Page 60 of Sugarloaf Ridge Lies

She turns to me and takes my hands in hers. “And the father?”

“It’s not Jerry. Someone else. It’s complicated.”

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “Complicated how?” The annoyance in her tone is clear. I don’t appreciate it. She’s the only family I have left to talk to. I was hoping for her support.

“He’s not from here. It was when I went back to Canberra for my farewell party. It was a one-nighter. I don’t remember his name.”

“And what are you going to do?”

My brain seizes. “What do you mean?”

She leans in closer. “Are you keeping it?”

I scoff. It? She says it’s like a thing.

“No judgment, honey, but given the circumstances—”

“I’m keeping the baby.” Not for a second had it crossed my mind to have an abortion. I might not be in an ideal situation, but I’ve been given a gift. A life. There’s no way I would willingly destroy that.

She nods. “Okay. I’m sorry, I wasn’t ready for this news.”

I shrug. “Neither was I.”

We share another long hug and, again, I coax her to keep walking. Eyes set ahead; I reveal my biggest fear. “I have no idea what to do, how to be a mum.”

“Oh, darling. I won’t lie. It will be a steep learning curve, but you know I’m here for you. As much as I can be.”

“Thanks.”

“You call me, anytime, if you have questions or want to talk, okay? No matter how silly you think the question is.”

“You might take that back.” I chuckle.

She snorts. “Never.”

A stall up ahead with a sign “Salts by Sally” catches my eye. The unmistakable blonde I saw that night with Jerry at the pub is behind a table showing products to a customer.Family.The last thing I need is her asking about me and Jerry.

I link my arm with Aunt Jean’s and turn her towards a stall on the opposite side selling glass blown pumpkins of various colours and sizes. As we weave our way through the crowd, something small bumps into my leg and grips tight.

“M-miss Rosehill!” a high-pitched squeal follows.

Gracey wraps her arms around me. She’s wearing a chocolatey grin. I can’t help but match her smile. “Well, hello, Gracey.”

“My mummy has cool stuff. Come.” She grips my hand with both of hers, stickiness coating my fingers.

As much as I don’t want to see friends of Jerry’s, I can’t say no to Gracey. “Okay, lead the way.”

As we walk towards the stall, Gracey stares at Jean. “Is this your mummy, Miss Rosehill?”

I swallow hard. “No, this is my Aunt Jean.”

Jean gives her a bright smile. “Hello there.”

“Hi,” Gracey says and returns her attention to me. “Where’s your mum?”

My chest tightens. “She’s not here.”

She tilts her head. “Where then?”

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