by TL Dyer
That’s not a question I can easily answer, but I tell her that at first I thought he’d be angry, want nothing more to do with me, reject me. His marriage, his other children, depended on me going away and keeping quiet. Again, more legitimate reasons why I would be afraid to tell him. But then I admit that he approached me one day in the park soon after Jake was born, asking me if the baby was his and I denied it. He asked me several times, and I kept on lying until he left satisfied that his life remained intact.
‘I don’t know why,’ I say, before Jen can ask the question. ‘For all the same reasons, I suppose. Nothing had changed. It still would have been devastating for everyone. But then there was Mam too. Jake coming along was like a magic pill. She got better for a while, and I think maybe I was afraid of ruining that. Stupid, I know, but I was terrified the upset would set her back again.’
‘Not stupid, Sacha.’ She sighs softly and gets up from the chair to fetch a cup of water from the dispenser on top of one of the filing cabinets. I thank her when she passes it to me. ‘Tell me about your concerns. In what ways do you think this man is dangerous?’
This is where it gets difficult. Because as I say out loud the things that have been troubling me, the word dangerous sounds laughable. Instead, peculiar would be a better term. Turning up at my place of work without forewarning. Redecorating his dead son’s room for the other son he’s only just learned about. Picking him up from school without my permission. The strange manner he has of talking like he’s in charge and I’m the child. None of these things suggest danger, he hasn’t hurt either of us, he’s just acted in a way that’s not conducive to what we’d perceive as neurotypical. So what? That isn’t a crime.
What is a crime though is that he abused his wife and assaulted his son. I tell Jen this, but she rightly points out that my knowledge of this is second-hand, my source not thoroughly trustworthy. And while its truth would certainly legitimise the claim that he’s dangerous – or, at the very least, troubled – I would need proof for it to have any bearing in a legal sense. Either a conviction or first-hand witness testimony.
‘I’m not aware of any convictions,’ I say. ‘And much as I’d really, really like to, I’m not in a position to go digging.’
‘Of course not.’
‘His son has since passed away, and as for his wife, I don’t know where she is, at least not precisely. And his daughter, she wouldn’t testify against him. I’m almost certain of that. She has a love-hate relationship with him, I suppose you’d call it, but she’d defend him if she had to.’
Jen pours herself a water, then returns to her chair, nudging her glasses up her nose with her knuckle. ‘Alright. So here’s where you currently stand should this matter proceed to court. More likely you’ll be starting with a contact order. Meaning you retain primary custody of Jake, but his father would have contact with him on particular days or weekends. The McDonalds-Dad type of thing. You’d be invited to attend a mediation meeting to see if you could come to the arrangements yourselves. If you can’t, then that’ll be the judge’s job, depending on lots of factors, including the father’s commitment to his son and any attachment they’ve already formed.’
‘And what if he hasn’t had time to form an attachment? He’s had nothing to do with him until now.’
Jen pins her lips together and winces as she shakes her head between a yes and no. ‘For reasons beyond his control, though. He questioned you about the possibility Jake was his. He showed willing to take on that responsibility. If he wasn’t prepared to be involved in his life, he never would have come to you.’
‘So he could use that against me.’
‘He could use it to build a case in his favour.’
‘And my erratic work hours; those could go against me too, right?’
‘The judge would be fair, Sacha. So long as your relationship with Jake is healthy and you have a system in place that ensures his welfare is safeguarded, then he won’t hold your career against you.’
I nod and drop back in the seat, feeling no less excited at the prospect of what might lie ahead, but reassured there’d be some hoops for Darren to jump through first before any custody arrangements would be approved.
‘Between you and me, Sach,’ Jen says, lowering her voice and leaning forward to get my full attention. ‘If you believe this man could be a danger to Jake, or to you, I’d go looking for the proof. Then you’ve got all bases covered from a legal standpoint. He won’t get anywhere near Jake.’
‘And in the meantime? He wants to see him, he keeps asking when he can meet with him.’
‘You play it cool, for both your sake and Jake’s. Don’t make this a confrontation or do anything he could later use against you. Remember, a judge will only care about Jake and what’s best for him, not what’s best for you or the father. So maybe let this man know that if he wants to see his son, he has to do so under your supervision. Legally he’s not yet entitled to more than that. But that way you’re showing how reasonable you’re willing to be.’
‘Right.’ I nod, Jen’s clarity lifting the load from my shoulders.
‘But the second you feel threatened, Sacha…’ She picks up her pen and points it over the desk at me in a warning. ‘Well, you don’t need me to tell you what to do.’
‘I know. Thanks, Jen. This helps. It helps a lot.’
When I leave, I feel lighter than I have in days. The path through this may not be easy, but somehow I feel more secure within the legal boundaries Jen has clarified. Outside, the rain is thin but constant, and I tug up my hood as I return down the hill to town where I left the car, though for once I’m in no rush to go home. In the two months since I went to Ty Bryn and broke the news to Darren that would change everything, I’ve spent every waking moment either working or fretting over Jake and how to right my past wrongs. Friends have been messaging and I’ve brushed them off with excuses, putting all else on hold. Now the thought of seeing a friendly face feels like a luxury I’ve put off for too long.
I take my phone from my pocket, my finger hovering over Jared’s number. He was so good that day at Jake’s party, making an effort, getting along with everyone, even though a house full of kids must have been as far from his comfort zone as it’s possible to get. In the time since, though, I’ve barely seen him, only in passing when we’re both on shift at the same time and place. I tap out a message and send it. This way, if he’s working, he’ll at least know I haven’t forgotten about him. But less than twenty minutes later we’re sitting in a quiet corner of the indoor market cafe in town sharing a large tray of chips loaded with tomato ketchup and a couple of cans of Coke.
‘You bring me to the nicest places,’ he says, his mouth half full but a gleam in his eye that’s so refreshing I’d hug him if there wasn’t a table between us and if it wouldn’t mess with his head. Instead I poke a chip at a pool of sauce.
‘Hey, don’t mock it. You have no idea how much bliss I’m in right now. Just don’t tell Jake, will you?’
‘Tell him what?’ he says, with a wink that makes me smile. It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve done that and really meant it.
We finish the chips between us, talking about life, work, our shock over Smithy. His arrest and charge have set everyone on edge, afraid to speak or have an opinion in case it’s the wrong one, but saying nothing at all is just as difficult.
‘Hard to know what to think, mate.’ Jared turns the can on the table with his fingers. ‘Stay neutral is best, I suppose, until he’s found either guilty or innocent. Must be tough for your crew though.’
‘We’ve had better times. But the job goes on. Trust the system and all that.’
He raises his can and, as I do the same with mine to tap them together, his phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. ‘Sorry,’ he mutters. It’s the third time it’s gone off since we sat down. He checks the screen but returns it to his pocket without responding.
‘Listen, thanks for meeting, Jared, I really appreciate it.’
; He shrugs and drops his elbows on the table. ‘No bother.’
‘Yeah, but your day off. I didn’t expect you to drop everything for me or anything.’
‘I didn’t. I was already kicking around town, so…’
‘What, even when you’re not working?’
‘Pretty much.’ He chuckles. ‘Bit like you.’
‘Touché, Jarhead, touché. Suppose we just can’t keep away from the place.’
‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath as his phone buzzes a third time.
‘Mate, seriously, take it if you need to,’ I say, but as he checks the screen, he puffs out a sigh that pulls in his eyebrows.
‘It’s so ignorant, though. I hate when other people do this.’
‘Do what you have to. If you need to go…’
‘No. No. Two seconds, okay? I’m sorry.’
While he taps out a reply on the phone, I think about how good it is to see him. How no matter what’s going on at work or home, his ready smile has a way of making me feel better. He’s like a fleece blanket on a cool evening. Not exactly fireworks, but maybe I’ve been setting the bar too high if that’s what I’m expecting from a partner. Maybe having someone you can trust, rely on, and who has your back is a lot more than most people ever manage from a relationship. It’s not as if I don’t know how Jared feels about me. It’s written all over his face, it always has been. But that I’ve never encouraged him, or offered any suggestion that our friendship could be anything more, is what’s stopped him from acting on it. Any other idiot might have taken his chances, but Jared’s not an idiot. He respects his job, he respects himself, and he respects other people. Unless I make it obvious that’s what I want too, he won’t cross that line between us.
‘Really sorry, Sacha. Don’t mean to be a prick.’
‘Jared, you couldn’t be a prick if you tried. Is everything alright?’
‘Yeah, it’s…’ He drops the phone in his pocket, waves it off. But when he rubs his hand beneath the collar of his shirt, a soft flush rising to his cheeks, I make the connection that puts my wandering mind to shame.
‘Oh, I see. Well, she’s keen at least,’ I offer, wishing I hadn’t finished the Coke so I could use it as a distraction from my embarrassment.
‘Nah, it’s nothing serious. A family friend. Parents matchmaking, that kind of thing.’
‘But you like her, though?’ I ask, not convinced the disappointment I’m doing my best to hide is justified.
‘She’s alright.’
‘Alright?’
We both laugh as he shrugs. ‘Yeah. I don’t know what else to say.’
‘Well, hey, mate, I’m pleased for you. Alright is good. Better than, she’ll do.’
He ducks his head to rub his hand back and forth over his hair, and we move on from the conversation, finding something easier to talk about. But when it’s time for me to leave to get Jake from school, he hesitates outside the market as we’re about to part ways.
‘Listen, Sacha. You know you can call on me any time, right? For anything.’
The skin on his cheeks and neck is dark with his blushes, and he buries his hands in his jacket pockets like he doesn’t know where to put them. I could interpret his words in any number of ways. That maybe he senses there’s something wrong. Or that no matter who he’s with romantically he’s still a friend to me; perhaps even that I’d be his first choice if I gave him the chance. But whichever it is, just the way he looks at me, as if it’s really me he sees and not Sacha the mother, or Sacha the copper, or Sacha the temperamental daughter, Sacha the useless friend, Sacha the one who lied and betrayed and couldn’t be trusted, is enough for my throat to constrict, and the strain of the last few months threatens to consume me right here in the street. I hide it by taking a step towards him and briefly squeezing my arms around his shoulders before I hurry away.
Chapter 32
It’s still raining as I climb the front steps in the darkness to Ty Bryn. It hasn’t stopped all day. The front door opens with caution after I’ve rung the doorbell. But when he sees it’s me, Darren steps aside and beckons me as if we’re old friends.
To come here alone at this time of night I’ve had to lie to Dad. Shifts don’t start until late tomorrow, but I told him I had to go in for a few hours, and he didn’t question it. He was only too pleased to have Jake an extra night. He’s worried about me. Thinks I’m working too hard. If only that’s all it was.
Darren ushers me through to the sitting room, where he shuts the TV off and straightens the cushions on the sofa.
‘Here. Take a seat,’ he says, snatching up an empty shot glass from the coffee table. ‘Can I get you a tea or something?’
Bemused by his geniality, but keeping Jen’s sage words of advice in mind, I politely decline, tell him I won’t stop long. He perches on the other end of the corner sofa, the low glow from the floor lamp bringing warmth to the room and a softening of his eyes from grey to blue. Or maybe it’s just the still vivid purple bruise, the mark Shaun left on him, that brings out their colour.
He wears a pair of black denims and a plain white shirt hanging loose, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, top buttons undone, and while the years might be advancing on him, he still carries off that same confidence he always did. Of a man who knows who he is and what he wants. That alone gave him an appeal that none of the other boys our age back then could hope to emulate. But I remind myself, as I sit across from him feeling like an awkward teenager, who he really is behind this exterior, what his own daughter said he had done. This new information disturbs the memories of that night in his car, his hands on my bare skin, his touch so assured, in ways I’m not yet willing to think about.
‘I came here to establish some boundaries,’ I say, using the words I chose and rehearsed before I got here. ‘A timeline, if you like, of developing your relationship with Jake.’
His gaze and smile are unerring, with only the briefest of pauses before he acknowledges what I’ve said. ‘Alright. I see.’ He clasps his hands together as if he means to listen, but then leaps to his feet. ‘Oh, hey, why don’t we have a drink while we talk?’
He’s over at the sideboard at the far end of the room before I can respond. I tell him I’m fine, but he’s already taking out two fresh glasses and a near empty crystal decanter of amber liquid.
‘Go on, what were you saying?’ he says with his back to me. I hear the top being released, the glug of liquid as it hits first one glass then the other. ‘Something about boundaries. Carry on, I’m listening.’
‘Well, I just think…’ My gaze drifts to the fireplace, and I see Lauren, drunk on whisky, eyes filled with tears for the boy with the flower between his teeth broken in half. I see Craig’s hands shaking as, hunched over the porcelain figure, he very delicately glues it back together. I’d thought it was the drink that made them act that way, but now I’m seeing it as fear. A fear that for them was realised hours later while they listened to their father beat their mother for what they had done.
‘Here.’ Darren thrusts a glass of whisky in front of my face.
‘I’m driving,’ I say.
He lowers it to my hand. ‘One won’t hurt.’
I take it from him but hold it in both hands on my lap. This time he sits on the cushion beside me, and I feel his eyes watching, waiting for me to talk as he raises the glass to his mouth and takes several large swallows from it.
‘So what do you think?’ he asks, bringing the glass back down to his thigh. I turn to see what he means. ‘You were just about to say what you thought, but you didn’t go on.’
He looks at me with an earnestness that carries just a hint of amusement with it. Which is when I realise that the softness in his eyes and the warmth with which he greeted me are because this is not his first drink of the evening, nor probably his second. And maybe because of that, it’s put him in a teasing mood. He’s not scolding me like he might normally for saying or doing something he disagrees with, he’s playing with me. Here we are on
ce again in this game, the one he’s setting the rules to and that he’s certain he can win.
Remembering why I’m here, I inject authority into my words, let him know who holds the reins. ‘It’s in Jake’s best interests that we don’t rush this process.’
‘Of course.’
‘He needs time to get to know you as a person before he gets to know you as a dad.’
‘As his dad. Yes, everything’s always so much harder when you start halfway in and not from the beginning. But there’s no point going over that now. So yes, go on.’
The smell of the whisky is strong enough that I can almost taste it. The urge to lift it to my lips and knock it back in one is tempting. But I won’t give him that satisfaction. Instead I lean forward to lay the glass on the coffee table.
‘He’s about to have a big disruption in his life with his grandfather moving away. It could be very upsetting for him if I don’t handle it the right way. I need to be absolutely certain that nothing else derails him while he’s vulnerable.’
‘Well, technically nothing is an absolute certainty, but yes, I couldn’t agree more. And of course we’ve already spoken about your poor timing. But do you know what I was thinking about, Sacha? Just today actually.’ He taps the bottom of his glass on his knee, glancing from it to me with a gleam in his eye and a smile curving his lips. ‘Do you remember that time when Craig came off his bike? Twisted his wrist, tore all the skin off his hands and knees, blood pouring down his legs. Do you remember that?’
We were twelve or thirteen, here outside the house. His foot got caught in the front spokes as he was tearing down the hill and he flipped over the top of the handlebars. Would have been his head taking the brunt of it if he hadn’t saved his fall with his hands.
‘You took such good care of him, Sacha. His mother told me when I got home from work how she found you in the kitchen, cleaning him up, bandaging his wrist. Making him hot, sweet tea for the shock.’