White Balance

by Paton, Ainslie

  Blake went around the back of her desk and pulled out her chair. “You need to hear the rest of the story.”

  She sat, and so did he and what he told her about their big plans made the decision even harder. If she stayed she’d get to have what Blake had, which is all she’d ever professionally wanted.

  38: Hiccup

  While Aiden was waiting to hear from Blake, hear if he’d managed to screw things up further with Bailey, Happi-Anne called, and he had another problem. This one threatened to widen the fresh hole he’d stabbed in his heart when he’d frightened Bailey. This one made him angry and hopeless at the same time.

  Cody’s father was back. He’d been ‘away’ for the last eight years. That was the polite way Happi-Anne expressed it. But now he was back from whatever maximum security hell he’d occupied, and he didn’t fancy another man having rights over his kids. Wanted his kids back, and the big brother thing called off.

  His kids! Rights! Some father this man had been to Cody and he wasn’t Jas’ father, but Happi-Anne didn’t know he’d been seeing Jas. Didn’t know how much time he’d been spending with the two kids. Couldn’t know what they’d come to mean to him. He hardly understood it. He only knew they’d burrowed into him with their skinny elbows and hungry ways. He’d taken Cody’s tentative acceptance and turned it into a decent bond. The kid talked now. Better, he occasionally smiled and laughed. He was going to school. He wasn’t stealing. Small gains, but he’d made a difference to Cody. And Jas with her quick affection and playful nature made the stone inside him crumble. He needed these kids, even if they no longer needed him.

  So what were his rights? Well none. It was thanks very much, and how would he feel about meeting a kid called Adam one weekend?

  When Blake appeared looking contrite and messed up, it was all he could do not to shout at him in the open plan area. They retreated to a meeting room where he did.

  “You fucked it up didn’t you?”

  “About fifteen years ago as I now understand it. And just then, before I even opened my mouth. But she heard me out.”

  “And?”

  “She’s going to think about it.”

  “Fantastic,” he said, injecting the word with more bitterness and disgust than Blake deserved, which clearly puzzled the guy. He said cautiously, “That’s not a no, Aid.”

  “It’s close enough.” They stood in the glass walled meeting room facing off at each other like two blokes about to get into it after too many at the pub. It was inappropriate behaviour for the office, but he couldn’t seem to get his temper back under control. “She’s going to go home and think about it, and feel betrayed all over again by you and me, but mostly fucking you this time.”

  “This time? I told her about you offering to dilute your share for her.”

  “How the fuck was that supposed to help?”

  “I thought she should know.”

  Aiden pulled out a chair and dumped himself into it. “What happened to need to know?”

  Blake sat too. He looked done in. He looked how Aiden felt. Like he’d been pulled backwards through the city by a rabid dog then beaten by a couple of drunks with bad aim. His shirt was untucked, he had one too many buttons undone, his hair was mussed up, and he had tired bruises under his eyes.

  “Need to know helped get me into this mess in the first place,” said Blake.

  “Fuck.” How confused did the two of them need to make Bailey? He near assaulted her then pushed her away, then championed her partnership. And Blake embraced her talent with one hand and crowded her into a corner with the other.

  “You’re over the top angry, Aid. What else is going down?”

  “Nothing.”

  Blake’s hands were in his hair, which explained the just out of bed do. “Fucking fabulous. That’s what Bailey says when I ask. So I’ll ask again, what else is eating you?”

  “Nothing.” Except he’d had to lose Bailey to protect her, and he’d lost Cody and Jasmine who protected him. So yeah, everything was ace.

  “Fuck. When she says that, it’s always me who’s the nothing.”

  Ok, so that was vaguely amusing. Aiden could see that, even in his half mad scared state. They were sitting in a fish bowl with half the office wondering what the stuff they were yelling about and Blake couldn’t look more woebegone clown fish, so he spilled.

  “I had a call from the Big Brother mob. Cody’s dad showed up. He’s been away for eight years.”

  “Away? In a Long Bay kind of way?”

  “That was my guess. Anyway he’s back and finds me objectionable.”

  “You’ve met?”

  “No. I’m objectionable as a concept. He called it off. I don’t get to see the kids anymore.”

  “So, not nothing then. Thank God it’s not me this time. Mate, how do you feel?”

  What sort of a question was that? Where was Blake’s head? “Fucked right off.”

  “Yeah, dumb question, sorry. Can you do anything about it?”

  “I don’t think so. It’s not like I have any rights. It’s a voluntary thing.”

  “Sucks big time. I get why you bit my head off.”

  Aiden stood up, slammed his palms down on the table and shouted at Blake from above him. “I bit your head off because you fucked up with Bailey.”

  Blake dropped his face into his hands, muttered, “Ok, ok, ok. I get it.” He schlepped to his feet and they fixed eyes. “Peace man.”

  Aiden stepped around the table and opened the door, standing back to let Blake exit first. He slapped him on the back as he drew level and Blake said, “I want to go home.” He followed his dagging shirt tail out of the room.

  “Don’t we all.”

  ●

  On the digital stoke of 6pm as the office was starting to pack up, Evan appeared at his desk. He was dressed in his lycra bike gear ready for his ride home.

  “You have visitors.”

  Aiden toggled the screen to see his calendar, nothing in it, so this was a drop in. “Am I going to like it?” Evan could make his excuses for him though it would be like Tom Bittersfield to show up unannounced.

  “Cody and Jasmine.”

  He stood, “Oh God,” worse than Tom, “here, now?”

  “I put them in the kitchen with soft drink and biscuits.”

  “Thanks Evan.”

  When he walked into the kitchen Jas’ bottom lip wobbled and she burst into tears. It took forever to clear the space between the doorway and where she was sitting at the head of the table. He squatted down beside her. “Hey, hey, what happened? Why are you crying?”

  Beside her Cody said, “My dad’s back. I didn’t know I had a dad. I thought he was dead. We’re not allowed to see you anymore.”

  Jas sobbed. She was hard to understand beneath the big juddering broken breaths, but her every word was the clear, sharp sting of a dart to his chest. “He’s not my dad. I don’t have a dad. I don’t want a dad.”

  “Oh Jasmine,” he gathered her into his arms. She was going to make herself sick.

  “I want you, Gru.” She was going to break something inside him. And he had yet to listen to himself lie to them.

  “It’s going to be ok.”

  “You don’t know that. You don’t know him.” Cody pushed the plate of biscuits in front of him away quickly sending Tiny Teddies spilling across the table.

  “You don’t either. You have to give him a chance.”

  Jas’ little hand came out. She picked the bears up one by one, putting them carefully back on the plate, arranging them so all their heads faced the same way, all the while sniffling and whimpering, making him want to hug her too tight and never let her go home.

  Cody put one bear that had dropped close to him on the plate. He wasn’t making eye contact except with the plate of Teds. “He said we can’t see you ever.”

  “Well, maybe I could talk to your dad and after a little while, when you’re used to it all, we could have a day together.”

  “It’s all rui
ned now. It’s all ruined. It’s not fair.” Cody kicked the table leg repeatedly.

  Jas sobbed. “I want you to be my dad.”

  That’s how Cara found him, caught between heartbreak and hurt aggression. She said tentatively, “Is everyone ok?” looking specifically at him. Everything had gone to shit.

  Jas sobbed. “No. I want my Gru.” Ah, too much. He picked her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist and held on tight around his neck, tucking her wet face against his cheek.

  “We’ll be ok,” he said to Cara, to the kids, but mostly to himself, marvelling at the lies as they multiplied.

  “You call me if you need anything.” She took a parcel from the fridge and retreated. She was going home. Part of him would’ve given anything to follow her, to end this very crappy long day full of disappointments.

  “Cody, how did you guys get here?”

  “We got a taxi.” The kid actually grinned. “I paid for it out of my money.”

  With a free hand, not holding onto Jas, he gave Cody’s hair a ruffle. “You did good. Does Mum know you’re here?” It was a fluke he was here himself. Easily might not have been, then what? He would never have seen them again.

  “She thinks we’re at try-outs for the school play.”

  “I think we should call and tell her there was a change of plans and get you home.”

  Cody shook his head. “Don’t call her, you’ll only get him. He’s using her phone. Just take us home, we’re not late yet. She won’t ask.”

  He bent to put Jas’ feet back on the ground, coming to kneel so he could look in her face. “You know you can’t do this again. You can’t come here.” She held onto his arms. She’d stopped sobbing but her cheeks were wet and fresh tears weren’t foreigners.

  “Why Gru? Why can’t we come? Why can’t we be Agnes and Edith and you adopt us like for real?” To Cody’s credit he didn’t buck the likening of himself to an orphan girl, he just kicked the table leg again.

  “Because that’s not what your parents want.”

  “It sucks mega bad, Aid.” Cody kept up a steady swing, kick, swing, kick. “We don’t get a say. Plus you don’t get a say. I thought he was dead. Will you really try to see us still?”

  “I promise I will, but not right away. I still need my yard cleaned up, all those leaves, and Chauncey needs someone to pull his tail and disturb his sleep. I promise.”

  In the car on the way out of the city, both kids buckled in the back everything was calm after the storm quiet, unnaturally so. He kept watching their faces in the rear-view. Cody was The Scowl again and that hit harder than all Jas’ sobbing. When he turned into their street she started up again.

  Cody said, “Don’t be stupid, Jas. They’ll think Aid made you cry.” He was only trying to get her to calm down, but he was ten years old, confused and angry.

  She wailed. “Oh no. I love my Aid. He’d never make me cry.”

  Guts tore entirely inside out. Move quick. Eyes to the rear. No traffic. He pulled over, jerked the handbrake on, left the engine running, jumped out, flung the back door open, dragged the seat forward and Jas threw herself in his arms in a tangle of seatbelt and knotty hair. Cody turned his face and looked out the other window.

  He knelt in the gutter on the side of the road and held her till she stopped crying and started hiccupping. Then he buckled her into the front seat for the three minutes it was going to take to get to their unit block.

  She wouldn’t get out of the car. Cody had to drag her into the entryway to the units. He pushed her in the door and ran back to the car. He said, “Ok,” like that one word would make it all better, then he turned and ran back to the doorway. He didn’t go inside, he stood there watching Aiden get back in the car and U-turn. He stood there until Aiden turned the corner and couldn’t see him anymore.

  He drove home and tried to get the sight of Cody’s scowl and the sound of Jas’ forlorn hiccups out of his head. He tried to focus on work. He’d stuffed a couple of folders in his satchel, but in his haste he’d left half of what he needed on his desk. He gave up and fed himself. It was still early, and the idea of sitting still was ludicrous. He changed into running gear and drove to the beach.

  With a playlist Cody made him he ran the coast track till all he could think about was each foot pounding down in front of him to the beat. He ran while Rihanna and Eminem sang about loving the way it hurts, while the Hilltop Hoods and Sia sang about being rescued by hard work. He ran till he was soaked with sweat and when it started to rain he welcomed it. He left the coast track while Gnarls Barkely sang about losing his mind and being crazy. He’d heard all these songs before, but tonight in his flayed open state the lyrics were tailor made for him. He ran while Gomez sang about calming down, apologies that didn’t go far enough and being turned inside out and upside down.

  Before he was aware of it he was in front of Bailey’s house.

  He knew he was foolish, he knew he was inside out and round the wrong way. He wouldn’t go in. He’d look at her for a minute to calm down. He’d just talk to her for a minute and apologise. He’d tell her again how much Heed needed her to take the partnership. He rang the bell and a fractured figure appeared behind the frosted blue glass and already his breath came easier.

  The door opened and a man smiled at him. “Hi, can I help you?”

  He took in the tracksuit. There was a backpack in the hall, “Doug?”

  “No, Doug’s inside. Are you a friend of his?”

  The man was blonde, tanned, athletic looking. He could’ve been a slimmer, younger, surfer boy version of Blake.

  “No. I work with Bailey.”

  “Ah, she’s face down on his table. I’m Chris, Bailey’s boyfriend. I’ve been overseas,” he laughed, “for ages. I got back tonight.” He stood back from the door, made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Come in. I’ll get you a towel, you’re all wet.”

  “No. I won’t. I’m interrupting, it’s not important.”

  “Who did you say you were?”

  “I didn’t. I’m Aiden. No need to bother her. I’ll catch her tomorrow.”

  “No problem.” Chris stuck his hand out and he took it, remote control manners kicking in. They shook. “Nice to meet you, Aiden. Hope to see you again.”

  He went home and showered, dressed, got back in the car. It was late. He didn’t call first. That was less about wanting to surprise her, and more about hoping she’d be somewhere else. More about hoping she’d keep him honest. He took her favourite wine.

  This time he’d make it real for her. There was no reason not to. She was beautiful and she adored him, putting up with his absences both actual and mental without complaint, taking whatever he chose to give her, and treating it like an unlooked for present. She deserved to be handled with care, pleased, unwrapped slowly and pleasured.

  She was dressed for bed in a silky pink slip with a matching robe that was nothing but suggestion. She smelt of soap and baby powder and her hair was brushed out, cloaking her back and shoulders. She looked far too young and fresh for what he had planned.

  He drank most of the wine. She was buzzed because he was there unexpectedly. Because he’d come for her. He saw delight and hope in her eyes, and it might’ve curdled in his gut with the meal of scowls and tears.

  She danced for him: slow, seductive, throwing her head back, rolling her hips, teasing him with the slide of silk against her legs, and the fall of straps from her shoulders—as if she knew he was a flight risk, and had to be mesmerised. Kimbra crooned about having good intents and settling down. And the wine, the lack of sleep, the sheer weight of the day and the need to get out of his head kept him in the room, made him focus on her.

  “What do you want, Willow?”

  “I want you.”

  “How?”

  “You choose.”

  “No. You have to say it.”

  “Stay with me all night.”

  “No.”

  A confused frown rippled over her face. “Then make me scre
am.” How easily she acquiesced. She should’ve questioned him, fought him. He might’ve had more respect for her if she had. She was more a reflection, something ethereal like smoke than she was solid. He could push her, put his hand right through her and she’d absorb it and wouldn’t push back.

  He could make her scream. He didn’t think he’d forgotten how. She was made for sex, and he was tired of his self contained misery. She could make him forget. That was a fit. Not perfect but functional. Functional was living. Not everyone got to hold on to something better. And few got a second chance and screwed that up too.

  He caught her hand and dragged her onto his lap. She gave a thrilled yelp. She was naked under the silk and it would be nothing to expose her, part of the unwrapping, but it would wait. He took his time. Slow, light kisses across her forehead and down her neck. She encouraged him, she wanted it fast, moved till she was astride him, knees either side of his hips, pressing him back into the shabby cotton twill of the sofa. She had his shirt unbuttoned, pushed open, his belt and zipper undone. He didn’t help. He didn’t stop her. She was breathing erratically and her cheeks were flushed.

  “Make me scream.”

  She might do it from her own excitement.

  This was not going to be gentle. He wasn’t fit for tender. He kissed her hard. Sucking her breath away, pinning her to his chest, forcing her legs to open so she was pressed against him. He explored her mouth, spearmint toothpaste, a hint of the wine. He got lost in that. In the taste of her, the heat of her, her softness and pliability. The knowledge he didn’t have to stop. It was some time later when he eased off that it occurred to him he should be pleased he remembered how to make a woman pant with desire and not fear.

  And she was panting, hard little exhalations, tight short in-breaths. She undulated with his touch, throwing her head back to let him trace his hand from cheek to hip bone, from shoulder to knee. There was nothing held back. She was his to manipulate, to brand, to own. Her submission was complete, but his desire and intellect were at war.

  This was wrong.

  The words hammered behind his eyelids. Though she wanted it, murmuring her abandon in his ear, showing him everything she felt in her half closed eyes, and the way she rocked herself against him and moaned. This was wrong, an uneven exchange, unbalanced.