Keats sees the image on his screen at the same time I do. It’s Isabella. His thumb hesitates over the red phone icon. My breath hitches, and a smile begins to tickle my mouth.
But Keats presses the green phone icon, and my heart drops with my stomach.
“Hey,” he says, the hand on my hip going to his ear so he can concentrate on whatever she’s saying.
I resist the urge to hit him in the chest. I have no right to act like a jealous girlfriend. Tonight was supposed to be about friendship and convenience. I can’t change the rules on him now just because he’s made my toes curl. I can walk away though. So, I quickly do up the zip of my dress, and climb out of the back of the coupe into the balmy spring night. I barely resist the urge to slam the back door on his ankles. How can he take her call after what we’ve just done? He’s still wearing the damn condom!
I look left, then right. I’d only intended to walk over to the driver’s side of the vehicle. But now, I’m seriously contemplating walking down the mountain.
Keats follows me out of the vehicle a minute later while I’m still deciding what to do. His pants are zipped up, shirt tucked like he hadn’t just got lucky in his car. “Hey, Hay-gen,” he calls out to me, “we need to go. Isabella’s got a little emergency. I’ll drive.”
***
Isabella is sitting on the top step of her converted flat at Woolloongabba, and she runs down as soon as she sees us pull up in the shared driveway.
“Keats! Thank you!” she says, rushing up to him as he gets out of the vehicle. She doesn’t look as relieved to see me when I exit from the passenger side. Her frozen expression smacks of bemusement—as far as she knows, Keats is dating Sofie. “Jess. Hi. What are you doing here?”
“I’m giving her a ride home,” Keats explains vaguely before I can say anything. Just as well because I had no idea how to answer that question. The ride here had been awkwardly silent. “Now, where’s that little critter?”
“In the walk-in closet.” Isabella lets him go ahead of her, following behind him while she bites her thumb. “I didn’t get a good look but it might be a giant rat. I’m so worried it’s in there eating my wedding dress right now.”
I follow behind both of them, up the stairs to the tiny one-bedroom. Isabella started renting it just a couple of weeks ago so that she and Byron have somewhere to live privately as a married couple. Past the rudimentary kitchen, Keats stops in the doorway of the bedroom.
“Got a bat or something?” he asks her.
“Ew. Don’t kill it. Can’t you just chase it away or something?”
“Fine. Got a broom?”
She extracts a long-handled brush from a narrow cabinet near the stove.
“Okay, you two might want to wait in the living room in case it runs out this way,” Keats says and if I wasn’t quietly furious about the fact he took his ex’s call while I was still half-dressed, I would’ve found his rodent-fighting bravery a turn on.
Isabella and I move to the tiny TV room, watching the bedroom doorway from a safe distance away.
“You look nice, Jess,” Isabella says, making small talk even though the look of worry on her face is still there.
I’ve put my hair in a ponytail and ditched the crushed fascinator in the car. “Thanks. Melbourne Cup Day.”
Isabella cranes her neck to peek through her bedroom door like that would help her see around the corner to the walk-in closet. “I hope the rat hasn’t ruined my dress. Though, that would give me a great excuse to buy one that zips up.”
I turn to her, surprised. She still looks svelte to me.
“Doesn’t it fit?”
“Barely. It’s tight, and the wedding just happens to fall at the wrong time of the month when I’m usually all bloated before my period.” She releases a clearing breath, shakes her head and forces a brave smile on her face. “Anyway, Penny told me Miz Peggy emailed her. Your dress should be ready to pick up tomorrow from the alteration place. Sofie’s will be another week.”
I’d sent the email earlier tonight.
“Talk about cutting it fine,” she comments. “We’re eleven days away from the wedding.”
“Well, Sofie’s dress is going from a Size 24 to a Size 10. That’s a big job. Literally.”
Isabella nods with a slightly confused look on her face at about the same time I remember that I’m not supposed to know Sofie’s size.
Suddenly, a squeal and a screech—both not human—is followed by the sound of the broom handle hitting walls. There’s a loud thud, then, “Ouch. Fuck. I can’t believe you bit me, you little shit,” before Keats runs out the bedroom chasing a scared-looking brush tail possum out of Isabella’s flat.
Chapter 27
This wasn’t supposed to happen. The plan was to cross Keats off my To Do list. Not form an obsession stronger than the one I have with carbs and alcohol.
It’s been two days since Mt Coot-Tha, and it seems our tussle in the passenger seat of his Audi has given Keats some clarity. He seems to have become more determined than ever to get Isabella back now that I’ve reset his clock. I, in turn, have turned even more tragic than ever, losing sleep while I ponder how we could’ve shared what we did on Tuesday night if he truly wanted to be with Isabella.
I tell myself that I’m making sure Keats doesn’t succeed in spoiling Isabella’s wedding. But my bigger fear is he’d figure out how to make her marry him instead. And I need to be around to ensure that doesn’t happen. Of course, it’s hard to keep watch on Keats when I haven’t clapped eyes on him in two days. We’ve had no contact—no calls, emails, texts, not even Facebook. Whether it’s because
