The Polly Principle by Davina Stone

Chapter 19

There was something calming about a pair of adoring brown eyes staring up at you. It beat a cigarette, Solo decided, chuffing the border collie under the chin yet again. If his hand stopped for more than a second a nudge accompanied by a soft snort seemed to say, “Come on, mate.”

“You’ll be doing that all day if Charlie has his way,” Mim commented, as she bustled around the kitchen grabbing cups and filling the teapot.

Solo grinned. “It’s okay, I’m used to dogs. I grew up on a farm.”

“Yeah, Charlie probably senses that. We reckon he’s psychic. He always knows where I hide the treats, no matter how cunning I am. Here you are.” Mim plonked a big mug of steaming tea on the table. “Polly’s just taking a shower, she’ll be here any sec. Sugar? Milk?”

Solo tried to block the thought of Polly showering. “Just milk, thanks.”

The outer screen door of the kitchen banged and another woman appeared, a lot younger than Mim, with thick auburn hair piled onto her head. She was carrying a couple of bags full of shopping, and as she placed them on the table he noticed her belly was rounded with early pregnancy.

“Oh, hullo, you must be Solo.” She smiled. “I’m Kate, Polly’s sister-in-law.”

Solo tried to stand but Charlie’s chin stayed firmly glued to his leg, pinning him to the chair.

“Ha, I see you’ve been Charlied.” Kate laughed.

Solo grinned ruefully. “And I thought I was special.”

“Everyone’s special to Charlie.”

Already Solo liked these two women; they were no-nonsense, straight to the point. Mim, with her big smile and salt-and-pepper hair, was your earth mother type. Kate was clearly practical and calm, he decided, as he watched her methodically unpacking the bags, putting things in the cupboard, and leaving out others with a quick word to Mim. “This is for the cake icing. I bought double the eggs for the frittata.”

The smell of cooking already pervaded every corner of the kitchen.

Solo’s nostrils quivered and he laughed, glancing down at Charlie. He wasn’t much better than the dog, totally led by his stomach. It was his nan’s fault for being such a good cook. His chest contracted as the memories flooded in. Nan’s kitchen was not unlike this one. Solo guessed farm kitchens were often pretty similar. A large jarrah wood table in the centre, mismatched chairs, a pile of Blundstone boots near the door next to hooks loaded with coats. A jam-jar of wildflowers in the centre of the table with a dog lead and a pad of paper covered in notes. A cosy mish-mash of what made a place home.

He sighed. That was all gone now. Pop’s and Nan’s farmhouse in the hands of a stranger. How quickly life could change.

And then it changed again as Polly flew through the door in a very short, red, kimono-style dressing gown with Betty Boop emblazoned over one breast.

She stopped abruptly when she saw him and pushed the curls off her face.

“Oh, you’re here already. I didn’t expect you until much later.”

Not exactly the welcome he’d been hoping for. He kept his eyes carefully averted from those beautiful white thighs, barely covered by the silky number that was totally incongruous with the friendly farmhouse vibe.

“You’ve met Mim and Kate already then.” Her cheeks were pink, maybe from the shower but he thought not. When her lips suddenly tilted and that lovely dimple grooved her cheek, tingles sped right down his spine.

“Dad around?” she asked of Mim.

She came over and leaned on the back of a chair, pushing it down with her palms and rocking it onto two legs. And he realised suddenly she was feeling uncomfortable. Sure, she was hiding it, but he was getting used to catching glimpses of this other less confident Polly.

“He’s probably gone to ground,” Mim said in a resigned tone. “Worried about controlling the—” She bent her arm in a gesture of putting a glass to her lips. Polly’s features tightened and she tugged at the hem of the kimono thing.

“Is that what you’re wearing to the party?” Kate grinned.

Polly cast Solo a glance and he quickly flicked his gaze from her mesmerising legs to Charlie. Did the freakin’ hound just wink at him?

“It was all I could find in the cupboard. I think I last wore it when I was sixteen. And no, don’t be silly. I just didn’t know we had company.”

Company? That was weirdly formal after the wildly intimate things they’d gotten up to these past couple of weeks.

“Solo’s been well looked after,” Mim said. “We’ve had a nice chat about Sydney and his work. Though why you made the poor guy drive up on his motorbike when he could have come with you…”

“I had things on this morning,” Solo said quickly. The reality was that driving up first thing this morning in a confined space with Polly’s legs in his peripheral vision for two and a half hours was not something he needed to subject himself to.

So when Polly had said she would be leaving at the crack of dawn and maybe he should come up on his bike, he’d gladly agreed. The ride would blow away the tension he was feeling. They hadn’t touched since Saturday at the beach. During the week professional Polly, all brisk and businesslike, was back. It was like playing the dating equivalent of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

“I’ll show you to your room, if you like,” Polly addressed him.

Solo slurped an obligatory mouthful or two of strong tea and got up. Charlie let out a whine of protest and backed away, then started to wag his tail in anticipation of what might come next.

Polly bent down and chucked him under the chin, pulled his ears. Solo averted his eyes from the way her hemline nearly rode up to expose… no way could he trust his body to behave if he got a glimpse of what lay underneath.

“You bad, bad boy…” she crooned. Solo nearly groaned at the husky tone of her voice. “You leave Solo alone now.”

“See you later, Mim, Kate, thanks for the cuppa,” he said. The two women were already making plans for the food and gave him a cheery wave. “Anything else I can do to help?”

“Joe will probably need a hand in the barn with arranging the tables and chairs,” Kate said. “I’ll let Polly show you where to go.”

Dutifully he grabbed his overnight bag off the floor and followed Polly. The farmhouse, with its rabbit warren of rooms and bits built on different levels, reminded Solo so much of Pop’s and Nan’s that a shot of nostalgia hit yet again. And then a wave of sadness. He suddenly remembered how much Drew had loved the farm; it was always where he’d seemed at peace, and now it looked like it was going to be Solo’s burden to sell.

Another wedge that would be driven between them.

He pushed aside the thoughts as Polly threw open a door. “This is where you’re staying. It used to be my gran’s room.”

Solo moved past her; taking care not to swing his bag into her meant their bodies bumped instead. It was like they were both holding their breath.

He couldn’t help smiling as he took in the interior.

By now Polly had walked around to the other side of the bed and was watching him, arms crossed against her chest.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“Not funny. It’s just—” He put his bag down on the floor next to the bed and swept his arm in an expansive gesture. “It’s exactly like my nan’s bedroom. Same candlewick bedspread, only hers was white, not pink; the dressing table with the three-way mirror. Even…” He moved over and touched the little white vase with the spray of delicately moulded porcelain flowers on the side. “Even this… Nan always had wild roses in hers.”

In the mirror, Polly’s image reflected back at him. She was clasping her elbows, rubbing her arms with tight fingers. Her face looked so young and vulnerable.

“It’s kind of reassuring,” he said quickly to cover his desire to circumnavigate the bed and pull her into his arms.

“In what way?”

“Our grandparents’ worlds. When I was a kid, those things kept me safe, like after Mum and Dad died and I’d come into Nan’s bed for my morning cup of tea and there would be her stuff, her ornaments, and, you know, every time I smell lavender, even now it makes me feel good.”

Polly gave a little laugh. “Gran’s clothes always smelled like lavender. She had those things, what d’you call them, pomanders or something. Made of gauze and full of dried lavender flowers.”

He nodded. He remembered.

She sat down on the bed. “See here.”

He went over and sat next to her, watching her hand smoothing over the coverlet.

“This is where I picked out bits of yarn. And here.” She bent down and pulled up a corner of the bedspread and showed him where it was threadbare two rows from the bottom. “When Gran told me off for picking at it, I secretly picked at the hem. It was really, really addictive.”

Solo laughed, he loved these little morsels Polly kept throwing him. He was no better than Charlie, really, was he? Living in hope of the small crumbs. She moved her leg a little closer and his breath scrambled, a pulse beat hard in his temples. He was contemplating taking her hand in his when there was a commotion, Charlie barking and a loud yelping.

Polly jumped up.

“That’ll be Dad home for lunch, I’ll introduce you. I’ll just go put some clothes on first.” She pulled at the tie of her dressing gown and he stood too, so they were facing each other. She bit on her lower lip and the little pillow it made under her teeth made him want to throw her on that bed, Gran’s room or not, and make wild passionate love to her.

“Must you?”

Now she licked her lower lip and it glistened. “Ahhhh—that would feel kind of weird, like, in here.”

“Yeah, of course. I didn’t actually mean…”

She raised a hand and stroked a finger around the opening of his shirt, along the line of his neck. He stifled a shiver, barely able to stop himself pulling her close.

“I really appreciate you coming,” she said quietly. “I’m just pretty wired about tonight.”

Now her fingers were at his collar, neatening it. He gulped hard. “What are you worried about?”

“That Dad’s drinking will get out of control. That he’ll make a complete idiot of himself. That he’ll ruin it for everyone. He’s always been good at destroying things and really bad at putting them back together again.”

“Surely Mim, and your brother and Kate wouldn’t have planned this if they didn’t think he’d cope?”

“Mim lives in hope. But, yeah.” She patted down his collar. “I guess it’s been a couple of years since his last big blowout. He’s been trying. He’s even been to see me in Perth a couple of times. It’s always felt kind of awkward.”

He gave in to the longing and covered her hand with his. Her fingers fluttered before she slipped her hand out and backed away. He stifled a wave of disappointment. At the door, the old coquettish Polly was back, head on one side, dimple pinned to her cheek. Safe, now she’d got away from him.

But he was far from safe.

“Guess I’m not going to behave the same here as back in Perth,” she said. “So don’t expect, you know…”

“Is that why you’ve given me your gran’s room?”

“To keep temptation at bay. Absolutely. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen.” And then she vanished.

Solo hoisted his bag onto the bed. Took out his toiletries bag. He knew what was in here with his toothbrush and hair gel—those little foil packets clearly weren’t going to get a look-in this weekend. He smiled at the way his balls kept leading his brain astray. What had he been thinking? That they’d actually be rolling around in the hay together all weekend?

Shaking his head, he hung up his gear. He could do with a shower after his ride. They’d left him a towel and a guest bar of soap but it could wait. It was more important to meet Polly’s dad.

And, okay, if he’d been effectively tossed into the friend basket for the weekend, he was liking getting to know these other facets of Polly Fletcher’s life. Perhaps a little too much.

* * *

When Polly arrivedin the kitchen, Dad was sitting at the table eating a doorstop-sized cheese and pickle sandwich and reading the paper.

He looked up and his face took on that mix of overly cheerful and apologetic. Like he was always trying to repair the rips he’d torn in the fabric of their relationship but hadn’t got a clue how to sew.

She hauled in a breath and gave him a hug. His arms came around her, he smelled of axle grease and grass, and she wished she could feel something more. But there was just that familiar knot in the pit of her stomach. She tried to return the hug but her arms felt like they were being operated by remote control.

She made an effort and squeezed.

“Hi sweetheart,” her dad’s deep voice rumbled in her ear before she pulled back. “Looking good.” His eyes skimmed over her, that same embarrassment, almost like he’d never got used to the idea that he was her father.

“You too, Dad.”

“Yeah, Mim’s been keeping me busy. Never lets up, that one.”

“Gah, get away with your grumbling,” Mim growled.

Ted’s eyes, the same deep shade of green as her own, skimmed past Polly and she swung around to see Solo standing in the doorway.

Her dad’s head jerked. “Is this your lad?”

“No, Dad, just a friend.” Had she imagined it or did Solo stiffen? “This is Solo Jakoby. We work together—he’s a doctor on the ward.”

The dogs were up and both sniffing around Solo again. They’d been in their baskets, knowing they might as well not waste their time with the family.

“A shrink?” Ted grinned—he’d fixed up his front tooth, thank Jesus. He’d left it missing for years, never owned up to how he lost it, but Joe had told her it was in a drunken brawl at some pub in another town.

“Afraid so, but a relatively normal one.”

“No such thing as a normal shrink,” Ted said.

“Dad!”

“Only joking. Nice to meet you, son.” He got up and winced. His knee was obviously giving him gyp. He shook Solo’s hand heartily. “Nice you could join me to celebrate the big one. Never thought I’d see it, to be honest.”

Polly internally groaned; when Dad was nervous he tended to say too much about the past. Luckily he thumped his chest. “A few ticker problems, but sorted for now with a few drugs.”

“Ah-ha. Good to meet you, Ted.” Solo’s smile was so warm, so embracing, her own heart fluttered weirdly behind her ribs.

Then the back door banged and in breezed her big brother. Joe was big in every sense of the word. Broad-chested and over six-foot-three, he filled up the space. “Hullo, Poll.” He strode over and enveloped her in a bear hug. “Good to see you, sis.”

“Hi, Joe boy.”

Joe held her back from him with two beefy hands on her arms and surveyed her face with bright blue eyes that were just like their mum’s, but without the constant resentment that had always seemed to shadow hers.

Now it was Polly’s turn to introduce Joe to Solo. She saw Joe and Kate’s eyes appraising him, weighing up whether he was someone to get their hopes up over. Honestly, you could almost hear the cogs in their brains whirring.

Wish on, guys.

Introductions over, another wave of sandwich-making from Mim, and they all sat down for a late lunch. It was hard to swallow, hard to think. Already Polly was wishing she hadn’t invited Solo. The expectations were weighing on her, not just about whether he was her boyfriend, but whether she’d have to jump in later—appease a guest Dad had said the wrong thing to, calm Mim’s feathers. God, why did Mim keep trying to get Dad to jump through these hoops?

And now, if it all turned pear-shaped, Solo would be here to watch another Fletcher bun-fight.

And yet… oh, fuck-a-doodle, it felt good to have him here. She glanced over and a little hip-hop dance played out behind her ribs as she saw him laughing and talking tractors with Dad and Joe.

Shit, what couldn’t this guy do? Knit, command a group, kiss like a sinner, make a girl scream the house down with her orgasms.

Bake a cake. He couldn’t bake a cake. A spluttered giggle escaped her and suddenly those silver eyes were on her; he cocked an eyebrow and warmth spilled through her body.

Polly jumped up. “We had better start getting ready,” she said, knowing she was a tad wild-eyed.

“I could do with some help arranging the hay bales in the barn and getting the dance floor in place,” Joe said.

Dad got up with a grumble and both dogs lifted their heads from their baskets, ears pricked, ready for the afternoon’s work. “I’ve got to go and check some fences,” he said.

“Don’t you disappear anywhere. You’ve got to be back here in good time to spruce up,” Mim warned, turning from where she was preparing a bowl of icing for the cake.

“What for?” When Dad popped his eyes with that mock innocent look, Polly knew they resembled one another. A little knife twisted in her gut. She really wished she’d seen more of that humour when she was a kid. But those moments had been few and far between; the hurts far more frequent.

And in the end, it was the hurts that you remembered.

Solo got up on cue, piling up plates and taking them over to the sink. “Do you want a hand washing these up, Mim?”

The guy sure knew how to suck up.

“No, Solo, luv.” Mim patted his arm. “You’d be more help in the barn with Joe.”

“All this bloody fuss,” Dad muttered and ambled out, whistling to the dogs.

“Be back by five,” Mim called after him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he called back.

Joe stood up too, kissed Kate and laid a hand on her belly. His face lit up. “I just felt a kick. Here, Poll, come and have a feel.”

Solo’s eyes were burning holes in her. She felt her cheeks firing up. What the hell was wrong with her? Her lips seemed to be shaping into a silly grin, the kind of smile women got when the broody hormones kicked in. And then her hand was reaching out like it was magnetised towards the lovely round mound of Kate’s belly.

“Here,” Joe said. “A bit lower.” He took hold of Polly’s hand and gently re-arranged it. Sure enough, a little thump thump pushed back against her palm through the cotton of Kate’s T-shirt. Polly jumped and giggled. Kate’s eyes were shining.

Polly’s throat constricted. “Aww, that is so cute. Is it happening much?”

“All the time,” Kate said proudly.

“Blimp is on the move,” Joe said.

Kate thumped Joe on the arm. “Not Blimp. Our Little Miracle.”

Polly made the mistake of looking over at Solo and their eyes locked. And suddenly there was a painful thump going on inside her own belly.

It wasn’t a phantom baby.

It was a huge great stab of envy…