by Kris Webb
Robert looked sad. ‘She told me bits, but not the whole story. I don’t know, we never seemed to talk about that kind of stuff.’
‘Well, Thomas flew back to the UK with his wife and Anita found out she was pregnant a few days later.’
‘Did she ever tell him about Jack?’
I nodded again. ‘She sent him a letter. He sent one back with a cheque for five thousand pounds saying he didn’t want to be involved.’
‘God, what a wanker!’
‘Yeah – Anita was really hurt. Although I think once she got over the rejection, she realised that she was probably better off without him.’
‘But there was never anyone else?’
I shook my head. ‘Not that she ever told me about. I think her job and Jack kept her pretty busy. And I guess not a lot of guys want to jump into a relationship with someone with a small child.’
I tried not to think about the consequences for my own love life.
‘So does that mean this Thomas Driscoll doesn’t have any claim over Jack now?’
‘I really don’t know,’ I answered, slightly embarrassed. People frequently assumed, not unreasonably, that I had some knowledge of practical legal matters. Unfortunately, as a lawyer who had spent her whole career focused on the dealings of huge companies, my knowledge of anything useful was rather sketchy.
Had one of my friends asked me how to list a company on the stock exchange, I’d have been just the girl. But somehow none of them ever seemed to be in need of that kind of information.
‘Um, I think as he’s had nothing to do with Jack, it would be pretty unlikely that he would just step in now – assuming he wanted to,’ I answered. ‘But he is Jack’s father so I guess he needs to be notified.’
How someone could not even want to see his child defied understanding. I felt a fresh wave of anger for the man who had hurt Anita so badly and abandoned Jack.
‘My lawyer in London did Anita’s will, so I can see if he knows what we need to do,’ Robert suggested.
‘Okay – and I’ll find someone at work who can tell me what we have to do this end. So it was you who arranged for Anita to have her will done?’ I asked.
To Robert’s frustration, organisation had never been Anita’s strong point. I remembered her telling me that he’d given her an electronic diary one Christmas. She’d tried it briefly and then returned to her old system of an envelope full of phone numbers written on scraps of paper. So the fact that she’d managed to do a will had seemed out of character.
Robert nodded. ‘When I went to Italy just after Jack was born, I talked to her about it. I’m sure she only did it to shut me up.’ He paused. ‘The other thing I did was make her take out life insurance. I think there will be about $300,000. Some of it is to be kept in trust for Jack and the rest is to be used for looking after him and his education.’
‘That’s good news,’ I said without a lot of enthusiasm.
I hadn’t even thought about how I was going to afford to look after Jack. This whole thing had happened so suddenly, I still hadn’t got my head around it.
It sounded like a lot of money, but I was sure Jack would rather have his mum around. I knew I certainly would.
Jack had obviously grown bored of eating and started lunging forward against the chest straps of the stroller.
I tore off a piece of paper towel and gave his hands a halfhearted wipe. Reluctantly I lifted him out of the stroller. He immediately walked over to the only pot plant I’d managed to keep alive for longer than a week and started tearing off the leaves, systematically working his way upward. I was pretty sure it wasn’t poisonous and figured if it made him happy for a little while, it was worth the sacrifice. Happiness was in short supply in his life at the moment.
Robert obviously agreed with me as he just raised his eyebrows and continued. ‘She wrote you a letter as well, although I don’t think she ever believed you’d see it.’
Robert handed me an envelope. My name was scrawled across the front in Anita’s familiar writing. I stared at it for a couple of seconds then slipped it into the back pocket of my jeans.
I took a deep breath. ‘I still don’t really understand why Anita made me Jack’s guardian. I mean, what about your family? Or one of her friends in Italy?’ As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew they sounded terrible but I also knew we were way past being polite. This was my life, and Jack’s, we were talking about here.
To my relief, Robert didn’t look offended, just sad. ‘There’s not much family to talk of really.’
I winced inwardly. Anita and Robert’s parents had been a lot older than mine and had both died – their father when they were children and their mother only a few years ago. A reminder of how little family Robert had left was the last thing he needed. But if his thoughts had followed mine, he gave no sign.
‘The only relative we . . .’ He paused for a moment and corrected himself. ‘. . . I keep in contact with – is Carla, Mum’s younger sister. She runs a shop over in Paddington, but she never had any kids and must be at least sixty-five.’
I remembered Anita mentioning an exciting aunt who used to bring them back presents from exotic places. She didn’t sound like the kind of person who would want to take on a toddler.
‘And that’s it?’ I felt as though the walls were closing in on me. I glanced at Jack, relieved to see he was still engrossed in destroying my plant.
‘Pretty much. Anita probably told you that Dad had a big falling-out with his family years ago, so we never really knew them. Other than that, there’s just me.’
‘And what about you?’ It was the question that had been going over and over in my mind for the last two days.
The look on Robert’s face confirmed my fears, but I kept talking. ‘Look, I don’t think I can do this by myself.’ My words tumbled over each other. ‘Maybe Jack should be with you, not me. You’re his uncle, for God’s sake – I’m just a friend. I could understand it if I had kids of my own or something, but I know absolutely nothing about bringing up a child. I work eighteen-hour days and have no idea how I’m going to manage Jack as well. It’s pretty obvious Anita didn’t think all this through properly because she just didn’t think it would ever happen. Or maybe she assumed that by the time anything happened to her I’d have my own family. She can’t possibly have contemplated this situation.’
I looked again at Jack, who was now pulling the dirt out of the pot. A stab of guilt hit me but I ignored it, trying to tell myself that Anita wouldn’t have wanted Jack to be part of the life I currently lived.
Robert’s eyes didn’t quite meet mine. ‘Julia, you don’t understand. My life is in London. I have a flat that doesn’t even have a spare room. Jack just wouldn’t fit.’
My eyes widened. ‘Does this place look like a childcare centre to you? C’mon, Robert, that’s not an excuse.’
‘Julia . . . I just can’t take Jack. I can help you – take him on holidays to give you a break but . . .’
There it was. Confirmation that I really was on my own. Robert had been my last hope but he couldn’t be much clearer than that. I swallowed my reply. The things I wanted to say to him weren’t going to help the situation and the last thing we both needed was an argument.
‘There’s something else,’ he said. From his tone, this wasn’t going to be good news. ‘Anita’s funeral is on Thursday. She’s being buried in Rome.’
The funeral. Strangely, thinking about that made her death seem more real than her son’s arrival on my doorstep.
‘She’s being buried in Italy?’
‘It was her home,’ Robert said simply. ‘I really want to be there. And there are lots of things that need to be sorted out. But it means leaving tomorrow morning.’
I tried to be charitable and think about the situation from his point of view, but it wasn’t easy.
Although I was certain he was as devastated as I was, Robert had kept it together enough to deal with everything to get Jack out here. He’d just endured
a long flight with a terrified nephew he hardly knew and now here I was harassing him. But I knew if we didn’t have this conversation now, we never would.
‘Will you come back?’
‘After I sort out Anita’s affairs, I’ll go to London and deal with some business that I just can’t ignore. I’ll come back again in a few weeks. I can help you out for a while. How does that sound?’ He looked as though he was trying to convince us both he was doing the right thing.
It sounds ratshit! I wanted to scream. Don’t leave me here all alone. I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m terrified I’m going to get it all wrong.
But something, possibly pride, forced me to nod. ‘That sounds fine.’ I tried unsuccessfully to speak with conviction. ‘It’s not like you’re an expert anyway.’ I tried to smile, remembering the lollipops.
I turned my head to the side, rubbing my hand across my eyes. When I opened them I saw Jack looking at us, a very dirty thumb in mouth.
Anita was dead. She wanted me to bring up her son. So I would. It was that simple.
‘Right, there we are then.’
I looked back at Robert, whose face was tight with fatigue.
‘You must be exhausted. Patrick should be gone by now – why don’t you go and have a sleep on his bed?’
Robert shook his head briefly. ‘I said I’d go and see Carla when I got in. She loved Anita – saw something of herself in her, I think. Anyway, seeing her for the first time since – well, since the accident, isn’t going to be great so I want to get it out of the way.’
Looking like a man on his way to the gallows, he picked his bag up and headed for the door. He turned around at the top of the steps.
‘Julia – thanks.’
I smiled faintly.
‘That’s okay. It will all work out.’
I just hoped I was right.
THREE
The reality of the situation hit me like a shower of icy water. This was it. I could no longer walk out the door and do whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. This noisy whirlwind of a child and his hideous toad were mine forever. I felt as though I was going to throw up.
I didn’t even have my parents to help me as they’d just left for a three-month tour of New Zealand. It was a trip they’d been saving for as long as I could remember, putting money aside each week. I hadn’t wanted my mum this badly since Amanda Jacobs stole my tuckshop money in year four, but I couldn’t ruin their holiday of a lifetime.
Patrick had told me I was mad, that they’d be livid when they returned. But I was determined not to tell them and made him promise not to as well. I knew if I did, there’d be no talking them out of coming home early to help me. They’d probably never have an opportunity to do this trip again, and besides, this was my problem, not theirs.
Mum was from Melbourne; her brother and his family still lived there but I hadn’t seen them in years. Dad was an only child and none of my grandparents were alive, so I was on my own. Except for Patrick, who was possibly more clueless than I was.
Squashing the panic rising in my chest, I looked at my watch and saw with disbelief that it was only eight-thirty. The whole day stretched ahead endlessly.
I pulled Anita’s letter out of my pocket. Slitting the envelope with my finger, I took out the single sheet of paper. Judging by the date at the top, Jack must have only been a couple of months old when Anita wrote it.
Dear Julia,
If you’re reading this then I’m no longer around. Given my organisational skills, it’s highly likely that Jack is forty-five and I never managed to update my will. In which case, please consider your guardian duties fulfilled . . .
But if he’s not, then you must be wondering what on earth I’ve done.
As I write this, Jack is still tiny and not exactly doing a lot, but already he’s the most precious thing in my life. If I can’t be around to show him the world, then you’re the person I want to do it. What I hope is that I’m not being too selfish and that you’ll love Jack and get as much joy out of him as I do.
Thank you.
Love always,
Anita.
Tears dropped off my chin and onto the letter.
Jack was looking at me quietly.
‘Well, my little friend, it’s just you and me from now on. How do you feel about that?’ I asked softly.
If this had been a telemovie, Jack would have smiled at me and held out his arms for a hug. Instead, he grabbed hold of the stroller, causing the whole thing to tip over on top of him with a resounding crash. There was a brief silence while he inhaled, followed by an ear-splitting wail.
Convinced he’d broken something, or at the very least needed stitches, I picked him up, trying to remember where the nearest hospital was. To my relief, I couldn’t see any blood or any limbs poking out at unnatural angles. My first-aid certificate had long since lapsed, but I didn’t think internal bleeding was likely.
I gently pushed his head towards my shoulder, but his crying increased and he struggled to be put down. He stood there sobbing, his little shoulders shaking. I swallowed, trying to move the lump in my throat. If a complete stranger tried to hug me when I was upset, I’d set her straight too. I was just going to have to take this slowly.
Still hiccupping, Jack rubbed the knuckles of his hand into his eyes.
‘All right, I think it’s time for bed. What do you think?’
His little T-shirt and jeans were covered in yoghurt. Gingerly I eased his elbows out of the T-shirt and pulled it over his head. So far so good. I realised I’d been holding my breath and forced myself to exhale.
Shoes next. The laces were tied into double bows and I wondered for a moment if that was the way Anita had always done it. Was he still wearing the clothes she had dressed him in, thinking she was getting him ready for another ordinary day? The thought snagged at my mind and I felt close to tears again.
I’d just managed to slip his shoes off when Jack decided he’d stood still for long enough. Pushing past me, he headed for the deck. Again I was surprised at his speed and I only just caught hold of him before he reached the kitchen.
I carried him into the bedroom, awkwardly pulling his jeans over his bottom as I went. The sight of his nappy reinforced just how far out of my depth I was. I wondered how often they had to be changed and articles I’d read about neglected children being discovered with cockroaches in their pants sprang to mind. However, I simply couldn’t deal with a nappy change just yet.
I’d do it just as soon as he’d had his nap, I promised myself. The cot was already made up, the sheets still bearing the creases from the packets I’d pulled them from at four o’clock this morning. Gingerly I laid him down, unhooked the jeans from his feet and held my breath. Immediately he sprang to his feet, grabbed the bars and started wailing at the top of his voice.
Rushing out of the bedroom, I closed the door behind me. I sank onto the sofa and put my head in my hands, trying to figure out what to do now. His crying grew even louder.
I recalled hearing somewhere that picking a crying child up out of bed ruined their sleep patterns forever. But it didn’t seem right to leave a little boy who’d just lost his mother, and had been sent to the other side of the world, to cry.
I walked back into his room and lifted him into my arms. He stopped crying instantly. I spoke soothingly to him and then, without any real hope, started lowering him back into the cot. His legs and arms tightened around me like a vice and I was left half bent over the cot with him clinging to me like a limpet.
What the hell did I do now?
Relenting once again, I carried him back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. As I pondered my tactics, the telephone rang and I answered it absently.
‘Hello Julia. It’s Jonathon Earl,’ announced the senior partner of Jennings Walker, the firm of solicitors I worked for. Jonathon and I weren’t exactly buddies. I was pretty sure that he’d been unaware of my existence until recently, despite the fact that I’d worked in the firm for years.
‘Jonathon!’ I jolted upright.
‘How are you, Julia?’ he asked.
‘Oh fine, just fine,’ I answered with forced joviality.
‘Very good,’ he replied, obviously having exhausted his notoriously limited small talk. ‘Mark has just informed me that you have taken two weeks off work.’
His tone left no doubt as to what he thought of that. I wondered whether Mark, the partner I worked for, had explained what had happened, but decided that it wouldn’t make any difference. There were a lot of stories told about Jonathon Earl and if they were even half true, he had no concept of any form of life outside the office.
I looked apprehensively down at Jack, who was sitting quietly in my lap.
‘Um, yes. A family emergency came up over the weekend.’
‘Gordon has just called wanting an update on the trial. I said I’d speak to you.’ Gordon Farley was one of my clients and also, to my great dismay, one of Jonathon’s personal friends.
I tried to sound businesslike. ‘I was planning on calling him this afternoon to tell him about my . . .’ I hesitated, ‘situation. I still have control over everything even though I’m not in the office.’
Jonathon’s reply was drowned out by a sudden wail from Jack.
Jumping up, I jiggled Jack desperately on one hip, phone glued to the opposite ear.
‘Julia. Can you hear me?’ Jonathon’s words had an edge of irritation.
‘Yes, yes,’ I lied.
He continued talking, but I couldn’t hear a thing.
‘Ah, actually Jonathon, do you think I could call you back?’ I yelled into the telephone.
The only parts of his reply that I caught were ‘no’ and ‘meeting’.
Sprinting into the kitchen, I looked around wildly. With relief I spotted a half-eaten piece of fairy bread and shoved it into Jack’s mouth. His noise stopped instantly and I realised with relief that he couldn’t eat and cry simultaneously.