by Sofie Laguna
I waited. I didn’t move or speak.
He stubbed out his cigarette, then he looked across at me. ‘I s’pose you think I belong there too…’
I didn’t know where Jamie belonged. I didn’t say anything.
‘Is that what you think, Justine?’
I had no answer for him. He opened and closed his hands around the steering wheel. ‘Do you want me to come with you? I can if you need me to.’
‘No.’ I put the gun down on the seat.
He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. ‘You don’t need it anymore?’
‘No,’ I said, pushing open the door.
He put the gun into the glove box. ‘Good luck, Justine.’
I got out of the car then watched as Jamie drove away.
57.
I walked up to the entrance of the hospital. A nurse in a white dress was coming down the steps in the other direction. I stopped in front of her. ‘I am looking for my aunt.’
‘Your aunt?’
‘Her name is Rita,’ I said. ‘Rita Lee. She works here. At Tarban Creek.’
‘I haven’t heard it called that in a long time.’
‘That’s what my aunt calls it.’
‘Then she’s been here a while,’ the nurse said. ‘Come with me.’ We went through the doors of the hospital to a front desk. There were other nurses inside, and doctors, and people wearing pyjamas. The nurse went behind the desk and looked at a folder, running her finger down the page. ‘Rita Lee, did you say?’ she asked. ‘And she’s on the staff here, right?’
‘Yes.’ I started to feel as if I might fall. I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in a long time. It was burning and wet between my legs. My dress stank.
‘Rita Lee…let me see…’ The nurse pointed at a name on the folder. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘She’s here.’
She’s here. I had wanted it to be true, needed it to be true, but until now I didn’t know if she would be here. My knees felt weak as we walked to another part of the hospital and up a set of stairs. There were signs and numbers but I couldn’t read any of them. Letters jumped before my eyes, my arms ached from holding the gun. I could only just hear Joe Michael now, his cry was so weak and tired. Birds in the sky, birds in the sky. Wait for me, Joe Michael!
The nurse took me to a desk. ‘Rita Lee on duty?’ she said to the man behind it.
The man said, ‘Place doesn’t run without her.’
‘Somebody wants to see her.’
The man, who was as old as Pop, said, ‘And who might that be?’
‘Rita Lee is your aunt, right?’ The nurse turned to me.
‘Yes,’ I said. I was dizzy.
‘You’d better take a seat, love,’ she said.
‘I’ll call Rita,’ said the man.
‘She’ll be here soon,’ the nurse said to me. ‘Hang on.’
Then she disappeared and I closed my eyes. When I woke up there was my Aunty Rita but I didn’t know if it was a dream.
Her hair was dark and shining, her eyes were blue with the traces of my dad. She was the same and she wasn’t. She said, ‘Justine…’
I took her hand and held it tight in mine. She was here. ‘Help me.’ It came out dry and croaky.
‘What is it? Justine, are you okay? What’s happened?’
‘Help me.’ Joe Michael’s cry was faint now. I could hardly hear it. Was somebody taking him?
‘Come with me.’ She led me out of the waiting room and through a door, into a room with a bed and a chair. She closed the door behind us. ‘What’s going on? Are you okay? Sit down.’
I sat on the side of the bed. ‘Rita, you have to help me.’
‘Justine, are you hurt? Is Pop here?’
‘No.’
‘You came alone?’
‘Yes. Rita, you have to help me.’
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘I had a baby.’
‘What?’
‘I had a baby.’
Aunty Rita’s mouth dropped open. She looked down at the front of my dress. Her mouth closed then opened again.
I said, ‘Aunty Rita, I had a baby.’
‘When?’
‘Five days ago.’
‘Five days? What are you talking about?’
‘They’re trying to take him from me. But he’s mine. Rita, help me!’
‘Whose baby?’
‘My baby.’
‘But, Justine, who is the father?’
‘He doesn’t have a father.’
‘But how did you get pregnant?’
I was quiet.
‘How, Justine?’
‘Jamie Worlley.’
‘Jamie Worlley?’ She frowned. ‘Does he know?’
‘Yes. But it’s my baby, Rita. He doesn’t want it.’
‘Is the baby with Dad?’
‘No—Rita, we have to hurry. He isn’t with Pop. He’s in the hospital.’
‘What do you mean? Where?’
‘St Jude’s. In Geelong. He’s mine, Rita. But Pop put him up for adoption. We have to hurry. They are going to take him from me. But he’s mine!’
‘Okay, okay,’ she said. ‘Calm down, Justine.’
‘Aunty Rita, the baby is mine. I am his mother.’ I had never spoken the word out loud before. Mother. Could that be me? It was me.
Aunty Rita got up from her chair and walked around the room. She put her head in her hand. She sat back down. ‘Does Pop know you’re here?’
I shook my head. ‘Pop doesn’t want the baby. But he can’t decide. Only I can decide.’ I hardly recognised my voice. It found the words and could speak them without the gun in my hand.
‘We have to tell him you’re here. That you’re okay. Justine, are you okay? You’re bleeding!’ She looked at my dress.
‘I want my baby!’ There were no other cries anymore but his. ‘Rita,’ I said. ‘Rita, help me!’
‘I need to speak with Dad. We need to get the doctor for you.’
‘No!’ I said. ‘No, Rita!’
‘Calm down, Justine.’
She went to the sink and filled a glass with water.
‘Not Pop,’ I said.
‘Did he hurt you?’ she asked, passing me the water.
‘No,’ I said. ‘But the baby is mine. Please, Rita, can you find him?’
She looked at me. ‘You want this baby?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘You’re fourteen.’
The wave was coming, it spoke what it wanted to, without waiting. ‘How would you know how old I am? How would you know anything? You lied. You said you would write to me and be my aunt! You said you would ring me on the telephone and you never did. Not at Christmas. Not when Dad went to jail. Not once! You never did anything!’
‘Don’t shout. What are you talking about?’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Nowhere. I’ve been writing to you. I’ve written to you every month.’
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘I did, Justine. And I tried to call. Lots of times. When Ray went to prison I got in the car and drove down. Pop wouldn’t let me stay. He said if I stayed to see you he wouldn’t give you my letters and he’d tell Ray and Ray would make trouble—for me and for you and for everybody. He never told you I came?’
‘No.’
She shook her head. ‘Dad…’ she said. ‘I am sorry, Justine.’
Aunty Rita had tried to see me? She had been writing to me? Why would Pop hide her letters? Why would he do that to me?
‘You didn’t forget?’
‘No, I didn’t forget, but I thought I would only make trouble for you if I tried any harder. I wrote every month. I didn’t know what else I could do. I knew how much Pop needed you.’
‘Please, Aunty Rita…there was nowhere else to go. Nobody to help me. I want my baby.’
Aunty Rita walked around the room some more. She looked out of the window. She looked at the telephone on the table.
‘Aunty Rita!’ I said. My strength w
as thin and running out. ‘They will take him from me, give him away. Please!’
She said, ‘I have to speak to someone first, Justine. I have to make a phone call. Can you let me do that?’
‘Naomi?’
‘Yes, Naomi.’
‘Your girlfriend?’
‘Yes, yes, my girlfriend.’
She opened the door of the room. She led me out and sat me on a chair against the wall then went back into the room. There were nurses walking up and down. There was a man in pyjamas with a tank behind him on wheels. I felt dizzy. I took off my coat, rolled it up and held it close. Baby Joe Michael, wait for me. My chest ached. Between my legs stung and burned. I heard some of the things Aunty Rita was saying. ‘Naomi, Justine is here. She says she’s had a baby…I don’t know. What do I do?…Okay…Okay. Yes, I’m going to. But, Naomi, what if…? Okay, okay. I love you.’ She came back to the door. She said, ‘Justine, come in. I am going to call the hospital.’
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘And then you are going to see the doctor here.’ She rang some numbers on the phone. ‘I need the number for St Jude’s Hospital in Geelong.’ She spoke into the receiver. ‘Yes…yes, thank you.’ She dialled more numbers.
She said, ‘Births and adoptions, please.’ She said, ‘To whom am I speaking?…I believe there has been a misunderstanding…No, no, that’s a mistake; Justine Lee is the baby’s mother and I am her guardian and speaking on her behalf…Is he still at the hospital?’ Aunty Rita looked at me and nodded.
I fell onto the floor and Aunty Rita called a doctor.
Naomi came. She was small with light hair the same colour as mine. ‘Hello, Justine, I’m here to make sure you are okay.’ She helped me onto the bed, then she took my temperature and felt my stomach. She said, ‘I am sorry about this, Justine, but we need to have a look at you.’ She was gentle with me. She said, ‘I have heard so much about you.’ She checked between my legs, and when Aunty Rita came back inside she said, ‘Justine is going to be fine. She needs medicine, and she needs to recover—she has a fever—but she’ll be okay.’
Aunty Rita looked at Naomi and squeezed her hand. ‘Thank you.’
Aunty Rita gave me a cup of tea, a bowl of porridge and some toast. ‘You have to eat, okay? Let’s get that much straight.’
‘Okay.’ I ate everything she gave me, and then she took me to the bathroom. ‘You can take off that dress and we’ll find you something clean,’ she said. Then she passed me soap and turned on the tap in the shower.
The water came down over my head like hot and steaming rain. All the dirt and the soap and the blood washed away in a circle down the plughole.
Aunty Rita looked in. ‘Here’s a towel,’ she said, and it was a new white towel, with letters on the side that I couldn’t read. Aunty Rita gave me clean underpants and everything was white without marks. She gave me a top and some pants with a string.
Joe’s cry was soft in my ears and I sang to it under my breath, I had to wake him. The holly and the ivy when they are both full grown of all the trees that are in the wood the holly bears the crown…Any piece of song I could find, like a breath to light the fire. Stay, Joe Michael, stay.
Aunty Rita drove us back to Victoria. It was the same road I had taken with Jamie only the day before. I pressed my coat to my chest as if it was Joe. Wait for me, little baby. I put my nose to the window. I slept and woke, my shoulder stiff against the seat. Aunty Rita said, ‘Have you thought about what you want to do, Justine?’
‘Look after Joe Michael.’
‘But you can’t live with Pop and the baby. You can’t…It’s not going to work.’
‘I am his mother,’ I said.
‘I know you are, but you’re only fourteen. You’re going to need help. Have you thought about that? How you are going to do this? Pop can’t help you. Where are you going to live?’
I looked at her. She was my aunt. She didn’t choose it, but she was my father’s sister. ‘With you.’
‘With me?’
‘Yes. Here. In Sydney.’
She sighed. ‘You know I live with—’
‘Naomi.’
‘Justine, this is happening very quickly. I’m not sure if—’
‘I am sure. Joe Michael is my baby. And that means you are his aunt.’
She sighed again. ‘Great-aunt.’
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Great-aunt.’
58.
Matron Carting was stern, her mouth hard. She said, ‘It is not customary.’
Aunty Rita said, ‘I am sure that is the case, but Justine’s voice needs to be heard in all this.’
‘In order to review her file I will need Justine’s signature,’ said the matron. ‘You can sign here.’
I took the pen but I couldn’t see where to sign. The lines changed places.
Aunty Rita touched the page. ‘Here, Justine.’
I took the pen to where her finger was. I didn’t know if I could do it.
‘Justine?’ said Aunty Rita.
I felt like I was going to cry. If I couldn’t read they wouldn’t give me Joe Michael. I was standing in front of the same wall Mrs Turning made me go to. If I couldn’t write, couldn’t read, how could I have a dream?
‘Justine, can you sign it?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t.’
‘But why not?’
I shrugged.
‘Come on, Justine, what is it? You can read and write, can’t you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean you don’t know? Justine, tell me, can you read?’
I had never told anyone, never said it. It had been a secret that couldn’t be spoken, but I had to tell it now to my Aunty Rita. She had to know how wrong I got it, all the way back to the start. ‘The letters are backwards.’
‘Backwards? What do you mean?’
‘The wrong way round. Not in the right order.’
‘Have you had your eyes checked?’
‘Yes. There’s nothing wrong with them.’
‘But the letters are backwards?’
‘Yes.’
‘Justine, have you been tested for dyslexia?’
‘I…I don’t know.’
‘Christ,’ she said. ‘Justine…’ Aunty Rita pressed her fingers to her own eyes. ‘You have to learn how to read, Justine.’ Then she turned to the matron. ‘Justine couldn’t have signed your forms, Matron Carting—she can’t read or write.’
The matron frowned. ‘I will need to look into the matter further.’
‘There is no matter,’ said Aunty Rita. ‘The baby does not belong to the hospital.’
‘Where is Joe Michael?’ I asked.
The matron left the room.
‘Justine, I need to speak with Dad—with Pop,’ said Aunty Rita.
‘I want Joe.’
‘I need to speak with your grandfather, Justine. He’s your guardian. I can’t do this without speaking to him.’
‘Why?’
‘He’s been looking after you all this time. Not me.’
‘He tried to take my baby.’
‘I can’t help you without talking to him. You will need to speak to him too, Justine. We’re not hiding. There won’t be any secrets.’
Secrets were stories that couldn’t be spoken, things people did that couldn’t be told. Secrets put Lizzy in the hospital. Secrets put Stacey’s face in the cattle trough so she couldn’t be a mother. Secrets put my dad in prison. ‘Okay.’
I was so close to Joe, but still so far away. His cry came and went; was he still here? I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. My arms and legs were falling away from my body. I was weak.
There was a telephone just inside the door. Aunty Rita dug in her pocket for money and dropped it in the slot. She dialled the number for Pop’s Three. When he answered she looked at me, then turned away, the receiver to her ear.
‘Dad, it’s me, Rita. Justine is with me…Yes…Yes, she’s okay. She should
still be in hospital, you know. She should be recovering. They should never have sent her home…I know it’s not your fault, that’s not why I’m calling. She never signed the adoption papers for the baby…No, she didn’t, Dad—she can’t write; she can’t write her bloody name. Who signed them?…I know her age, Dad…She wants to keep it…I know…I know you can’t. She can stay with me. We can help…Calm down, Dad, I’m not taking her away from you. She wants this baby.’ Aunty Rita handed me the telephone.
‘Justine?’
‘Yes.’
‘What are you doing?’
‘I want my baby, Pop.’ Tears fell down my face.
‘You’re fourteen.’
‘I know.’
‘You can’t look after a baby.’
‘Yes, I can.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘He’s mine. I can do it.’
‘For Christ’s sake,’ he said. I heard his voice shaking. I closed my eyes. I saw him standing at the doorway, his thin and trembling body, his gut, the smoke from his White Ox, his kindest friend, rising around him. I saw him watching the big man without me—my one and only Pop.
‘Pop, I…’
‘What?’
‘I want this.’
‘A baby?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.’
‘Pop…’ I didn’t want to say goodbye to him. There was a lump in my throat. I gripped the telephone. ‘Pop…’
‘Jesus…’
‘Pop, can I do this?’
I heard him mumble words that weren’t clear.
‘Pop?’
‘What is it?’
‘Can I do this? Can I have this?’
‘You’ll need help. You can’t do it on your own.’
‘Pop…’
‘What?’
‘If I have help, can I do it?’
‘You’re asking me? I thought your mind was made up.’
‘I am asking you, Pop.’
He sighed. ‘Justine, if you have help…’
‘Pop, Rita will help—Rita and Naomi.’
There was quiet. ‘If this is what you want.’
I said, ‘It is, Pop. I love you, Pop.’ I gave the telephone back to Aunty Rita.
‘Dad, let us come and see you,’ she said. There were tears in her eyes. ‘As soon as things are sorted. Please…let us come. Bye, Dad.’ Aunty Rita hung up the phone and wiped tears from her cheeks. ‘Justine, do you want to speak to your father? Do you need to talk to Ray?’