Please Don't Leave Me Here by Tania Chandler

grass.
    â€˜Hey, Rosie, want a beer?’ Ryan says.
    â€˜You know I don’t drink beer, Ryan.’
    â€˜There’s a bottle of vegan wine in the fridge,’ Brigitte says.
    â€˜I’ll have a glass when the kids go to bed.’ Rosie puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head when she sees Georgia’s dirty face. ‘Georgia — bedtime.’
    â€˜I’m not tired, Mummy,’ Georgia says, pouting.
    â€˜Let her go a bit longer, Rosie,’ Ryan says.
    â€˜It’s nearly eight o’clock, Ryan.’
    â€˜We’re on holiday.’
    â€˜Georgia. Come now, please.’ Rosie glances at Brigitte. ‘You can do what you like with your kids, Brigitte, but Georgia has to go to bed now. Or she’ll be very grumpy in the morning, won’t you?’ She frowns at Georgia, grabs her hand, and drags her inside.
    â€˜Suppose I’d better put the twins to bed, too.’ Brigitte sighs.
    When the kids are asleep Rosie helps herself to a glass of wine, and Brigitte gets another beer.
    â€˜Wanna play doubles? Girls versus men,’ Ryan says as they come back outside.
    â€˜No, thanks. And we’re not girls, Ryan.’
    â€˜Sorry, Rosie. Women. ’ He ejects Paul Kelly and looks through the pile of CDs on the shelf next to the barbeque. ‘What do you want to listen to?’
    â€˜Foo Fighters,’ Sam says.
    â€˜Haven’t got it. Tom Waits, The White Stripes … Nick Cave — for Brigi.’ He puts on the CD, takes her hand, and they dance. Sam sits back on the couch, laughing, his feet up on the table.
    Rosie glares at Brigitte. ‘Why don’t you get up on the pool table? Just like the old days, Brigitte.’
    Brigitte freezes.
    â€˜Shut up, Rosie.’ Brigitte’s never heard Ryan speak like that to her before. They stop dancing. Sam stops laughing, and takes his feet off the table.
    â€˜Oh, that’s right. You don’t remember, do you?’ Rosie says.
    â€˜What’s she talking about, Ryan?’ Brigitte looks at him; he’s walking towards Rosie.
    â€˜Just don’t get on the wrong side of her when she’s angry, hey, Sam?’
    Brigitte looks at Sam, then back to Ryan.
    â€˜It’s amazing what some people can get away with.’
    â€˜I said shut up, Rosie.’ Ryan’s angry. He never gets angry.
    Rosie slams her glass on the table — the stem snaps — and she monsters off down the driveway.
    â€˜What was that about?’ Brigitte says, her heart pounding. What has Ryan told her?
    Ryan shrugs. ‘Rosie shouldn’t drink.’
    â€˜Want me to go after her?’ Sam says.
    â€˜No, let her go.’
    Brigitte and Sam clean up the broken glass without speaking, and Ryan turns up Nick Cave.
    ***
    Brigitte’s sitting on the porch couch in the morning sun — a cushion in the small of her back, her laptop on her knees, writing an article — when Sam comes out with his mobile in hand. She knows what he’s going to say before he says it.
    â€˜Sorry, babe. I have to go back.’
    She doesn’t look at him.
    â€˜We fucked up big time — arrested the wrong bloke.’
    So Finn and Phoebe will have another holiday without their dad. She’s learned a trick: if you tickle the roof of your mouth with your tongue, it stops the tears from reaching your eyes. A three-year-old at the twins’ kinder taught her that — how to be brave when something hurts.
    â€˜Sorry. You stay. And Ryan. No reason to ruin your holiday as well.’
    She keeps her eyes focused on the keyboard as Sam takes the twins’ child restraints out of the station wagon and fits them into Ryan’s car. He reluctantly agrees to give Rosie a lift back to Melbourne, kisses his family, and throws his bag on the back seat.
    Ryan’s on the couch, kids bouncing all over him, as Sam and Rosie drive off. ‘Don’t be too pissed off, Brigi.’
    She goes