Page 18 of The Polly Principle (The Laws of Love 2)

Joe laughed like a man guarding enemy lines. “Not for a while now. Fingers crossed.” He paused and Polly knew what was coming next. “Call him, Poll, he’d love to hear from you.”

“Sure,” she said lightly. “I messaged him last week. He didn’t reply.”

“You know Dad doesn’t check his mobile. He’s completely old school. Ring on the landline.”

“Tomorrow. Promise,” she said quickly.

“Good girl. And how are you? Missing Alice?”

Polly traced a pattern in the dust on the hall console with her finger. Time she did some cleaning. She missed her best friend more than she’d imagined. Alice’s quirky smile, her big brown eyes behind her glasses, nose buried in a book at the kitchen table. Herbal tea in a mug beside her.

But hey, she didn’t regret a thing, did she? Helping Aaron realise he was madly in love with Alice had to be one of the finest things Polly had achieved in recent years.

The words “always the bridesmaid, never the bride” popped into her head as she answered, “It’s fine. Great to have the place to myself. Organising wild orgies and smashing Rowena’s antique glasses—beats washing up.”

Rowena, Alice’s mum, ran the best second-hand bookshop in Perth: The Book Genie. Polly had worked for her when she arrived in Perth from the bush and desperately needed a job. A couple of years back when her rent had escalated beyond affordable on a social worker’s salary, Rowena had offered her a room. And here they’d been ever since: Polly, Rowena and Alice, a happy trio of oddball women who adored each other. Until Alice finally got her happy ever after. And found her long-lost father and went to visit him in England.

Joe was chuckling. “Rowena would kill you if you broke her best crockery.”

“Okay, then, lighting fires with her first-edition classics.”

“Liar. How’s work?”

“Work’s… fine.”

“Do I detect a note of hesitation?”

Joe knew her too well. Being six years her senior, he’d always looked out for her when things weren’t good with Dad and Mum. Gran and he had helped her to choose happiness instead of continually chewing on the proverbial shit sandwich.

“Oh, just busy, you know how it is with mental health.”

“We could sure do with your skills up here; can’t get social workers for love or money in the wheatbelt.”

“I’m used to being in the city now, Joe. Not sure I could take living in a small country town again. But you? How are you and Kate?”

He paused. “Funny you should ask. We’re expecting.”

Polly squealed and nearly dropped the phone. “OMG, when?”

“We’re just past the three months’ phase. You know, with the miscarriages, we wanted to keep this one quiet from everyone, which is why I didn’t say last time we spoke.”

Polly bounced on the balls of her feet. “I’m going to be an auntie.”

“Yep—the scan looks pretty much like the little fella’s stuck in for keeps. Not that you can tell for sure, but Kate’s been sick as a dog, which is always a good sign, apparently.”

“Doeslittle fellamean a boy?”

“We’re choosing not to find out, but it’s a hunch, I guess… or wishful thinking maybe…”

“I’m so, so happy for you.” Polly’s eyes were prickling again, this time with joy. Joe and Kate had been trying for a baby for three years now, with several heartbreaking miscarriages. It was the best of news, and maybe it would give Dad reason to shape up once and for all.

They chatted a bit more after Polly had finally calmed down, mainly about the party arrangements. When she placed her phone down, she let out a big sigh. Tomorrow she would phone Dad. Not now. Staying happy meant having as little contact with the past as possible, and too much of the past surfaced at the sound of Dad’s voice.

She stopped still for a second, breath hitching in her throat. She hated remembering the shitty times. The skin of her forehead was a painful band as she hurried back into the kitchen, ripped the lid off the container and shoved the curry in the microwave.

Wallowing in the past never helped anyone. Look at Dad: blaming Mum for leaving. Blaming his time in Vietnam for his drinking problem. Blame, blame, blame.

She’d vowed she would never, ever do that.

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