A Bloody Good Man

'Have you seen a doctor?'

'No, not yet. I'll make an appointment and go into town.'

He touched my face. 'You need to be careful, Hailey. No more chemicals, organic or non-organic. Brett's job at the golf course is almost finished, so he can take over. Take a step back. This is what you wanted, isn't it?'

I took his advice and made an appointment to see a doctor in an adjoining town the following morning. Due to my age, I was sent for a scan. Unbelievably, I managed to get in that very afternoon. The ultrasound showed a perfectly normal foetus. Well, it was more of a blob with a hear beat, but in medical terms, everyone was very happy.

It was only then that I rang Brett to tell him.

'Are you kidding?' he asked.

'No,' I replied. 'I'm... pregnant.'

'Holy shit, Hailey,' he said. 'That's... I'm so happy. Oh, munchkin, thank-you for everything. I won't let you down, I promise.'

~~~~~~~~

My parent's farm proved near impossible to sell. We found someone willing to lease it and for six months everything was great, until the farmer was diagnosed was stage IV cancer.

Monica was at her wit's end. Paul was edgy. I was frustrated, but also found it hard to give much of a shit, because I had a newborn to deal with. An easy newborn, everyone liked to tell me, but a newborn nonetheless.

The baby had entered the world two days after his due date without any sort of fanfare, pomp or ceremony. I took him home the following day. There was not much to stay in hospital for, and I was fortunate in that nursing came easily, and I hadn't suffered much physical damage during my confinement or birth. I didn't pee when I coughed, I never got mastitis, and when Arthur was six week's old, he started sleeping through the night.

'Lucky', everyone said, and Lucky became his nickname. I thought I was the lucky one. I had my baby, my husband and my health. The only problem that plagued me was my parent's farm. It was sitting there, doing nothing, but requiring the usual maintenance to ensure weeds were controlled, fences didn't fall down, and the house didn't fall to ruin. In short, it was costing us money.

Lucky was four months' old when Brett appeared to have been struck down with a sudden and urgent need to sell my parent's farm. He marketed it left, right and centre. He made phone calls. If he knew someone on the other side of the country that was considering farming, he'd contact them and ask if they'd considered the Western Downs.

I'll give him credit; his marketing bought a lot of people to the area. Two groups seemed particularly interested, and one had put in an offer. We'd agreed on a price and he contract had recently gone unconditional. We were just awaiting settlement.

Brett was still busy, though, caught up in some project of his, and in between caring for Lucky, I'd been starting to help Gunther. I'd been doing some paperwork when my son started wailing. I went to his room, plucked him his cot, and took him to the lounge room. I plonked myself down on the couch and flicked on the television as he tugged impatiently at my shirt.

Lucky was feeding hungrily when the front door to the house opened and Brett came in.

'Home for lunch?' I asked.

'No, no.' He stood on the doormat, leaning against the frame, as he unzipped his boots. 'I need to sit down. I need to talk to you about what I was just doing. There's something we need to discuss, something I've been working on for a while.'

I reached for the remote and turned the television off. 'Sure. What is it?'

My husband sat alongside Lucky and I. He reached over and brushed his fingers over his son's downy blonde hair. Lucky had lost the hair shortly after he was born and for a while had an atrocious mullet-look going on, but it had recently regrown. 'Lucky he's got hair' was the joke. 'Lucky it came back in'. There were lots of jokes about the child's name, all of the gentle and sweet.

'I didn't just list your parent's farm for sale,' Brett said. 'I sort of also listed yours. I called for expressions of interest. I had someone ask for figures recently, and I gave them a copy. They've also come around to have an inspection. You were out the morning they came, at the medical centre with Lucky, and I told Gunther it was just some old friends of mine so he wouldn't get suspicious.'

'You... you what? Why? Why would you do that?' I asked.

Brett leant over and kissed Lucky's head. He picked up the baby's hand, with it's sharp little nails, and held it in his as he told me the price. It was fully fair and reasonable, but it still didn't explain why. Listing his wife's farm for sale without her knowledge is not exactly typical behaviour for a husband.

'They like the place,' Brett said. 'They've drawn up a contract. It's all standard stuff. I've had a solicitor look over it this morning. All you'd need to do is sign it.'

I was confused, utterly confused. 'And how long would we have to vacate?'

'Thirty days.'

'That's short,' I said. I bit my lip and stared at our son. 'But why? I've just got back into the swing of things. I'm starting to be able to help out a bit more. I'm no longer just trapped in the house, all day every day, looking after Lucky.'

Brett stared at my breast. 'Look at the little claw marks he's leaving over your boobs. That's got to hurt.'

'Not as much as when he uses my nipple as a teething toy.'

Brett grimaced, in the way that men usually grimace when they hear things like that. During labour, of the midwives had suggested he look between my legs and watch the head come out. My husband had taken one peek and gone white. Blood. He really, really didn't like blood.

Lucky finished feeding from that side and I switched him to the other side. I was nervous as all hell. Why had Brett decided he wanted to sell the farm?

'Do you want a divorce?' I asked.

'No. Never.' He moved close to me, moved an arm around me, and kissed me. Then, surveying Lucky, he sighed tiredly. 'We need to move, Hailey.'

'Why? Why, Brett? Why do any of this?'

My husband didn't flinch. 'There are two reasons,' he said. 'Firstly, Lucky's starting to resemble Gunther, and it's only time before tongues will start wagging. People will realise who the father of our child really is. And even if they don't, we'll have a problem when Lucky grows up. Gunther has a left of relatives in town. The chances of an incestuous relationship between him and a cousin developing are huge.'

'I didn't realise you knew Gunther was the father.'

Brett shrugged. 'I didn't, not for a long time, but I should have known. All the signs were there.'

'I'm sorry.'

'No, don't be sorry,' he said. He pulled his arm from my shoulders and moved to the side a bit. It was as if he was steeling himself for something. 'He was a good choice. Discreet. But maybe he was too good of a choice.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because he got you pregnant, and the baby's been born. There's no need for you to have continued sleeping with him. And yet you are. At least once a week, you two are intimate.'

I wondered how he knew. I'd thought Gunther and I had been discreet.

Brett stared at the ceiling and shook his head. 'The bloody little bastard. I could bury him. I should bury him, but I can't, because this is partly my fault.'

I grimaced and stared at the baby. 'It's not your fault.'

He shrugged and shook his head. 'If we stay here, the affair will continue. So that's why we need to leave, Hailey. That's why I need you to sign the contract.'

I chanced a guilty glance at my husband. I hadn't meant to hurt him. I hadn't intended for him to learn that Gunther was the father of our baby or, worse, that Gunther and I had never stopped sleeping together. We'd meant to. We'd pledged to. But the fire, once lit, had been impossible to put out.

'Okay,' I agreed.

'You'll sign?'

I nodded. I loved my husband more than anything, and truth be told, I was growing tired of being mauled by a horny young twenty-something. Between him and Brett, it was just too much. 'Bring me the contract. I'll read through it this afternoon, make any amendments I need to make, and sign it.'

'I'll find Gunther a new job.'

He was a good man, my husband. A bloody good man.

'I love you,' I told him.

'I love you, too, munchkin. I love you, too.'