so sorry about Isaac. It’s horrid loving someone and losing them.’

Like she had.

Like Raff had.

It was Raff’s fault.

But that mantra, said over and over in her head for ten years, sounded hollow and sad and bleak as death-a sentence stretched into the future as far as the horizon.

Could she put it away? Find the Raff she’d once loved?

Whoa. What was she thinking?

‘It’s wedding nerves,’ she told Kleppy and on impulse she carried him into her spare room where her wedding gown hung in all its glory.

Two years of love had gone into making this dress.

She set Kleppy down. The little dog nosed his way around the hem, ducked under the full-circle skirt, poked his nose out again and headed back to her. She smiled and held him and stared at her dress some more.

She’d loved making this dress. Loved, loved, loved.

Once upon a time, this was what she was going to do. Sew for a living. Make beautiful things. Make people happy.

Now she was employed getting a low life off the hook. She was going to be Philip’s wife.

But to draw back now…

The morning stretched on. She sat on the floor of her second bedroom and thought and thought and thought.

Her mother rang close to midday. ‘You ready, darling?’

‘Ready?’

‘Sweetheart, don’t joke,’ her mother said sharply. ‘This is your afternoon, like Thursday night was Philip’s night. Philip’s mother and I will be by to collect you in half an hour. Don’t wear any of your silly dresses now, will you, dear. You know I hate them.’

Her silly dresses.

She meant the ones she’d made herself. The ones that weren’t grey or black or cream.

This was a wedding celebration. Why not wear something silly? Polka dots. Her gorgeous swing skirt with Elvis prints all over?

‘I’ll drive myself,’ she told her mother. ‘I’ll meet you at the golf club.’

‘You won’t be late?’

‘When am I ever? Oh, and Mum?’

‘What?’

‘I’m bringing my dog.’

There was a moment’s grim silence. Her mother would know what she was talking about. The whole town would know. She’d expected her mother to have vented her disapproval by now.

‘Hasn’t Philip talked some sense into you about that yet?’

‘About that?’

‘Abrahams’ dog. Of all the stupid…’

‘I’m keeping him.’

‘Well.’ Her mother’s breath hissed in and Abby waited for the eruption. But then suddenly Abby could hear her smile. There was even a tinkling laugh. ‘That’s okay,’ she said and Abby realised she was on speaker phone, and her mother was also talking to her father. ‘Philip will cope with this.’ Then, back to her… ‘They don’t let dogs in the club house.’

‘They do on the terrace as long as I keep him leashed. It’s a gorgeous day. I’m bringing him.’

‘This is between you and Philip, not you and us,’ her mother said serenely. ‘Philip will talk you into sense, and we can cope with a dog for one afternoon. But don’t be late. Isn’t this exciting? So many plans, finally come together.’ She disconnected.

So many plans, finally come together.

Abby stood and stared at the phone. How could she do the unthinkable?

How could she not?

‘I’m ready.’

Sarah looked beautiful. Hippy beautiful. There was a shop behind the main street catering for little girls who wanted to be fairies or butterflies and adults who wanted to be colourful. It suited Sarah exactly.

The woman who ran it thought Sarah was lovely. She rang Raff whenever a new consignment arrived and he’d wave goodbye to half his weekly salary. It was worth it. Sarah’s joy in her pretty dresses and scarves and her psychedelic boots made up…well, made up in some measure for the rest.

She’d woken with another of her appalling headaches. It had finally eased but she was still looking wan, despite her smile. Pretty clothes were the least he could give her.

‘Can you drive me to the golf club now? I don’t want to be late,’ she said, anxious. She’d been looking forward to this week for months. Abby’s pre-wedding parties. Abby’s wedding itself.

‘My car is at your disposal,’ he said and pulled on his policeman’s cap, tipping it like a chauffeur. She smiled.

‘Tell me again why you’re not coming.’

At least that was easy. ‘It’s girls only. I’d look a bit silly in a skirt.’

Sarah giggled, but her smile was fleeting. ‘If it wasn’t only girls, would you want to come?’

Sometimes she did this, shooting him serious, insightful questions, right when he didn’t need them.

‘Abby’s mother doesn’t like me,’ he said, deciding to be honest. ‘It makes things uncomfortable.’

‘Because of the accident?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh, Raff,’ she said and walked over and hugged him. ‘It’s not fair.’

‘There’s not a lot we can do about it, Sares,’ he told her and kissed her and put her away from him. ‘Except be happy ourselves. Which we are. How can we help but be happy when you’re wearing a bright pink and yellow and purple and blue skirt-and your purple boots have tassels?’

‘Do you like them?’ she said, giggling and twirling.

‘I love them.’

He was making Sarah happy, he thought as they headed to the golf club to Abby’s pre-wedding party. At least he could do that.

No one else?

No one else.

Philip was sailing. He’d gone out with his supermarket-planning mates. Even now he was cruising round Banksia Bay, discussing the pros and cons of investment opportunities.

How did you tell a guy you’d made the biggest mistake of your life when he was out at sea?

How did you go calmly to your pre-wedding party when you’d made a decision like this?

How did you call it off-when you hadn’t told your fiancé first?

All those wedding gifts, coming her way. She’d be expected to unwrap them. Aargh.

But by now the gifts would already be in cars heading towards the golf club. It didn’t make any difference if she said, Don’t give them to me today, or if on Monday she re-wrapped them and sent them all back.

That’d be her penance. Sending gifts back.

That and a whole lot else.

She drove towards the golf club slowly. Very slowly. Kleppy lay beside her and even he seemed subdued. She turned into the car park. She sat and stared out through the windscreen, seeing nothing.

Someone tapped on her window. She raised her head and dredged up a smile. Sarah was peering in at her, looking worried.

‘What’s wrong? You look sad. Do you have another headache? Oh, Abby, and on your party day.’

Raff was right behind his sister. In civvies. Faded jeans and black T-shirt, stretched a bit too tight.

‘No, I… I just didn’t want to be the first to arrive.’ She climbed from the car and sent Raff what she hoped was a bright smile, a smile that said she knew exactly what she was doing.

‘Collywobbles?’ he asked and it was just what she needed. It was the sort of word that made a woman gird her loins and stiffen her spine and send him a look that was pure defiance.

‘Why on earth would I have collywobbles?’

‘I’d have collywobbles if I was marrying Philip.’

‘Go jump.’

‘Philip’s really handsome,’ Sarah said. ‘Almost as handsome as Lionel.’

‘Lionel?’ They said it in unison, distracted. They looked at each other. Looked back at Sarah.

‘Lionel’s cute,’ Sarah said. ‘So’s your dress, Abby. I love the Elvises.’

‘So do I,’ Abby said, thinking she had one vote at least. She loved this dress-a tiny bustier, a full-circle skirt covered with Elvises-black and white print with crimson tulle underneath to make it flare. It was a party dress. A celebration dress.

What was she celebrating?

‘And you’ve made Kleppy a matching bow.’ Sarah scooped up the little dog and hugged him. ‘He’s adorable. He’s even more adorable than Lionel.’

‘Who’s Lionel?’ Abby asked.

‘Kleppy’s friend,’ Sarah said simply. ‘Ooh, there’s Margy.’ Abby’s next door neighbour was pulling up on the far side of the car park, a dumpy little woman whose looks belied the fact that she ran the most efficient disability services organisation in the State. ‘Hi, Margy. Can I sit next to you?’ And she dived off, carrying Kleppy, leaving Abby and Raff together.

‘Lionel?’ she said, because that seemed the safest way to go.

‘There’s Lionel who was Isaac’s gardener,’ Raff said, frowning. ‘I didn’t realise he and Sarah knew each other, but Sarah gets around more than I think. Okay, have a great hen’s party. I’ll pick Sarah up at four.’

‘Raff?’

‘Yes?’ He sounded testy.

She’d said his name. She needed to add something on the back of it. Something sensible.

But how to say what she needed to say? How to think about saying what she needed to say? How to get over the impossibility of even thinking about thinking about…?

Maybe she should stop thinking. Her head was about to fall off.

People were arriving all around them. Her friends. Her mother’s friends. Every woman in this little community who’d come into contact with her over the years seemed to be getting out of cars, carrying gifts into the golf club.

How many women had her mother invited?

How many gifts would she need to return?

‘Abigail?’ That was her mother calling. She was standing on the terrace, shielding her eyes from the sun, trying to see who her daughter was talking to. ‘Your guests are here. You should be receiving them.’

‘There you go,’ Raff said and eased himself back into his car. ‘By the way, I’m with Sarah. That’s a cute dress. Really cute. You should try wearing that in court some time.’

‘Raff?’ She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want…

‘See you later,’ he said.

He drove away. She stood there in her Elvis dress, staring after him like a dummy.

‘Abigail.’ Her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘What are you thinking? You’re being discourteous to our guests. And what on earth are you wearing?’

A cute dress, she thought, as she headed up to her mother, to her waiting guests.

Abigail, what are you thinking?

What was he thinking?

Nothing. He’d better not think anything because if he did there was a chasm yawning and it was so big he couldn’t see the bottom.

He needed some work. He needed a few kids to do something stupid so he could lay down the law, vent a bit of spleen, feel in control.

Abby in an Elvis dress.

Abby, who was marrying Philip.

Any minute now the steering wheel was going to break.

‘Raff?’ His radio crackled into life and he grabbed it as if it were a lifeline.

It was Keith. ‘Yeah?’

‘There’s a bit of trouble down on the wharf. Couple of kids chucking craypots into the water, and Joe Paxton’s threatening to do ’em damage. I’m stuck up on the ridge ’cos John Anderson’s locked himself out. Can you deal?’

‘Absolutely,’ Raff said, feeling a whole heap better.

Trouble, he could deal with.

Just not how he was feeling about Abby.

The afternoon was interminable. She smiled and smiled, and thought she should have run. What was she thinking, letting this afternoon go ahead? Just because she needed to tell Philip first.

‘You’ll make such a lovely couple. A credit to the town.’ That was Mrs Alderson, one of her mother’s bridge partners. ‘We’re so looking forward to next Saturday.’

‘Thank you,’ she said and then realised that Mrs Alderson was carrying a rather long shoulder bag and something had peeped from the edge and Kleppy had just…just…

He was heading under the table, to the full length of his lead, looking satisfied.

She stooped to retrieve it. It was a romance novel, a brand she recognised. A really… Goodness, what was that on the front? She snatched it from her dog and handed it back, apologising.

Margot Alderson turned beet-red and stuffed it back into her bag.

‘I don’t know what you’re doing with that dog,’ she snapped. ‘He’s trouble. If you must get yourself a dog, get a nice one. I have a friend who breeds pekes.’

Kleppy looked up at her from under the table and wagged his tail. He’d done what he wanted. He’d had his snatch and he’d given it to his mistress.

‘I kinda like Kleppy,’ Abby said. ‘And you know…I don’t even mind a bit of trouble.’

Her mother’s friend departed, still indignant. Abby stared after her, thinking-of all things-about the cover of the romance novel. The cover showed a truly fabulous hero, bare from the waist up.

I don’t mind pecs, either, she added silently. Or a bit of hot romance.

He had two kids in the cells waiting for their parents to come and collect them. ‘Take your time,’ he’d told them. ‘It’ll do ’em good to sweat.

Which meant he was stuck at the station, babysitting two drunken adolescents. Forced to do nothing but think.

Abby.

A man could go quietly nuts.

It wasn’t fair to interfere more than he already had.

He wasn’t feeling fair.

‘If I was a Neanderthal I’d go find me a club and a cave,’ he muttered.

He wasn’t. He was Banksia Bay’s cop and Abby was a modern non-Neanderthal woman who knew her own mind. He had to respect it.

‘I miss the old days,’ he said morosely. ‘It’d be so much easier to go set up a cave.’

It was over. The last gift was in her father’s van, being taken home to their spare room, Abby’s old bedroom, pink, pretty.

‘I wish you’d come home for your last week,’ her mother said, hugging her. ‘It’s where you belong.’

Abby said no, as she always said no. They left, leaving Abby sitting on the terrace with Kleppy.

Philip was coming by to meet her. She had to tell him.

Her mother’s words… It’s where you belong.

Where did she belong?

She didn’t know.

‘What do you mean you don’t want to get married?’

To say Philip was gobsmacked would be an understatement. He was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Maybe she had.

‘I can’t,’ she muttered, miserable. She’d tried to get him to go for a walk with her, to get away from the people in the bar. He wouldn’t. They were out on the terrace but they were still in full view.

Philip was tired from sailing. He didn’t want a walk. He wanted to go home, have a shower, take a nap, then take his fiancée out to Banksia Bay’s newest restaurant. That was what he’d planned.

He hadn’t planned on Abby being difficult.

He hadn’t planned on a broken engagement.

‘It’s just… Kleppy,’ she said in a small voice and Philip stared at her as if she were demented.

‘The dog.’

‘He’s made me…’

‘What?’

What, indeed? She hardly understood it herself. How one dog could wake her from a ten-year fog. ‘You don’t like him,’ she said.

‘Of course I don’t like him,’ Philip snapped. ‘He’s a mutt. But I’m prepared to put up with him.’

‘I don’t want you to put up with him.’ She took a deep breath. Tried to say what she scarcely understood herself. The thing in the middle of the fog. ‘I don’t want you to put up with me.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘You don’t like me, Philip.’

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. ‘Of course I like you. I love you. Haven’t I shown you that, over and over? This is craziness. Pre-wedding nerves. To say…’

‘You don’t like this dress, do you?’

He stared down at the Elvises and he couldn’t quite repress a wince. ‘No, but…’

‘And you painted your living room…our living room when I move in…beige. I don’t like beige.’

‘Then we’ll paint it something else. I can cope.’

‘See, that’s exactly what I mean. You’ll put up with something else. Like you put up with me.’

‘This is nonsense.’

They were sitting at the table right on the edge of the terrace, with a view running all the way down the valley to the coast below. It was the most beautiful view in the world. If anyone looked out from the bar right now they’d see a man and a woman having a tête à tête, she flashing a diamond almost as wide as her finger, he taking her hand in his. Visibly calming down.

‘Mum said this was bound to happen,’ Philip said. ‘She felt like this when she married my father. A week before the wedding. Pre-wedding jitters.’

Philip’s mother. A mouse, totally dominated by Philip’s father-and by Philip himself.

She’d seen Philip’s mother looking at her dress today. Not brave enough to say she liked it. But just…looking.

‘I don’t want to be beige,’ she whispered.

‘You won’t be beige. You’ll be very happy. There’s nothing you want that I can’t give you.’

‘I want you to like my dog.’ She felt as if she was backed into a corner, trying to find reasons for the unreasonable. Trying to explain the unexplainable.

‘I’ll try and like your dog.’

‘But why?’ she said. ‘There are women out there who like beige. There are women out there who don’t like mutts. Why do you want to marry me?’

‘I was always going to marry you.’

‘That’s just it,’ she said and it was practically a wail. ‘We’ve just drifted into this.’

‘We did not drift. I made a decision ten years ago…’

‘You wanted to marry me ten years ago?’

‘Of course I did.’ He sighed, exasperated. ‘It’s okay. I understand. One week of pre-wedding nerves isn’t going to mess with ten years of plans.’

‘Philip, I don’t want to,’ she said and, before she could think about being sensible, she hauled the diamond from her finger and laid it on the table in front of him. ‘I can’t. I know…I know it’s sensible to marry you. You’re a good man. I know you’ve been unfailingly good to me. I know you’ll even put up with my dog and paint your living room sunbeam-yellow if I really want. But, you know what? I want someone who likes sunbeam-yellow.’

‘What the…? Is there someone else?’

Someone else. At the thought of who that someone else was…at the sheer impossibility of saying his name, voicing the thought, her courage failed her. Her courage to say Raff.

But not her courage to do what she must, right now.

‘I can’t,’ she said quietly. ‘No matter what. This isn’t about someone else, Philip. It’s about what I’m feeling. Finding Kleppy… Yeah, it’s crazy, but he makes me laugh. He’s a little bit nuts and I love it. I wish you loved it. You don’t, and it’s made me see that I don’t want to be Mrs Philip Dexter. You’ve been wonderful to me, Philip. You deserve a woman who thinks you’re wonderful in return. You deserve a woman who’ll love the life you want to live instead of putting up with it, and you deserve a woman who you’ll think is wonderful instead of putting up with her.’

‘Abby…’ He was truly shocked now, ashen, and she felt dreadful. Appalling.

She had to do this.

She pushed the diamond closer to him, so close it nearly fell off the edge of the table.

Philip was a sensible man. This diamond was worth a fortune. He didn’t let it fall. He took it, looked down at it for a long moment and then carefully zipped it into the pocket of his sailing anorak.

He rose.

‘I’m damp in these clothes,’ he said, pale and angry. ‘I need to get changed. And you… You need to think about what you’re throwing away. You’re being foolish beyond belief. Insulting, even. I know it’s pre-wedding nerves and I’ll make allowances. Think about it overnight. I’ll come and see you in the morning when you’ve had time to reconsider.’

‘I won’t reconsider.’

‘You have twenty-four hours to see sense,’ he snapped. ‘After all I’ve done for you… I can’t believe you’d be so ungrateful. To walk away from me… Of all the crazy… Why don’t you just get on a slow boat to China and be done with it?’

A slow boat to China? Right now, the concept had enormous merit, but she wasn’t going anywhere.

She couldn’t move. She sat and stared sightlessly over the golf course and she thought…nothing.

Someone came and cleared her glass. Asked if she’d like another drink. Asked if she and Philip were going to China for their honeymoon.

Finally let her be.

They’d be muttering in the bar. Wondering what she was doing, just sitting.

Expecting Philip to come back?

Maybe they’d seen his anger, his tight lips, his rigid stance as he’d stalked to his car.

Maybe the town already knew.

She wouldn’t tell anyone. She couldn’t. Philip had given her twenty-four hours to come to her senses. She owed it to him to wait, to make him see it was a measured, sensible decision.

Is there someone else?

She thought of Philip’s demand. Was there?

Raff had kissed her. Twice. He’d made her feel…

She couldn’t afford to acknowledge how he made her feel.

‘Klep!’ The call jolted her out of her misery, an unfamiliar voice filled with joy. It was one of the golf course groundsmen, striding up from the first tee. She looked closer and recognised him.

Lionel. Isaac’s gardener. A big, burly man in his mid-thirties. Slow and sleepy and quiet.

He reached her and knelt on the terrace and Kleppy was licking his face with joy. ‘Klep!’

‘Lionel,’ she said, hauling herself out of her introspection. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Working,’ he said, briefly extricating himself from Kleppy’s licking. ‘Gotta job mowing. Not as good as Mr Abrahams’. S’okay.’

‘You and Kleppy are friends?’

‘Yeah.’

Oh, help. She looked at the two of them and thought…and thought…

Thought they were greeting each other with a joy born of love.

‘Did you want him?’ It nearly killed her to say it. To lose Kleppy and Philip in the one afternoon…

She knew what would hurt most.

But… ‘Can’t,’ Lionel said briefly. ‘I live in a rooming house now. I had to sell the house when Baxter pinched Mum’s money. Lost the house, then lost me job when Mr Abrahams died. Someone said the Finns had Klep. Went up there to see and Sarah said he were yours. Sarah said he were happy. You’re looking after ’im?’

‘I…yes.’

‘He’s a great dog, Klep,’ Lionel said. ‘Makes a man happy.’

‘I… He’ll make me happy.’

‘Goodo,’ Lionel said. ‘That man… Dexter… They said you’re getting married.’

‘I…’

‘He’s the lawyer.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yes.’

‘He don’t like dogs,’ Lionel said. ‘He come up to Mr Abrahams’ when he made a will. Kleppy jumped up and it were like he was touching dirt. You and he…’ He stopped, the question unasked. You and he…

‘We’ll sort it out,’ Abby said. ‘I love Kleppy enough for both of us.’

‘That’s good,’ Lionel said. ‘You’ve made me feel better. And you’re a lucky woman. Kleppy’s the best mate you could have.’ He gave Kleppy a farewell hug and went back to mowing.

Abby kept on staring at nothing.

Like he was touching dirt…

She’d done the right thing. She didn’t need twenty-four hours. She was a lucky woman?

Maybe she was. She had Kleppy and she was…free?