A Southern Star by Anya Forest Page A

that will give me some flexibility about where I live, she thought. She remained anxious about where to move to, trying to weigh up the pros and cons of different locations. She thought of her tramp to Mason Bay; it seemed a lifetime ago yet it was indelibly etched in her mind, together with—Blake.
    Christie walked further along the promenade, heading for one of the worn wooden picnic tables, wanting to sit and look out over the harbour, watch the boats. She took a seat, watching the ferry arrive, the tourists spill out onto the wharf, waiting for their luggage. She caught her breath as a tall, distinctive figure shouldered a pack, moved past the dawdling tourists, knowing it was Blake. Blake, who had not visited her at all despite carrying her to Ian’s place, apparently concerned enough to wait with Ian but not to make any further enquiry or to visit her. Like he would , she thought silently, thinking back to what he had said, what he obviously thought.
    Christie remained seated, knowing Blake would simply walk past, was unlikely to notice her, not wanting to draw attention to herself by getting up and deliberately crossing his path. She turned to look out to sea, finding it too painful to watch Blake, even from a distance. The seagulls and large mollymawks dipped and flew on the buffeting breeze; she watched them settle on the choppy water, their feathers ruffled as they preened themselves. As always, her pregnancy intruded on her thoughts as she again weighed rental possibilities, tried to think through practicalities.
    “I just thought I’d see how you were.” It was Blake, standing to the side of the picnic table. Christie turned, smiled politely, covering her shock at his approach.  
    “I’m fine, Blake. Thank you for your help the other night.” He muttered an acknowledgement, asked about the incident in the pub. Christie frowned. “It was just some drunken guy, no big deal. Anyway, Ian and Mark came over.”  
    Blake flinched as he read Christie’s words as a criticism of his own lack of similar assistance, still upset with himself for not realising what was happening until Mark had caught his eye, even as he told himself he could not have heard what was being said from across the room. He thought of the comments Mark had made while they were both waiting for the nurse to examine Christie, making Blake aware of the several questions Christie had asked Mark about hunting at Mason Bay, her determination to return the sleeping bag. “I told her I wasn’t going to ask,” Mark had finished with a perceptive look at Blake. Blake had made some flippant comment, too worried and confused to really take on board what Mark had been trying to tell him.
    Oblivious to Blake’s interpretation of her words, Christie fell silent, noticing his tenseness. “I thought that guy was why you fainted,” he continued, trying to articulate his concern.  
    Christie looked at him, her eyebrows raised. “He was drunk and made a few stupid comments, that’s all. Ian and Mark happened to be walking past to leave, and they heard what he said and sorted it out.” She shrugged. “I fainted because of my pregnancy. Which you helpfully mentioned to Valerie.”
    “I had to, Christie,” Blake said matter-of-factly. “Surely you can see that. For all I knew, it could have been a problem with the baby.” Another thought struck him; in his hurt and confusion he voiced it without thinking. “And I’ve got nothing to gain by spreading the news; most of the island will think I’m the father anyway,” he said, thinking of Mark’s silent tact, Lisa’s refusal to leave him waiting at Ian’s place by himself.
    “I’m almost three months pregnant,” she said. She saw emotion flare in his eyes; he looked away briefly.  
    “I don’t need to know details,” he said neutrally. Christie looked at Blake’s face; his eyes were distant, guarded.
    “So did you think…” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to form her thoughts.