Trouble in Nirvana (22 page)

“Anyway,” he said. “Plenty of people don’t have kids for all sorts of reasons. But it'd be nice to know all the work I’ve done doesn’t ultimately amount to nothing.”

Nirupam asked, “How could it amount to nothing when you’re trying new things to help farmers?”

Which brought the conversation neatly to the point of the evening and away from that other hideous, shocking, and ultimately painful subject which Primrose needed time to process. Private time.

She lurched into speech. “Lots of people will benefit from what you’re doing—Mike already has. And Danny could.
We
could,” she added hastily. “If you’d be willing to give us some pointers.”

“Sure. But I think it’s Danny’s call,” Tom said. Warning her? Maybe, but if she didn’t get this thing happening now she’d probably not get another chance this good.

“My dream,” Danny interrupted softly, “Is to make a home for Nirupam and me and our baby. A place where we can be independent, a safe place where everyone’s welcome and everyone contributes. Where we can be self sufficient and happy.”

“And you have.” Nirupam reached her hand across the table and he grasped it tightly.

“Alpacas might be worth investigating,” said Tom. “You could make a fair bit of money from their wool. It’s becoming very popular.”

Danny smiled. “We’re not interested in making lots of money. Never have been.”

“You might not be but you still need it to survive.” Primrose stood and began clearing the dirty plates. They kept reiterating the “money is evil” thing to the point of annoyance, as if they operated on a higher spiritual plane than everyone else. She hadn’t become a musician in the hope of becoming a millionaire. They didn’t have a monopoly on finer, non capitalist feelings.

Was Tom positive about the result of those research tests? How long ago was it? Maybe the effects wore off with time. Could sperm regenerate itself?

She turned for the sink, hands laden with dishes. “Which is why you’ve had to sell so much land. What happens when you don’t have any left?”

“Give it a rest, will you?” Danny, more aggressive than she’d ever heard him. Peace and love obviously had a limit even in Nirvana.

Primrose dumped the dishes on the bench and whirled around. “I’ll give it a rest when you tell us what you spend all that money on. It’s my money too, in case you’ve forgotten conveniently—in your utopian paradise.”

“We needed it to pay rates and things,” Nirupam said.

“But the land must have been worth far more than the rates. Wasn’t it Tom?” Primrose folded her arms across her chest

He grimaced uncomfortably under her glare. Too bad Tom. He was in this up to his neck. “A fair bit more,” he admitted.

“I don’t know.” Puzzled, bewildered, Nirupam looked at Danny. “Hon?”

“Spit it out, Danny. I thought your whole raison d’être was sharing.” Primrose let her arms drop and stepped closer, staring intently at her brother. She recognised his expression from childhood. The cornered, frightened one. From when their father accused and demanded in one of his drunken rages, wanting to know where Danny’s pay was, the money he’d earned at his after school supermarket job. And Danny tried to say he hadn’t been paid yet. Unsuccessfully. “You’re hiding something, aren’t you?”

His breathing resonated in the hot, silent kitchen.

“Danny?” Doubt clouded Nirupam’s previously happy face, causing Primrose a twinge of guilt. What had she blundered into? Never in a million years would she deliberately cause them pain and neither would she deliberately distress Nirupam.

Tom’s chair scraped as he shoved it back and stood up. “I’d better go.”

“Stay.” Danny threw him a meaningful look. He sat back down without a word.

Primrose frowned. What was going on here? Danny and Tom had secrets. Big ones.

Danny took Nirupam’s hand in both his. He leaned forward, searching her face. She stared back anxious, fearful. Primrose watched, breath catching in her throat. Danny really had been hiding something and it was something Nirupam knew nothing about. Something he’d decided was better left unsaid. Even from Nirupam whom he adored.

“Danny,” Primrose said softly, urgently, terrified of what he might be about to say. “It doesn’t matter.”

His eyes swung to her, cold, hard, and angry. “You pushed and pushed for this, Rosie. You wouldn’t let things be but in some ways you’re right. It’s time.” He clung to Nirupam’s fingers, fixing his eyes on hers again. “I have another child. A son.”

Chapter Ten

Primrose pressed both hands to her mouth. Her eyes flew to Nirupam sitting cold and still, a marble statue, her hands imprisoned in Danny’s. She disengaged them deliberately and he let her go, sitting back biting his lower lip anxiously.

“Whose child?” Nirupam’s voice was almost unrecognisable, hoarse with the shock.

“Cassie Bennett.”

The name meant nothing to Primrose. A commune resident?

All the life, the colour, the expression, drained from Nirupam’s face. “Cassie Bennett was years ago. Before we met.”

Danny nodded. “Liam’s twelve.”

“Twelve?” Nirupam grabbed the edge of the table in both hands and hauled herself to her feet. Now the emotion returned in a flood. “You’ve known about this son all the time we’ve been together and you never told me?” Tears poured down her cheeks. “How could you, Danny? I thought...ˮ A gulping sob enveloped the rest of the sentence. She backed away from the table, her hands folded protectively across her belly. “Will our child mean so little to you, you won’t think it important enough to tell your next woman about it?”

She turned and blundered for the door with one hand outstretched, the other pressed against her mouth. Danny leapt to his feet but Primrose darted forward to prevent him chasing his wife. “Let her go, Danny. A son? You have a son?”

“I hope you’re satisfied,” he said through lips stretched thin and hard as fencing wire. He didn’t look at her. He stared after Nirupam, eyes wide with desperation and regret.

Primrose shook her head. Tears pushed at her lids but she forced them to retreat. “No, I’m not, but you can’t blame me for this. Why didn’t you tell her?”

“He didn’t know.” Tom’s quiet voice brought her up short.

She spun toward him. Danny slipped away before she could snatch his arm and stop him.

“Danny!” But Tom grabbed her with both hands on her shoulders as Danny disappeared toward the bedroom.

“Leave them be, Primrose. Just leave them!” She wrestled against his hold but his fingers were strong, biting into her flesh. “You’ve interfered enough in their lives lately, don’t you think?”

The words landed like blows. Her defiance fizzled and her legs suddenly collapsed under her. Tom relaxed his grip enough to allow her to sit down.

“You call it interfering,” she hissed. “I call it caring. How come you never mentioned this child to anyone?”

“To you?” One eyebrow lifted in derision. He dragged out a chair and sat facing her. “Nirupam?”

Primrose firmed her lips and looked at her fingers twisting themselves into knots in her lap. Of course he couldn’t have told Nirupam. But still...

“Danny asked me not to tell anyone,” he said when she didn’t comment. “I keep my word.”

“When did he find out?”

“About two years ago. I don’t know why the mother took so long to tell him,” he said, forestalling her next question. “But he had no idea. He was really shocked. Stunned.”

“Why would he tell you rather than Nirupam?”

Tom shook his head. “Maybe because he knew I wouldn’t judge him or tell anyone? I don’t know. I said he should tell her but I couldn’t do much more than that. I’m his friend, not a counsellor.”

Primrose frowned, pondering Danny’s reasons. She didn’t have to think for long. The answer was obvious—Danny was being Danny. Avoiding confrontation, avoiding difficult decisions and unpleasantness, hoping it would go away. But his son wouldn’t be going away. Quite the reverse.

“Has he seen his son?”

Tom nodded. “Once. He met them in Canberra. Nirupam was at some art show. The boy doesn’t want to live with him. Danny said he was a nice kid, happy and settled but his mother wanted help with school fees. She’d separated from her partner.”

“So she decided all of a sudden Danny should be involved with the son she never told him about. How does he know Liam’s his?” Indignation jerked her spine upright.

“I told him to have a DNA test. Liam is his son.”

“So you got yourself involved that much,” said Primrose, bitterness acid in her mouth. Men! A conspiracy of silence.

“Look.” Tom stood up. “I don’t need this. Danny’s a mate. I helped him the best I could. I’m not his confessor by choice. I’d rather he hadn’t told me any of it but seeing he did, I respected his privacy and his wishes. Why can’t you understand?”

Primrose leapt to her feet, knocking the chair over in her rush. “I understand you two are exactly the same. You prefer to avoid making decisions which might upset your nice comfortable lives despite what it does to other people. Lying by omission. At least I’m honest.”

“Yes, we all know what you think.” Tom righted the fallen chair. “I’m leaving. Thanks for dinner. I’ll see myself out.” He headed for the hallway with a determined stride, back rigid, disgusted.

Primrose subsided into her chair, head sunk into her hands. What an unholy mess. Poor Nirupam. She was fragile enough as it was without this shock. What was Danny thinking? She shook her head and leaned back, thumping her palms onto the table top. And bloody Tom was no better. Men!

A door closed. Primrose froze, ears straining. Danny’s voice. And Tom’s. She frowned. They were murmuring—she couldn’t hear what they were saying. She lifted her chair away from the table and, holding her breath, tiptoed to the doorway. Footsteps clumped toward the front door. Two pairs of feet. The door opened and closed. Silence. She sprinted to her bedroom and without turning on the light, eased the curtain away from the window with one finger.

A car door slammed. Tom’s white ute gleamed in the moonlight. The engine roared, shattering the quiet. They were leaving. Both of them. Danny’s motorbike engine erupted, a throaty growl. Was Danny going to Tom’s or somewhere else? Headlights shone erratically as the vehicles bounced through the trees and disappeared over the ridge. Primrose let the curtain drop into place. Did Nirupam know? Had she thrown Danny out?

Primrose dragged in a shaky breath and pressed her fingers to her eyes. This was her fault. She’d broken up her brother’s perfectly happy marriage. What a total bitch she was. No wonder Tom and Danny hated her. Would Nirupam? She had to see if she was all right, offer comfort and apologies. Had to take whatever was dished out to her. She deserved it.

Primrose paused outside Nirupam’s bedroom, gathering courage before venturing inside. She tapped twice and eased the door open a crack. The light was off. Muffled sobs emerged from the dark. Her eyes scanned the room, found a dim shape on the bed.

“Nirupam?” Her stomach clenched in apprehension. What could she say? Sorry I busted up your marriage? Nirupam had every right to throw her out.

“Oh Ro—o—o—sieeeee.” It came in a wail of despair broken midway by a hiccupping breath and followed by more heartrending sobs. “Danny’s gone. He’s left me.”

“He’ll be back.” Primrose cautiously pushed the door wide with trembling fingers. The strip of yellow light from the hall illuminated Nirupam’s distraught, tearstained face crushed against the pillow. No anger, just despair. She levered herself into a sitting position. Primrose rushed across to clutch her sister-in-law in her arms. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”

Nirupam returned the embrace desperately. “Why is it your fault? It’s mine,” she wailed. “I said horrible things. Oh, Rosie. He’s gone.”

“Danny loves you. He’ll come home.” Of that she was positive. Danny adored his wife. Primrose eased her arms from Nirupam’s shoulders. “I shouldn’t have pushed Danny about the money.”

“Danny should have told me about his son.” Nirupam sniffed and reached for a tissue from the bedside table.

“Yes.” There was nothing else to say. He should have told her. He had no excuse. Primrose moistened her lips. “Danny always hated any sort of confrontation or fighting.” She paused, met waterlogged blue eyes with a confidence she felt certain was justified. “That’s why he left. He hates arguments—not you. He loves you. He’ll come back.”

Something in her tone must have reassured Nirupam because she said softly, “I know. I know he loves me and I know he hates arguments. He told me about your father. How terrified he was growing up. We never fight. This is our first.” She blew her nose, sniffed again with the tissue scrunched in her hand. “Where did he go? Did he say?”

“He went with Tom. On his bike but at the same time as Tom. Probably went home with him.”

“I like Tom. It’s so sad about...you know,” Nirupam said vaguely. She yawned.

“Tom knew about the boy. Danny told him.” Primrose couldn’t prevent the anger filtering into her voice.

“Yes. But it’s not Tom’s fault. He’s a good listener and he minds his own business. His soul is good.” Nirupam shifted in preparation for heaving her bulk off the bed. “Danny knew I’d be upset. He knew he’d left it too late.” Now she sounded sympathetic. Amazing.

Primrose stood up. “How do you feel about the boy?” She extended her hand. Nirupam grasped it and rose slowly to her feet.

“I haven’t had much time to feel anything except shock. But it’s not his fault either.” She waddled toward the door. “He’s a lucky kid to have Danny as a father.”

“Like a cup of tea?” Primrose asked, defeated by the calm, almost bovine aura of late pregnancy.

“Yes, please. And some of Tom’s peaches and cream.” She stopped and turned. Smiling, a little watery and red-eyed but definitely smiling. “I’m so glad you came, Rosie. Thank you.”

“But I’ve done nothing but cause trouble since I arrived.”

Nirupam laughed. “Not for me. You’ve been wonderful for me.”

Not for Nirupam? No, looked at that way even this blow-up was better for Nirupam in the long run. Their marriage was stronger than one fight, the way a marriage should be. Danny would come home. This was his family. He couldn’t and wouldn’t desert the woman he loved. He’d never walk away from the birth of the child he was so excited about.