Trouble in Nirvana (6 page)

“Why does he have it in for you?”

The switch from defiance to intimacy threw him for a moment. “I told you. He’s mad.”

“But I thought you were joking.” A little frown appeared. Her teeth tugged at her lower lip. “He’s not dangerously mad, is he?”

“He hasn’t hurt anyone yet.”

She shuddered. “Yet?”

Didn’t look like she’d be lasting the week. Especially if she stirred things up the way she was going. Pity. She was entertaining and decorative to have around. Given time she might relax and drop the aggressive attitude. He said, “That’s what these communal places are about, aren’t they? What you’re after? Equality. Everybody welcome.”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “Yes. Sort of.”

He kept a straight face and said with deliberate casualness, “You’ll have to learn to be more tolerant.”

“I’m
very
tolerant.” Squeezed out through gritted teeth. About as tolerant as a cat in a sack.

“I couldn’t stand it. I like doing things my way, not by committee.”

“Is that why you live alone? By choice?”

He’d asked for that. Served him right. He stared out across the paddocks toward the river. Alison’s face swam before his eyes momentarily—short blonde hair, sparkling blue eyes. Tell her? Might as well.

“I had a girlfriend but she couldn’t take farm life. Too isolated, too hard.”

Her mouth drooped. Sympathetic. “When did you break up?”

“Ages ago. It was mutual and amicable.”

“My fiancé did a bunk two months ago.” She met his eye and tilted her head, accompanied by a small shrug.

Startled by the personal frankness of her admission he said, “That’s tough. How close to the wedding was it?” No wonder she was prickly.

“April.”

“Better before than after.”

“So everyone tells me.”

“Doesn’t help much?”

Primrose shook her head and looked away. “Thanks for the paint.” She jammed sunglasses on, all business again. “How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure? I don’t want to. . .”

He interrupted. “Positive. It was left over.”

“Thank you. I’ll be off then.”

“See you later.”

Tom watched the car disappear between the trees. Dumped by a fiancé. Tough. Explained a lot. Maybe if she was still here on Friday he’d invite her out to the pub. An evening with feisty, sexy Primrose would be very enjoyable. And safe. No complications would ensue because she clearly wasn’t in the relationship market and although he was, in a general sense, she was so clearly wrong in every possible way he couldn’t envisage a longterm affair. She wouldn’t be around long enough for starters.

But a date with her would get right up Kurt’s nose as well. Petty but satisfying. Had to take your fun where you could get it out here.

****

“Is it all right if I paint my room?” Primrose looked from Danny to Nirupam, ignoring Kurt who gobbled down a sandwich like a big hairy animal at the end of the table.

Danny said, “Yeah. We don’t have any paint, though.”

“Tom gave me some.” No point responding to the food muffled snort of outrage from her right. She finished her own sandwich in one neat bite. No need to mention she had no idea how to go about painting anything. But how hard could it be? And no way was she letting Kurt, who was sure to be an expert, tell her what to do. Ask him for advice? Perish the thought!

“If there’s enough we could do the baby’s room, too,” said Nirupam with a rare show of enthusiasm. “I want the baby in the room next to us.ʼ

“What about Mojo?” Kurt demanded with his mouth full. A piece of lettuce shot out but was trapped by his beard. “That’s his room. He’s got his own paintings on those walls. Very talented kid, Anne said. A genius.”

And Anne would know. Primrose focussed on picking up crumbs on her fingertip. So would Kurt. She stuck her finger in her mouth to stop the laughter bubbling out but Nirupam’s next remark was in such a helpless, pleading tone the laughter was swamped by a surge of anger at how that bully rode roughshod over her sweet, gentle sister-in-law.

“Fern said they’d be going up north soon. After the baby’s born.” Nirupam turned an anxious gaze on Danny for support. “Mojo could move to the other room.”

“If this is your house you can do whatever you want, can’t you?” Primrose offered in as innocent a tone as possible, the fury building like red hot lava deep inside. Danny wouldn’t meet her eye.

“We make decisions as a community, otherwise the aura goes bad,” said Kurt. “No-one has more rights than anyone else.”

“Not even the person who owns the land and the house?” Could they see the steam coming out of her ears because her mouth was clamped shut? Aura? How much more toxic could it be?

“We don’t do things the same way your society does, Rosie,” put in Danny in his mild, feeble way.

Her
society? He’d inherited this land thanks to society and its laws. And thanks to her own generosity he lived here rent free. The commune used electricity from the grid and drove on the roads the council maintained. Self sufficient? Who were they trying to kid? They didn’t even have solar hot water. Tom was more self sufficient next door and he wasn’t even trying. Or at least he wasn’t boasting about it the way these people did. And they had nothing to boast about.

She grabbed her water glass and downed most of it in an attempt to quell the internal fire. Her hand was very steady, very controlled, when she placed the glass on the table. “Nirupam and I are going to the doctor tomorrow whether you have a communal vote on it or not.”

Kurt glowered but kept his mouth closed for once. No-one offered to help paint. So much for communal assistance.

****

Primrose sat with Nirupam in the crowded doctor’s waiting room feeling slim and agile. Pregnant lady day. She’d never seen so many in one place, had no idea how envious she would feel surrounded by this display of fecundity. Now here she was with a sister-in-law giving birth in a month and babies everywhere she looked. The mummy hormones were a palpable force in the room. Supporting Nirupam was essential but at the same time a trial on a deeply emotional and primal level, one that wrenched at her core and drove home how far from achieving this desirable state she really was.

“Nirupam?” White coated, rotund Doctor Singh in gold rimmed spectacles stood in the doorway, scanning the assembled mothers.

“Come with me,” whispered Nirupam.

The doctor extended an arm and guided them to his room. He weighed Nirupam, took her blood pressure, then sent her behind a curtained area to settle herself on the examining table.

Primrose waited, listening to the murmured remarks from the doctor and Nirupam’s barely audible responses. His head appeared through a gap in the curtain. “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?”

Would she? She jumped to her feet. Nirupam reached for her hand and clung on. Doctor Singh pressed a gadget to Nirupam’s stomach and a rapid, light but steady thump, thump burst into the room.

“Very strong.” He beamed at them both but Primrose could barely see through the tears which had flooded her eyes.

Doctor Singh indicated Primrose should leave them to it so she returned to her chair, her mind reeling from the reality of the life thriving in her sister-in-law’s belly. It was staggeringly amazing. Astonishing. Wonderful and exhilarating. And she wanted a baby too, more than ever.

When they reappeared Nirupam was smiling properly for the first time since Primrose had arrived at the commune.

“Nirupam is anaemic and a little underweight but her blood pressure is good. When she eats better she will feel more energetic although the last stages of pregnancy are always tiring. Ellie Fletcher is a midwife in your area who can call in to see you.” Dr Singh scribbled on his notepad and tore off the page, then handed it to Primrose along with a booklet and two leaflets.

“I want to have my baby at home.” Nirupam’s words came in a breathless little rush. She stopped with an anxious expression. It would be nothing to the fear on Primrose’s face.

Nothing threw Doctor Singh. “You will need to talk to the midwife but I would prefer you to be in the hospital.”

“So would I,” Primrose interjected.

“But you may not be able to get here in time so being prepared for a home birth is a good option.” Another beaming smile split his face as Primrose’s jaw dropped in horror.

“But isn’t a home birth dangerous?”

“Not as long as there are no complications developing. Women have been giving birth for a very long time, you know?”

Maybe, but some other women, herself included, haven’t been delivering them. Ever!

“Fern will be there. She knows what to do,” said Nirupam happily.

Good old Fern with the crystals and the tarot readings. Still, there was a month to go yet. Plenty of time to bring Nirupam around to a more sensible decision.

****

Primrose stood back to admire her painting work. Clean, clear, crisp. Bit smelly but the pong would fade and was infinitely preferable to the stale, cloying odour of incense. Some of her edgings were rough around the window frame but the nudes had disappeared into oblivion. Today, to finish the second coat, she’d started at dawn. It would dry by mid morning.

A car engine roared outside. She negotiated her way round the furniture piled in the middle of the floor, to look out the window. Tom, getting out of his dusty white ute, confident, tanned and capable. Again the disabling surge of attraction. Her heart hopped and skipped a few beats. Or maybe that was paint fumes messing with her, or the fact she only had her brother and Kurt as comparison. What about the land deal? Had he cheated Danny? Hard to believe. He looked so upright and honest and he’d been genuinely angered by her tomato queries. He slammed the door and strode toward the house, stared toward her curtainless, open window.

Primrose gasped and jumped back. She was a total mess. Paint on her hands, probably in her hair, definitely on her clothes. No time to clean up. He’d laugh at her. He always did. She was a constant source of amusement for him. Good thing he hadn’t dropped by yesterday when she’d trodden backward onto the paint tray. Good thing she’d been barefooted and very good thing the paint was water soluble.

“Come in,” she called to his knock on the screen. No use pretending she was competent at this, no use pretending anything with Tom. He saw straight through her every time. His footsteps sounded in the hall, then the door was pushed wider and his face appeared round the frame.

“G’day.” He stepped through and studied her handiwork. “How’s it going?”

“Hello.” Primrose waited ridiculously, childishly, apprehensive about his verdict. He filled the room. He made her breathing shallow. What did it matter what he thought? She was proud of herself.

Was he an opportunist or a man determined to expand his empire?

“Good job,” he said with a grin. The lopsided, extremely attractive grin. He touched her cheek and scraped a wayward strand of hair aside with a surprisingly gentle finger. Her skin burned. “Did a good job on yourself too. Should wear a hat.”

“I never thought of that.” Barely breathing, her body suddenly pulsing with heat, Primrose stared into two deep grey eyes. Crinkly lines etched into the tanned skin by the glare of the outdoors gave a comforting solidity to his face. A kind man. A cheat? He tugged softly on her hair and moved across to examine the area previously occupied by Danny.

“Two coats?”

Primrose’s brain lurched into action, spewing words. “Yes. It took ages. I started too late yesterday because I took Nirupam to the doctor and like you said, nearly passed out. Today I got up before dawn.” She put the lid on the remains of the paint and gave it a thump. “I’m going to paint the baby’s room, too. Apparently the boy, Mojo, sleeps in it.” She lowered her voice. “The others came back last night but I’d gone to bed so I haven’t met them yet. A new person came with them.”

Brendan, in his fifties with a scrawny body and vacant blue eyes. He and Danny had gone off to look at the leaky windmill this morning.

“I’ll give you a hand clearing up if you like.”

She caught his eye briefly, just enough to send hot blood to her cheeks. “Thanks. Then we can have a cup of tea.”

“Deal.”

With Tom’s expert and muscular help the wardrobe was pushed into place, the bed shoved against the wall and the paint equipment cleaned in no time. Primrose scrubbed at her hands in the laundry, recovering her equilibrium after confined exposure to him devoid of scoffing or annoyance, while he filled the kettle in the kitchen. This Tom was a very desirable man. If she was in the market. She wasn’t, but she really did need to know about the land sales and now was about as good a time as any to ask.

An unfamiliar woman’s voice was just audible over the splashing. Must be Fern. Getting up late—nearly ten. She paused in the doorway so as to assess this psychic healer who knew better than the caring doctor they’d seen yesterday. Fern wore an Indian cotton skirt and a cheesecloth embroidered blouse with an abundance of jewellery around her neck and on her fingers. Short, dumpy, brown-haired. She turned to give Primrose an equally assessing stare.

“Hello, Rosie.” The eyes narrowed with psychic awareness. “You’re a Fire sign, aren’t you?”

“Hello, Fern. I’ve no idea.”

“What star sign are you?”

“Libra.”

“Oh, no. Libra’s Air.” The brow creased in psychic confusion. “Strange.”

“Is it?”

“It’s a Cardinal sign, however.” She smiled. All was now well in the cosmos. “Never mind. How lovely to meet you.”

“Thank you. Tea?”

“I’m about to do my breathing exercises. Need an empty stomach for those or it upsets the internal energy flow.” Fern went out toward the sculptures. Primrose watched her walk across the grass to a spot under a beautiful spreading gum and begin raising and lowering her arms rhythmically. Maybe she should ask Fern about Tom’s character as dictated by the stars.

“I should learn meditation,” she murmured.

“Do you need to?”

The kettle clicked off. Primrose poured boiling water into the big brown teapot.

“I need something. My brain’s a pigsty.” She tried to raise a smile. Failed. She took two mugs from the draining rack. “I suppose you think I’m as mad as the rest of them.”