Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Ambrose

T he rain got heavier, and the day got darker the further north from Sydney they drove, and Ambrose wished that the weather was the worst thing about the trip, but to say the rest of the drive to the Hunter Valley was awkward was an understatement. Even Ambrose, who was a professional arsehole, felt his anxiety rise as the kilometres clicked over. He meant what he'd said to Liam—he felt like a shithead for asking Orhan where he was from. And while he'd apologised for that, and his apology had been accepted, it was clear that both Orhan and Bridget weren't really the forgive and forget types. The water under this particular bridge was stinky, full of sewage and completely stagnant. Despite Ambrose's apology, things in the car were tense. Although Ambrose hadn't done himself any favours with the coffee bullshit either. Now he had heartburn and palpitations from drinking so much coffee. Also, his bladder felt ready to explode. He was pretty sure he had a second heartbeat happening down there at the moment. He wondered if Balian had a couple of spare nappies in his nappy bag, and exactly how much volume those things could hold .

It didn't help that he was worried about his mum. Not that someone had broken into her flat and stolen the framed photograph of her and Bert Newton at the 1998 Logies like she seemed to think had happened—who the fuck would want it?—but that she was starting to spiral again. It had been a while since she'd last had an episode, but there had been enough over the years that Ambrose knew the signs. The last one had ended with a week's involuntary stay at the acute mental health unit at St. Vincent's Hospital. Mum had since twisted the whole thing into some sort of spa stay, as though she'd been at some swanky resort to detox and reset her chakras or some bullshit. Her memory of events was as malleable as her perception of the present, and Bella Newman always came out smelling of roses. Ambrose didn't hate her for it, but it frustrated him. She loved living in her fantasy world where everything was a million times better than reality, but he was the one who had to keep things rolling in the real world, wasn't he?

He chewed at his thumbnail anxiously and tried to think of something else.

Something apart from his throbbing bladder.

He loved his mum, he did. He just got the feeling that most people didn't have to remind themselves of that at least a dozen times a day.

He resisted the urge to turn around and look at Liam, the one person who knew he wasn't a total arsehole. After fobbing his mum off, he thought that he kind of needed that right now, that one person. But he didn't turn and look, because he wasn't certain his bladder could handle the pressure, and mostly because he wasn't sure if Liam really did think he was sort of an okay human being. He hadn't been happy about the Orhan thing. Ambrose hadn't liked it either, but he'd still done it, hadn't he? And he didn't like what that said about him. This whole professional dickhead thing was supposed to make him look bad, not hurt anyone else. There wasn't supposed to be collateral damage.

"Um," he said, sounding more uncertain than he intended. "Can we stop? I really need to pee."

Orhan cut him a look, then checked the mirrors and pulled over at the side of the road.

It was pissing down rain, but clearly Ambrose had used up all of Orhan's goodwill, and this was the best he was going to get. He opened the door and stepped down into the mud at the side of the road. Then he darted for the nearest tree, squelching through more mud to get there.

He unzipped and pissed as quickly as he could, groaning with relief even as first his hair, then his shirt, was plastered to his skin with rain.

"Please don't drive away," he muttered to himself. "Please don't drive away."

He was incredibly relieved to see the HiLux was still there when he'd finished. He squelched over to it and squeaked as he slid back into the leather seat. A rivulet of water ran down the back of his neck, and he tried not to shiver.

Orhan flicked the air conditioning to a slightly warmer setting, and they continued on their way.

The sat-nav screen said they were still fifty-six kilometres away from Pokolbin, which Ambrose presumed was their destination. Apart from the rain, the countryside was beautiful. Okay, so the rain was beautiful too—it made everything look soft and dreamy like a Frederick McCubbin painting—but Ambrose would have liked it more if none of it had ended up in his arse crack where it was currently squishing around in there like it was developing its own ecosystem .

"Does anyone have a towel?" he asked, pushing more confidence into his voice than he felt.

A cloth nappy landed on his head.

"Thanks." Ambrose supposed he should be grateful that it was clean. He scrubbed it through his hair, then around the back of his neck, then, twisting awkwardly in his seat, as far as he could down the back of his jeans. "Great weather for ducks."

"Great weather for fucks ," Bridget muttered.

Liam said something too low for Ambrose to hear, but he hoped he was telling Bridget to lay off. Yeah, Ambrose was a dick—that's what Liam was paying for—but it was a lot easier being a dick in a restaurant with both a front entrance and a back door out the kitchen than it was trapped in a moving vehicle with some very pissed-off people. Ambrose really should have put more thought into a game plan for this weekend, except he hadn't bothered because usually by the time the consequences of his actions were becoming apparent, he was already making his escape.

And he liked Bridget and Orhan. And they'd liked him too. For the first time since starting Bad Boyfriend Inc, Ambrose wasn't enjoying it. He'd stick to single dates from now on, he decided, because something told him this weekend was going to be a nightmare, and not just for the horrified Connellys.

Balian let out a tired wail, and Bridget sighed. "He's had enough of being in the car."

Ambrose could relate. He stared out the window as they drove, glancing every now and then at the screen of the sat-nav as it counted down the kilometres until their arrival.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been outside of Sydney. Primary school trip to Canberra, maybe? The scenery really was breath-taking. The last time he'd seen this many trees, it had been on TV. He was a city boy, through and through. His hands plucked nervously at the fabric of the now-damp nappy, and he found himself folding and unfolding it until he forced himself to stop and rest his hands in his lap. The irony of the radio playing April Sun in Cuba while it pissed down outside wasn't lost on him.

He cleared his throat. "So, Orhan, should I really be worried about Grandad Billy and his winery tour?"

It was the right thing to say. Bridget snickered. "It's no good asking him," she said. "He barely knew his own name by the end of it."

"She's not wrong," Orhan said, the corners of his mouth ticking up into something like a smile. "It was all try a little of this , and oh, that's a nice drop, we'll have another glass , and you wouldn't spit out my life's work, would you now? And the next thing I knew Bridget and Will were carrying me up the porch steps, and Billy was laughing his arse off while I tried not to be sick in the pot plants. I'm pretty sure he did it on purpose."

"Oh, he definitely did it on purpose," Liam said, and Ambrose warmed at the sound of his voice, glad to have someone in his corner. "Grandad Billy thinks it's hilarious, getting visitors tipsy."

"Tipsy?" Bridget snorted. "Try absolutely smashed. And then the next morning he plays all concerned and offers you a Panadol and a cup of tea, like he wasn't the one there with the bottle of semi-sav practically pouring it down your neck. He's a menace, but we love him for it."

"And he is genuinely proud of his wines," Liam said. "Just resign yourself to at least one hangover, okay?"

"And do your best not to say anything too stupid while you're drunk," Orhan added, with a raised eyebrow that suggested Ambrose wasn't quite forgiven, not yet .

"Yeah, I deserved that. Listen, can we chalk it up to nerves and pretend I wasn't a colossal wanker earlier?"

Orhan sighed. "I suppose. But only because Liam likes you, and God knows it's been long enough between dates that he can hardly afford to be picky."

"Hey!" Liam sputtered.

"It's true. Someone forgot to tell Liam that he's supposed to be having fun in the big city, and his idea of a wild time is getting the two-for-one deal from Domino's on a Tuesday night," Bridget said with a laugh.

The baby giggled along with her, and the tension in the air eased enough that Ambrose felt like he could take a breath. "Well, lucky for me then, because it means I get to date someone pretty great," he said.

"Aaaw," Bridget said, "someone finally appreciates you, Li."

"I mean, look at him," Ambrose said. "He's a cutie."

Liam was cute. He was tall and lanky and had pale skin and messy brown hair and brown eyes, and nothing about him was extraordinary, but somehow, when you put it all together, it made up a completely endearing guy. Maybe it was the shy smile, or maybe it was the dimples, or maybe it was the way he flushed pink when he was embarrassed, but whatever it was, Ambrose definitely found him attractive. Not that he was thinking about that right now, because it didn't matter if he found Liam cute or not, because they weren't actually dating.

Liam was a client. Ambrose wasn't here to think about the way Liam's face lit up when he laughed or the way his smile dug dimples into his cheeks, and he definitely wasn't here to speculate about Liam's cute arse. He was here to be a bad boyfriend. He took a deep breath and sighed.

Balian gurgled happily and let out a fart far too big for the size of him. Moments later, he made a low, grunting sound, and Ambrose's senses were forcibly assaulted by the fragrant stench of fresh baby poo.

Bridget let out a groan. "Really, Balian? You couldn't wait ten minutes and make this Grandma's problem?"

Liam gasped dramatically and mimed choking. "Jesus, that's rank! What do you feed him?"

"Hush, you, you were worse. What came out of your arse as a baby could peel the paint off a wall."

Well, Ambrose supposed that was one way to stop him thinking of Liam's arse in a sexy way. He turned in his seat and offered the damp, folded nappy square. "I guess you've probably got another one, but, wiping?"

Bridget shook her head. "It's fine. Orhan, love, can you pull over somewhere, and I'll change this little monster?"

The little monster in question cooed and farted again, and it had a distinctly liquid sound to it. The smell got eye-wateringly worse somehow, and Liam cracked his window, heedless of the rain. He screwed up his nose at Ambrose, and Ambrose wrinkled his back, and they shared a smile of commiseration. "I think I should put this out there right away, Liam. We're never having kids," Ambrose said.

Liam's face got beet red, and his mouth opened and closed for a minute, until finally it snapped shut without him saying a word.

Oh , Ambrose thought, he wants kids. He hadn't embarrassed Liam by making the joke—it wasn't even a blip on the Ambrose Is Offensive radar—he'd embarrassed him by accidentally homing in on something that was incredibly personal to him. Liam Connelly wanted kids, and Ambrose's chest flooded with warmth, because imagining Liam holding a baby was not only hot as hell for some weird reason, it also felt right. Liam was a great guy. He'd be a great dad too. And a great partner, for the guy lucky enough to snag him .

Orhan pulled over, and Bridget unfastened the straps of Balian's seat so she could wrestle him out of his tiny jeans. Then she got to work wiping, while Ambrose tried really hard not to smell whatever was going on back there.

"Need a hand?" Orhan asked.

"Nah, I got it," Bridget said. "You can get the next blowout. I think it's leaked onto his sock."

"What, he does this regularly?" Ambrose asked, halfway between fascinated and horrified.

"We started off with disposable nappies," Bridget said. "Then we thought, fuck it, we want there to still be a planet when he grows up, right? We're still getting the hang of cloth nappies. There have been some leakage issues. I blame Orhan for folding them wrong."

"And I accept that blame," Orhan said, "because I am afraid for my personal safety if I don't."

Yeah, his words said he was afraid for his personal safety, but the warm smile as he watched his wife change their son said the total opposite. Ambrose wondered if his mum had ever changed a leaky nappy, and if she'd sounded fond while she did it. He doubted it. There wasn't anyone to sound fond with —Ambrose's dad, whoever he was (and hadn't the tabloids had fun with that question?) hadn't stuck around any longer than Mum's Gold Logie prospects. Neither had Isadora's before him.

It had been tough for her. Ambrose knew this, because his mum had told him repeatedly, " Not that I resent you, but my career never recovered ." Ambrose wondered sometimes if it might have been different if he'd had a dad around, but he normally tried not to think too hard about it, because it was frankly depressing thinking about what he might have missed out on. Anyway, there were lots of families with one parent, and they did just fine.

Of course that parent wasn't normally a borderline alcoholic with a history of drug abuse and recurring mental health issues. He loved his mum, he reminded himself again, he just wished that she'd been there for him when he was growing up in a way that other kids' mums all seemed to be—at least from where Ambrose had been standing, watching those kids jealously. It was no good having your mum on the cover of Woman's Day if she didn't bother turning up to the sports carnival. Or if you had to beg your older sister to show you how to make your lunch for school, when she barely knew how herself.

By the time he was eight, Ambrose could make a mean Vegemite sandwich.

He watched as Bridget wrestled the offending nappy into a nappy sack, tied the top, then pinned the new one in place. Balian didn't seem to mind being shuffled around in the back seat of a four-wheel-drive, sucking on his fingers contentedly. He really was the chillest kid ever, and Ambrose found himself wondering what it would be like to hold him.

"Okay," Bridget said, settling Balian back in his seat and snapping the complicated-looking belt shut. "Let's get this circus back on the road." And because she obviously hadn't quite forgiven him, she held out the nappy bag to Ambrose. "Hold that."

And Ambrose, who really did fear for his physical safety where Bridget was concerned, took it without protest. For the rest of the drive, it sat on his lap, warm and disgusting, a tiny toxic time bomb, while Orhan glanced across and grinned widely.

Luckily it wasn't far to their destination, and soon enough Orhan was pulling off the road and into a deep dip. They splashed through it and up onto a wide, sweeping driveway that looked like it belonged on the set of Gone with the Wind apart from all the gum trees. And the lack of a civil war. Ambrose's jaw dropped as they drove up to the house and he took in the wide verandas, the perfectly tended rose bushes, and sheer size of the place.

Orhan parked as close to the porch as he could and got out of the car. He hurried around to help Bridget get Balian out in the rain. Ambrose steeled himself and followed, heading for the back, where Liam was lifting bags out of the boot.

"Well, this is it. Connelly Estate," Liam said, like there wasn't a carved wooden sign saying exactly that right there in front of them. He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, almost like he was nervous. Or maybe he was just chasing away the rain. Ambrose couldn't be sure.

"Um," Ambrose managed, still trying to take in the fact that his not-boyfriend's family lived in what was basically a mansion. Or a stately home, at the very least. He wondered if he'd be expected to leave his shoes at the door. Then he wondered if he should leave them on, and start his Annoying Ambrose routine early.

He didn't get a chance to decide because the front door swung open, and Grandad Billy was standing there, rubbing his hands together. "Would you look at the lot of you, standing there? Do you not have the good sense to come in out of the rain?" he said, beaming at them.

"Now, Dad, let them catch a breath," Fi said, bustling out from behind him. Then, heedless of the rain, she darted out to the car to lift Balian from Bridget's arms. "Oh, here he is! Here's my little darling!"

"We won't see him again until we leave," Bridget said, as Fi bustled back to the cover of the veranda with Balian, but she didn't look too upset by the idea.

She grabbed the baby bag from the back seat and followed her mother inside, and Orhan and Liam took the rest of the luggage between them while Ambrose pushed down his natural urge to offer to help. Instead he wandered up onto the porch and left the bag with the baby bomb on one of the bench seats there, stuck his hands in his pockets and proclaimed, "I'm hungry."

Grandad Billy raised his eyebrows. Ambrose shuffled his feet and fixed his gaze on the ground, channelling the surly fourteen-year-old he'd once been. So he didn't see it coming and nearly leapt a foot in the air when a meaty hand clapped him on the back, knocking the wind out of him. "A man after my own heart!" Grandad exclaimed. "Come inside, and we'll find you something. How do you feel about cheese?"

"Oh," said Ambrose. "Ambivalent?"

"Oh, a challenge!" Grandad Billy exclaimed. "Come on, son, I'm going to change your mind on that!"

And he shepherded Ambrose, still dripping, into the house.