From the Ashes

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Nope. Do you want to go out somewhere?’

  ‘Tonight?’

  Johnny nodded.

  Pauline looked at his handsome face, clever brown eyes and his lovely white teeth, and hesitated. She’d not bathed since the morning, it had been a hectic day and she wasn’t feeling particularly fresh. With Butch it wouldn’t have mattered, but now it did. ‘Thanks, but I should really get home. It’s been a long day.’

  ‘Tomorrow night, then?’ Johnny persisted. ‘There’s a new band on at the MCC.’

  ‘The . . . Oh, the Maori Community Centre?’

  ‘Yeah. The music’s usually pretty good and there’s plenty of dancing. Rock and roll and swing, not old people’s stuff.’

  ‘That would be lovely, thank you.’

  Johnny made a face. ‘’Cept I haven’t got any wheels. But I can get the tram or bus and come and meet you. Where do you live?’

  ‘Orakei.’

  ‘Jeez. Way over there?’ Then he shrugged. ‘Never mind. Be an adventure, eh?’

  Especially if you knock on the door and Mum or Dad opens it, Pauline thought. ‘Do you know Orakei at all?’

  ‘I’ve been to Mission Bay. That’s somewhere near Orakei, isn’t it?’

  ‘More or less. You’d have to catch, ah, where do you live?’

  ‘Ponsonby.’

  ‘You’d have to catch either the Ponsonby tram into town to the railway station, then a bus along the waterfront across to Coates Ave at Orakei, or a couple of trams from Ponsonby to Newmarket along Remuera Road and Victoria Ave, then a bus across to Orakei that way.’

  ‘Isn’t there a tram that goes the whole way?’ Johnny looked a bit confused.

  ‘No, worse luck.’

  ‘At home we just got on a horse and rode everywhere.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Pauline said, trying not to laugh. He was so cute.

  ‘See, this is why I need a motorbike.’

  ‘You could take me home tonight and then you’d know what to do.’

  Johnny’s face lit up. ‘See, I was right! The first time I saw you I said to myself, that girl’s not just really pretty, I bet she’s brainy as well, even if she is hanging round with a cave man.’

  Feeling ridiculously flattered and happy, Pauline slipped her arm through Johnny’s as they took their coffees and wandered off down Fort Street.

  *

  Polly watched James’s rear view as he washed himself at the hand basin. His pale buttocks were a little saggy and he was fairly solid around the middle, but overall he was certainly still handsome and distinguished-looking, and not in bad nick for a white man of sixty-seven. He’d reminded her of his age before he’d even taken off his clothes, making excuses in advance, she suspected, of what she’d expected would be a lacklustre root. Which happened quite a lot, and she’d always found it odd, because it was her that was supposed to be providing the pleasurable experience, not the customer. As it turned out James Murdoch could still manage quite well in the sack. Not that she cared as long as he, along with all her other customers, paid up.

  She lay on the bed, naked and smoking a cigarette, as he splashed away getting rid of all traces of her before he went back to his wife. She took a deep, calming breath because she was actually quite nervous. She hadn’t thought she would be, but she was. If she didn’t do it now she probably never would.

  ‘So what brings you to Auckland?’

  ‘Lucy wanted to do some shopping,’ James said over his shoulder. ‘And we both wanted to see Kathleen and Jonathan’s new house. They were down just before Christmas and Kathleen made such a to-do over what a palace it is we thought we’d come and see it for ourselves.’

  Polly recalled that Lucy was his wife’s name. ‘Who’s Kathleen again?’

  ‘Our daughter.’ James reached for a towel. ‘She was in that fashion event last night, with our granddaughter. That’s why we were there. Obviously. I wouldn’t go to something like that otherwise.’

  ‘Your daughter’s Mrs Lawson?’ That was a bit of a shock.

  ‘You know her? God, you’re not friends, are you?’

  ‘Well, that’s not very likely, is it?’ Polly said.

  Bloody Kathleen Lawson had pissed her off and she made an effort to keep the anger out of her voice. It made things easier, though. She sat up, pulled on her pants and hooked herself into her bra, and watched while James fussed about getting dressed.

  First a pair of pristinely white Y-fronts, into which he tucked a matching sleeveless vest, followed by a white shirt, charcoal trousers, black socks and shoes, a blue and grey-checked blazer, and a dark tie. He’d always been a smart dresser. Then he combed his greying hair in the mirror and, once satisfied, turned and said, ‘That was delightful, Polly. How much do I owe you? I trust your tariff hasn’t risen too much since I was last here?’

  She told him and he happily handed over the fee, forty percent of which, of course, Flora would get. ‘There’s something I need to talk to you about, James.’

  ‘What’s that?’ he said, looking round for his hat.

  ‘You mentioned the last time you were here.’

  James spotted his hat on a chair near the door. ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Well, you left me with something a little unexpected.’

  James froze. ‘Not . . . not an infection of some sort, I hope? Because I certainly wouldn’t have given it to you.’

  ‘No. Something a bit more permanent.’

  Polly watched as James’s face went as white as milk.

  ‘Not . . . a pregnancy?’

  Polly nodded.

  James looked utterly dumbfounded. Then he blustered, ‘How do you know I was responsible? You must go with dozens of men.’

  ‘I do, but at the time you were the only one who insisted on not using a Durex.’

  James sat down on his hat. ‘I never use those things. I thought you were taking care of all that. You’re the one providing the service.’

  Polly shrugged. ‘Something went wrong.’

  ‘What did you do about it?’

  ‘I had her. She’s just turned three.’

  James was silent for quite a long time. ‘Well, what do you want me to do about it? I already have a family. Including grandchildren, I might add.’

  ‘She’d appreciate some financial assistance. You’re her father. You’ve got plenty of money.’

  ‘Oh, so that’s what this is about, is it?’

  ‘More or less.’

  ‘Well, you won’t get a penny out of me.’ James stood and retrieved his flattened hat. ‘I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a prostitute.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t have,’ Polly said. ‘But maybe Lucy would like to contribute something towards your daughter’s upkeep.’

  ‘You bitch.’

  ‘I’m just thinking about my child’s welfare.’

  ‘You’re thinking about lining your own pockets,’ James barked.

  No, I’m not, Polly thought. I’m really not.

  James opened his wallet again. ‘How much do you want?’

  ‘Nothing now. I’d like you to send a cheque for fifty pounds to the Queen Street branch of the Bank of New Zealand, to be deposited in the account of Gina Manaia. You were a banker; you’ll know all about how to do that.’

  ‘Why don’t I just give you fifty pounds now?’

  ‘Because I want you to do it every month.’

  ‘Every month! That’s six hundred pounds a year!’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘This is extortion!’

  Polly didn’t respond.

  He glared at her, then wrenched open the door and marched out, leaving her sitting on the bed.

  She lit another cigarette. She didn’t feel as victorious as she thought she might, but she’d achieved what she wanted — more money and therefore more security for Gina. Well, if things went to plan she had.

  *

  Dr Hill’s private rooms were very nice, and Kathleen was extremely grateful she and Terence didn’t have to
see him at a public hospital. The address was a grand old house on Princes Street that had been beautifully decorated with old-style furniture, the sort really wealthy people had, and which made her feel at home. The doctor himself was quite grand, with greying hair and a beard, tortoiseshell spectacles and a calm demeanour that inspired confidence. His fee was outrageous, though. She hoped it would be worth it.

  She spoke to him first without Terence, which she thought was a good idea. He’d moved from behind his desk to sit in a chair opposite her and crossed his legs (revealing a pair of rather loud pink and green argyle socks), while she’d told him about the fashion parade business and the awful incident on the night of the drinks party.

  ‘And how would you describe your son, in general?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d say he’s a fairly normal little boy.’

  Dr Hill’s eyebrows went up. ‘Who dresses in your clothes and has tried to hang himself?’

  ‘Well, apart from that, yes.’

  ‘Prone to tantrums or histrionics?’

  ‘Well, sometimes.’

  ‘Does he prefer to get his own way?’

  Kathleen sighed. ‘Yes, but doesn’t every little boy?’

  ‘Not necessarily. Would you say he is sensitive?’

  ‘Concerning some things, but he can be quite tough too.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Dr Hill wrote something on his notepad. ‘And are things harmonious in the home?’

  ‘Oh yes. My husband, Captain Jonathan Lawson — he flies for NAC, you know, and is ex-RAF — is away a lot, but apart from that, we’re very happy.’

  ‘And does Terence miss his father when he’s away?’

  ‘I think he does, yes.’

  ‘Are all your children at school?’

  ‘Terence and Geoffrey, my seven-year-old boy, are. Private, of course. Rosemary will be starting later this year.’

  ‘And do you work, Mrs Lawson?’

  Kathleen gave a gay little laugh. ‘Hardly. I don’t need to, and of course I’m too busy with my charity work.’

  ‘So you have full responsibility for looking after the children?’

  ‘Well, no, I have a nanny.’

  Up went Dr Hill’s eyebrows again. Kathleen was starting to resent them.

  ‘And what are her duties?’

  What’s that got to do with anything? Kathleen thought. ‘She manages the children in the mornings and after school, and in the evenings, and does a lot of the meal preparation.’

  ‘She lives in?’

  ‘Yes, but she gets a lot of time off. And when she’s not there of course I look after the children and cook.’ Kathleen laughed again. ‘I’m not completely incapable.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not.’ Dr Hill flipped his notepad shut. ‘Thank you for that, Mrs Lawson. I think I’d like to talk to Terence now.’

  ‘Shall I fetch him?’

  ‘Yes please.’

  Kathleen brought Terence in. Dr Hill hadn’t moved from his seat and she wondered where she would sit if Terence took the vacant chair.

  The doctor said, ‘Hello, Terence. I’m Dr Hill. Please, have a seat.’

  Terence sat.

  Dr Hill said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Lawson.’

  It dawned on Kathleen that he was dismissing her. ‘Oh, no, I really think I should stay with Terence. He is only nine, after all.’

  ‘I realise that, Mrs Lawson. We shouldn’t be too long.’

  A prickle of dismay crept up Kathleen’s spine. What might Terence tell him? He could be such a little liar. She stared at her son for a moment, then patted his cheek and left the room, fumbling in her purse for her cigarettes.

  *

  ‘So,’ Dr Hill said, ‘is it Terence, Terry or something else?’

  ‘Terry. I hate Terence. I get bashed at school for being called Terence.’

  ‘Do you? That must be hard going.’ The doctor tapped his nose with his pen. ‘Tell me, if you could choose any name in the world, what might it be?’

  ‘Theresa.’

  ‘Really? Why’s that?’

  ‘It’s pretty.’

  ‘It is, very pretty. It’s a girl’s name, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Well, you’re a boy.’

  Terence just shrugged.

  ‘What would your mother and father do if you told them you wanted to be called Theresa?’

  ‘Dad would belt me.’

  ‘Would he? Does he do that quite a lot?’

  ‘Sometimes. Mostly when he’s been drinking.’

  ‘And is that often?’

  Terence kicked his heel against the leg of his chair. ‘Only when he’s at home. He says he doesn’t drink when he’s flying his plane.’

  Thank Christ for that, Dr Hill thought. ‘And what would your mother do if you told her you wanted to be called Theresa?’

  ‘Tell me to stop it, or to go to my room. Or pretend she didn’t hear me or go off and have one of her special drinks.’

  Dr Hill was silent for a moment. ‘Terry, do you like your mother and father?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Do you feel that they like you?’

  Another shrug. ‘They like Rosemary better.’

  ‘Is that why you wore your mother’s clothes? To be more like Rosemary?’

  ‘No. I just like them. They feel nice.’

  ‘Were you envious of Rosemary when she was chosen to be in the fashion parade with your mother?’

  A nod. ‘It wasn’t fair. I’m just as pretty as Rosemary. We even have the same hair.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Dr Hill took a minute to write some notes.

  ‘Are we finished?’ Terence asked.

  ‘No, not yet. I’d like to talk about your accident.’ The doctor eyed Terence for some sort of reaction, but there wasn’t one. Perhaps he’d deliberately erased his memory of such a traumatic event.

  Terence stared back at him, clearly puzzled.

  ‘Your attempt to hang yourself,’ Dr Hill prompted.

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘Do you know why you did it?’

  Yet another shrug.

  Dr Hill said nothing, and this time let the silence stretch on and on. Terence looked all round the room, then out the window, then finally said, ‘They were ignoring me.’

  ‘Your parents?’

  Terence nodded. ‘And Dad hit me when I put on Mum’s things.’

  ‘So you thought you’d punish them?’

  Terence nodded again, then said, ‘No. I don’t know. I just felt like I was going to blow up if I didn’t do something. So I did it.’

  ‘And you didn’t think about the effect it would have on your parents or your brother and sister?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Do you like Rosemary and Geoffrey?’

  ‘Not really. Rosemary’s a bitch.’

  Blinking, Dr Hill sat back, stared at Terence for a moment, then made some more notes. ‘That’s a very harsh thing to say. And believe.’

  ‘Well, maybe not a bitch but she’s a bit precious. She’s Mum’s favourite.’

  ‘Why do you think that might be?’

  Terence shrugged. ‘Probably because she’s a girl.’

  ‘Do you resent Rosemary appearing to be your mother’s favourite?’

  Another shrug.

  ‘Is there no one in your household you do really like?’ Dr Hill asked.

  ‘Evie’s all right.’

  ‘Who’s Evie?’

  ‘Our nanny.’

  ‘Tell me why you like her.’

  ‘Because she’s like a proper girl.’ Terence made a woman’s curves in the air with his hands. ‘I want to be like her when I grow up.’

  ‘And that’s the only reason?’

  ‘Well, also she doesn’t tell me off, and she listens to me.’

  ‘What do you say to her that she listens to?’

  ‘I tell her I want to be a girl.’

  ‘And what does she say to that?’

  ‘She says I’ll be what I’ll be. Bu
t if I tell Rosemary what I want she laughs, and Geoffrey bashes me even though he’s smaller than me, and so does Dad, and Mum just ignores me.’

  ‘Have you ever said anything about wanting to be a girl to anyone at school?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Dr Hill was really quite taken aback. He’d seen this in his practice before, of course, males suffering under the illusion that they were women born into the wrong biological bodies. There were certain treatments available — electroconvulsive therapy, and in extreme cases lobotomy, which could be applied with varying degrees of success — but he’d never seen it manifest in a patient so young. It was extraordinary, really. ‘The thing is, Terry, you obviously are a boy. Your mother says you have all the physical characteristics one would expect of a male child. Do you play sports?’

  ‘Sports?’

  ‘Yes, rugby or cricket or anything like that?’

  ‘No, I hate sports.’

  ‘Well, what do you enjoy?’

  ‘I like arts and crafts, and dancing.’

  Dr Hill suppressed a sigh. Mrs Lawson might have kept a negligently light hand on her son’s emotional development, but she’d still managed to indulge him. ‘I suggest you forget about the dancing classes and go in for some sort of sport. I recommend rugby in the winter, and something like cricket or swimming, or even rowing, in the summer. Very bracing, rowing.’

  ‘I don’t go to dancing classes. I’m not allowed.’

  Thank God for that, the doctor thought. ‘Well, try a sport. You’ll thank me for it.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  Dr Hill narrowed his eyes — cheeky little article, though he really was rather bright and quick off the mark for a nine-year-old. ‘I think that will probably do for today, don’t you?’

  ‘Do I have to come back?’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. I’ll discuss that with your mother.’

  As Terence stood Dr Hill offered his hand, but Terence walked straight past and out the door.

  Chapter Ten

  March 1956

  Donna crept up the stairs of the nurses’ home, shoes in hand, keeping close to the wall, trying to avoid the risers that creaked. She was pretty sure no one had seen her come in because it was so late, but you never knew who might still be up, wandering round like a ghost, making a cup of tea or pinching the biscuits.

  In her room she turned on the light, dumped her shoes and handbag on a chair and sat on the bed. It had been another exciting night. They’d had sex again — the fifth time now — this time in Cornwall Park, which had been very nervous-making. He hadn’t had the car because it was having work done on it so they’d caught a taxi to and from town, and there’d been nowhere else to go. His rooms were out of bounds to nurses and she couldn’t bring him back here, and with the car out of commission the park had been it. She glanced in the mirror. Oh God, she did have leaves in her hair.