Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Ambrose

A mbrose splashed through yet another puddle. He was following a dirt track that was becoming increasingly eroded by deep rivulets of running water, but he was pretty sure that it would eventually get him to some sort of main road. The Connellys' driveway had been a bust. Even a city boy like Ambrose hadn't been dumb enough to try to walk that way once he'd seen the flooding. But he'd taken in the lay of the land, pretending he knew what he was doing, and in a fit of inspiration, he'd decided that if he just followed this dirt track over the slight rise of the hill, he would undoubtedly meet the curve of the main road at the bottom of the slope, right?

It had made perfect sense twenty minutes ago, when Ambrose had been slightly drier than he was now and completely desperate to get the hell back to Sydney. Okay, so he was still desperate to get back to Sydney, but the edge of that desperation had worn off now that he was slogging through the pissing-down rain through squelchy red mud and puddles that splashed all up around his ankles.

This sucked balls .

He was cold and he was wet, and his feet were fucking freezing, and the pointy bits of gravel scattered over the road's surface were jabbing into his soles like malevolent Lego, and at some point, he was going to have to admit he had no idea where he was going and trek back to the house. Or he could save his pride and die here among the rows of grapevines. Maybe the Connellys would name a wine after him in remembrance.

The Awful Ambrose. A full-bodied red, slightly bitter, with hints of bullshit.

He wrapped his arms across his torso as he walked, trying to believe that it would somehow keep him drier. Which he knew was bullshit, because he was as dripping wet as if he'd just climbed out of the pool. He was pretty sure that even his underwear was soaked through, which was going to lead to some fun chafing issues in the near future. Jesus. Even if he made it to town—he couldn't even remember what the town was called. Polka bin? Polka dot? Poker, I hardly even know her?—Would they let him on the train like this?

Oh fuck.

Is there even a train?

No, it was okay. He still had his phone on him, and it was obviously still working from the way it kept buzzing. He'd get to Polka Dot and figure it out. And, if worst came to worst, he'd phone Harry, and Harry could borrow their dodgy mate Shane's dodgy van and drive up and collect him.

Ha! Suck on that, universe. Ambrose wasn't going to die surrounded by grape vines after all, because he wasn't totally friendless and alone after all. He had Harry, and a phone and a plan.

"Holy fuck!" Ambrose leapt backwards as a snake slithered past him trying to escape the water. His heart leapt at least twenty feet further away than he did, and he had to wait for it to find its way back into his ribcage. "Okay, that was not a skink."

That was what he got for telling the universe to suck it, he guessed.

"Point taken," he said, squinting up at the low, black clouds. "You could still kill me at any moment. Got it."

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky in response, which in Ambrose's opinion was just showing off. A gust of cold wind blew, making his shirt cling wetly to his back and sending shivers up his spine as he splashed along, watching the ground carefully in case the snake had brought its mates. Although, it turned out the real snake had been Marcus all along. Ambrose's gut churned bitterly at the memory.

He wasn't even surprised that Marcus had turned out to be the kind of guy who'd make a move like that. Ambrose imagined him now, turning on that smooth charm as he lied about what had happened, pinning the blame on Ambrose. And the Connellys would believe it too, wouldn't they? After all, Marcus was some sort of financial whiz kid who was engaged to their daughter, and Ambrose was just some unemployed student blow-in that Liam had only known for two minutes, and who'd spent all weekend making the worst possible impression.

The red clay mud was thick and sticky and freezing between his toes, and he thought to himself that if he ever had to audition for ‘miserable Dickensian urchin number six', if he just channelled this moment, he'd be a shoo-in for the part, because he'd never felt so utterly wretched in his life.

His phone buzzed again, and he continued to ignore it. He didn't need to hear Liam telling him that he'd fucked up. He was aware, thank you very much. The rain continued to beat down relentlessly, and he ducked his head as far as he could and wished he'd thought to steal an umbrella and a pair of gumboots from the porch. After all, the Connellys already thought he was a cheat. Adding petty theft to the list couldn't possibly make their opinion of him any lower, and at least he'd be slightly drier now.

In the distance, a dog barked.

Ambrose slumped along, grateful that the rain at least appeared to be easing up a little, and tried to figure out how far he was from the main road. He hadn't paid much attention when they'd arrived because he'd never had much of a sense of direction anyway, but now he wished he'd taken in more of his surroundings. That way he'd at least know to look out for a tree shaped like a bent fork, or a stack of tires made into a sculpture, or any of the ridiculous landmarks country towns always seemed to possess in spades. Not that it mattered, because the only thing he could see was miles and miles of vines stretching out in every direction, the scattering of leaves drooping under the weight of the raindrops much the same way that Ambrose was drooping under the weight of this entire fucked-up afternoon.

The dog barked again, closer this time, and Ambrose turned his head curiously, only to be greeted by the sight of John Phillip. The dog was in the back of some sort of trailer, being towed by—Ambrose squinted against the rain—what looked for all the world like Grandad Billy, although it was hard to tell with the hood of his raincoat pulled up.

Ambrose stopped walking and blinked once or twice to clear the rain from his vision and make sure he wasn't imagining things, but no, it was definitely Grandad Billy on his ancient tractor, towing a trailer with John Phillip in it, the dog's paws set against the top edge of the trailer like a ship's captain at the wheel.

And next to John Phillip, waving frantically, was Liam.

Ambrose's heart lurched at the sight and tumbled over the next few beats. He shoved down the instinctive need to dive into the vines and hide, but only because there were snakes in there. The tractor continued its relentless, snail-like approach, although it appeared to have slowed in the face of a small incline, and Ambrose remembered— "a top speed of seven miles an hour"— combined with, "She's retired."

Had Grandad Billy gotten his precious tractor out in this weather just to come and look for Ambrose? His heart lurched again, only this time it was with something that might be hope. It seemed unlikely, but if Grandad was willing to get the Allis out, maybe they weren't here to drag him over the coals and tell him what a bastard he was after all.

The phone in his pocket buzzed again, and Liam was holding his own phone up and making some sort of exaggerated gesture. The buzzing stopped at the same time the tractor hit a bump, and Liam lurched sideways and disappeared out of view, making John Phillip, who hadn't budged from his spot, let out an impressive "Woof!" that echoed loudly.

Ambrose bit his lip in an effort to stifle a laugh, because he might be cold and wet and miserable, but the sight of Liam going arse over teakettle in the pouring rain on the back of an ancient tractor? Hilarious. As he watched, Liam pulled himself upright, wearing what might be mud all up one side of his face. Ambrose hoped it was mud, anyway.

Liam was shouting something, and Ambrose caught faint snatches over the rain. "…going? Not the…town…way!"

Ambrose shrugged helplessly, spreading his arms wide and sending a rivulet of cold water down his neck. He shuddered at the unwelcome flood. His phone buzzed again, and faced with the inevitable, he gave in and answered it.

"Where the hell are you going?" Liam said without preamble .

"I, um. I was walking to town," Ambrose said. "Figured I'd get in first before your dad kicked me out."

There was a moment's silence, then Liam said, "You're heading towards the dam, dickhead."

Ambrose stopped walking and frowned at the track like it had been the one to betray him, and not his own terrible sense of direction. He'd reached the crest of the hill, and as he gazed ahead, he saw that Liam was right—at the bottom of the hill was a wide expanse of dark water, surrounded by long grass and stocky shrubs and not, as Ambrose had been hoping, the road into town. "So, what? You came to tell me to get the hell out of Dodge, but walk in the other direction?"

Over the drone of the tractor Ambrose faintly heard Grandad Billy saying, "Put it on the speaker, lad," and his voice joined the conversation, tinny and faint against the backdrop of thunder and machinery. "Ambrose, get your sorry arse back here. You're not in trouble, lad," he said. It warmed something in Ambrose, to hear Grandad calling him lad the same as he did Liam, even if he probably only meant it in a generic way.

"We know that Marcus is the arsehole," Liam added. "Neve dumped him, and Dad kicked him out."

Ambrose stood frozen on the spot, and unexpected warmth flooded his insides. Did that mean that just for once, he wasn't being cast as the bad guy after all? "But what about?—?"

What about the fact I've acted like an utter fuckwit this entire weekend? What about the fact I lied to your family? What about the fact I like them and want them to like me back and I'm not sure what I'll do if they don't?

The questions remained locked inside, because Ambrose was afraid to hear the answers, but Liam must have been able to read his silence because he said, "It's fine, I promise. I told them about the fake dating, and that you're not as big a dickhead as you make out, that it's mostly an act."

"Only mostly?" Ambrose couldn't help the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Maybe he hadn't fucked this up completely, after all.

"That's not what I meant, idiot," Liam said. "Anyway. Come back?"

"Yes, lad, come back," Grandad chimed in. "This old body's not made for going uphill in the rain, and I'm not talking about Adeline." As he spoke, the tractor's motor sputtered alarmingly before smoothing out again, but Ambrose took the hint and started walking back towards the tractor. Maybe it was because he was walking downhill, or maybe it was because Liam and his family didn't hate him, but the rain didn't seem as cold, or the walk as daunting.

Maybe the universe didn't hate him after all.

But it didn't love him either, because two steps later he lost his footing in the mud and went down in a flailing heap, arms windmilling uselessly as he tried and failed to save himself from landing on his arse. His phone went flying from his hand, but he could still hear Grandad's guffaws of laughter coming from the speaker.

He lay sprawled flat on his back for a minute, eyes closed against the rain, and when he opened them again John Phillip's face was inches from his. The dog barked and licked the side of his face, breath redolent with Pedigree, and that was enough to motivate Ambrose to drag himself into a sitting position in order to avoid a repeat. John Phillip barked again in approval and kept trying to slobber all over him. Ambrose swatted vaguely at his snout, then hauled himself to his feet, scooping up his phone.

He put the phone to his ear in time to hear, "…all right? You went down pretty hard. "

"Hard's how I like it," he said on reflex, and Liam snorted.

"Dickhead. Seriously though, are you coming back?"

Ambrose hesitated. "It depends. Do you promise your mum isn't going to kill me, and your dad cut me up and bury me, then use my body as compost?"

Liam laughed loudly. "Pretty sure you're safe. After all, Grandad approves of you, and that's the important thing."

"Sure, lad. I know a good egg when I see one," Grandad Billy cut in. "Now how about you stop standing there like a fecking scarecrow and get your arse back here so we can get home and get dry? It'll be dark soon."

"Oh! Right. Sure." Ambrose ended the call and started walking again, and he was pretty sure he was covering more ground than the tractor, which was struggling up yet another slight incline. As he approached, it made an ominous graunching noise, before wheezing and shuddering to a standstill.

John Phillip, who'd been loping along next to him, barked and took off, running in circles around the tractor and trailer. By the time Ambrose reached them, Liam had clambered out of the back, and Grandad Billy was peering into the guts of the machine and muttering darkly. Liam hurried over to Ambrose before coming to a stop in front of him. Ambrose wondered if Liam would kiss him, but instead Liam reached out, hesitantly at first, then he grabbed both his hands, giving them an affectionate squeeze, and somehow that was better than a kiss.

"Your hands are fucking freezing," Liam said, and didn't let go. Ambrose forgot about the rain and the cold and the mud as warmth and something like hope flooded him. "I don't think you came onto Marcus," Liam said. "Nobody does."

"Yeah, you said," Ambrose reminded him. "You said Marcus was the arsehole, which frankly I find to be an insult to my professional integrity as a bad boyfriend."

A grin appeared on Liam's face at that. "To be fair, Marcus has probably been a dick his entire life, so he's had more practice."

Ambrose laughed.

"So, come back home? If you still want to leave, we can arrange something, but I'd, um, like you to stay? As yourself?" Liam gave him a hopeful look that was reminiscent of the one John Phillip gave when he was in the vicinity of a wedge of Brie, and how the hell was Ambrose supposed to resist that?

"Sure," he said. "I'd like that." Liam squeezed his hands again, and Ambrose squeezed back.

Grandad Billy cleared his throat. "This is all very touching, but could we get out of the pissing rain so you can have your heart to heart somewhere dry ?" He shivered.

Ambrose turned to him. "Your tractor! She's meant to be retired, and you brought her out in the rain! Will she be all right?"

Granddad Billy ran a hand over the back of his neck and sighed. "She'll be fine. She's just out of fuel. I didn't expect to be driving her, never filled her up. We'll have to leave her here, I think." His mouth twisted, and Ambrose felt bad for him.

"Could we push her back? I mean, Liam's pretty much useless because he's a skinny drink of water, but you and I have some brawn, and it's downhill. We should be able to manage it between the two of us. Liam can steer and look pretty."

Liam cocked an eyebrow. "And this is you… not being an arsehole, is it? Because I'm honestly struggling to see the difference."

Ambrose shrugged. "I call it as I see it, pretty boy."

Grandad Billy roared with laughter, slapping Ambrose on the back in a hearty gesture. "I said it at the start, Liam. This one's a keeper!"

"He is, isn't he?" Liam agreed, beaming.

Grandad clapped his hands together. "Right. Liam, you can steer—just this once, mind—and Ambrose and I will push."

It took some time to unhitch the trailer, but at least by the time they set out back for the sheds, the rain had eased back to a steady misting drizzle. Once they got some forward momentum the downhill slope worked in their favour, and it wasn't too bad pushing Adeline through the mud. And Liam's arse was right there in front of Ambrose as he pushed, so that was nice.

Grandad Billy caught him looking, but he just said, "Nothing like country views, right, Ambrose?" with a twinkle in his eye, and Ambrose grinned back at him.

The Connellys were all right.

When they reached the spot where the dam track connected to the driveway, they stopped for a breather—because downhill or not, pushing an antique tractor was hard work—and John Phillip, who'd been trotting happily next to Grandad, raised his head, sniffed then took off at a pelt across the vineyard, barking loudly. Ambrose peered through the fading light and saw the dog, hackles clearly raised, circling someone standing next to a car and growling at them. "Who's that?"

Grandad looked over and said, "Well, would you look at that? Marcus is still stuck. Guess he couldn't get a towie to come out in this weather after all. Looks like he'll be sleeping in his fancy car."

"He got bogged when he tried to leave," Liam explained quietly, "and Mum won't have him back in the house. "

"Really? "Ambrose asked. "But Fi wouldn't leave him out here all night, would she? She's too nice!"

Both Grandad Billy and Liam snorted, and Liam said, "No, she's polite. There's a difference."

"Exactly. That little gobshite tried to do the dirty on my granddaughter. He's lucky Fi hasn't come after him with the garden shears and chopped his cheating little dick right off," Grandad said darkly. "Sleeping in his car's the least of his worries."

"Serves him right, too," Liam said. At Ambrose's raised eyebrows, he added, "We Connellys don't take kindly to people who mess with one of ours."

Ambrose looked over at Grandad, who was soaking wet and leaning in, bracing his shoulder against the tractor again, and it occurred to him that the Connellys hadn't left Ambrose out in the rain, had they? No, they'd rescued him.

There was a shout from the direction of the house. Will and Orhan were jogging across the lawn, both in rain jackets and boots, and when they reached them, Will said, "Jesus, Dad. You can't just go off in the rain on your own without telling anyone! Fi nearly had a heart attack. We both did."

"Well, someone had to go and fetch this poor daft city boy. He was walking towards the dam," Billy said, straightening up. "He's Liam's lad, after all. We have to take care of him."

Will's eyes widened. "The dam ? Why were you heading to the dam?" he asked Ambrose, who shrugged.

"No sense of direction? I mean, it seemed like I was going the right way?"

"Gods, you really are a city boy, aren't you?" Will laughed. Ambrose nodded, and Will clapped Liam on the shoulder. "Let Grandad steer Adeline into the shed, son. Orhan and I can push. You take your young man inside, before your mother worries herself into a lather over the both of you."

"Thanks, Dad," Liam said, hopping down from the tractor. He held a hand out to Ambrose. "Come on. Let's go inside. Mum'll be waiting to fuss over us."

"Unless your young man would like a go at driving the old girl? He could steer her to the shed," Grandad Billy said. "Think you can manage it, lad?"

Ambrose's mouth dropped open at the offer, and Will's eyebrows raised. " I've never gotten to drive Adeline!"

"Ah, well, you're not an expert at GBC now," Grandad Billy said, eyes twinkling.

"It's GTA," Ambrose corrected automatically, his mouth curving up into a smile. "And um, yes, please." He tried to wrap his head around the fact that not only was he not the bad guy, but that Grandad Billy considered him worthy to drive the Allis, which, frankly, was a lot more faith than anyone had shown in him in a long time—except for Liam of course, who'd trusted Ambrose with his heart.

Liam was smiling shyly at Ambrose, and he was struck with the conviction that apparently the Connellys counted him as one of theirs now. Liam definitely did. The thought filled him with enough warmth to counteract the chill of the rain while he clambered up onto the seat. Once he was settled in place, the other four pushed as he gently steered the Allis into the shed, carefully avoiding the puddles and grinning like a fool the entire way.