“No, dahling. He was extremely opposed to the whole debacle. He did it because he’s a man, and they will do such things if opportunities present themselves, but he was always uncomfortable. I egged him on, but he was reluctant.”
“Why—”
“Because he was in love with you, and he didn’t particularly want anyone else.”
Tabby thought of that night with the two blondes at the Village Belle. Her mouth filled with spit. “Then why did you egg?—”
“Because he deserved a life and some experience, dahling.” A little steel entered Maisy’s tone. “He needed to understand to the very heart of himself that he’d made the right choice wanting to be with you, and while I’m sure it’s uncomfortable to think about, it would also be uncomfortable if you were always wondering if Toby only loved you because he’d never slept with anyone else.”
“True,” Tabby said again. “You’re really good at this.”
“I know, dahling. Those who can’t do, teach.”
She smiled. The weight that had been bearing down on her all week, all month, all year was shifting. She still had problems, and they were real, but they also seemed more manageable.
“I can't believe I’m gonna have a kid,” she told Maisy. “It’s cooked.”
“It is what it is, dahling. And for what it’s worth, I think you and Toby will handle it just fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Besides, you’ll have me and your sisters and their extremely mismatched partners and any number of other people to help.”
Tabby winced. “My sisters hate me.”
“Poppycock,” Maisy said like a posh person cliché. “I’m sure they were a little shocked when they found out their baby sister was expecting, which anyone could have predicted, but from what I’ve been told, they’re worried sick about you. They’ve been in Traralgon for days looking for you, and if that isn’t love, I don’t know what it is.”
“Shit, really?”
“Yes, really.” Maisy swept some sand off her long white dress. “I don’t want to rush you, dahling, but I have Mopsy back at my hotel, and she needs her medication. Would you like to come with me and see her?”
“Mops is here!?”
“She is, and so is a nice bottle of Moët on ice. You can’t have any, of course, but you can watch me drink it while we discuss how and when you’ll let everyone know you haven’t been kidnapped and locked in a box somewhere. I’ll even call room service and get you a ginger ale. We can pour it into a champagne glass. How does that sound?”
Tabby’s stomach churned at the thought of speaking to Toby or her sisters, but it was long past time she tried to make things right. Besides, ginger ale in a champagne glass did sound nice.
17
When Toby knocked on the DaSilvas’ front door, Sam came at him, tattooed fists raised. “Been fucking my little sister, huh?”
Toby, exhausted from a seven-hour flight, four hours in Bali, then another seven-hour flight back to Melbourne, didn’t have the energy to lie. “Yeah.”
Sam had never been what he’d call a ‘relaxed person,’ but when she bared her teeth at him, all the hair on his neck stood on end. She looked genuinely ready to take a swing at him. He glanced around for Edgar, but he was nowhere to be seen; probably still in the cab, saying goodbye to the driver with whom he’d got on like a house on fire.
“‘Yeah,’ is it?” Sam hissed. “Been using condoms, smart guy?”
Toby’s fear for his nose cartilage vanished. Everything vanished. He stared at Tabby’s sister, dumbfounded. “What?”
“You fucking moron. You fucking useless fucking…” Sam drew back her knuckles, but before she could connect, a man called out.
“Sammy,” Edgar said, heaving his battered suitcase onto the lawn. “What’s all this, now?”
Sam’s about-face from rage to disbelief would have been funny in any other circumstance. Her mouth fell open and her eyes went so wide they might have fallen from their sockets.
“Dad?” she said in a voice ten octaves higher. “Daddy?”
Edgar laughed. “Yes. It’s me. It’s so wonderful to see you, Sammy.”
