by Jude Knight
Clever Zee. He had invoked the childhood deity Fairness, and Stacey could not find an objection in time to derail the new plan. Soon, all six of them were clipping tracks together as fast as they could, and hunting through the boxes in the corner for bridge supports so that Will’s new railway could fly over or under the other two. Becky called out the seven minutes, and the three teams returned to their own work, the competition now muted but no less fierce.
Becky finished putting the dinner on and sat down to watch, laughing at suggestions she should get down on the floor with the others.
“You build your railways and I’ll knit,” she said.
With nothing more than two minor incidents—when Emma knocked down Stacey’s bridge while trying to step over it, and when Stacey got to the last six-way crossing seconds before Will—the next hour was happily beguiled, until Becky declared it was time to wash for dinner.
The six builders obediently picked themselves up and headed towards the hall and the bathroom, but stopped at a low whistle from Zee, who was bringing up the rear.
“Wow,” he said. “Look what we did!”
The large family room was almost completely covered by track in complex interlocking curves and straights, climbing block mountains and down the other side, diving through tunnels and under bridges. They clustered just this side of the doorway, and Nikki imagined her grin was as goofy as those she saw on the others. Will, leaning against her with an arm around her leg, put their feelings into words. “The biggest and bestest in the universe. Isn’t it, Aunt Nikki?”
Tonight’s family dinner made no concession for guests. Nikki had attended others and knew the drill, and Zee—who was seated next to her—obviously did too, because he held out his hand for her to take when Dave asked them to bow their heads, “Tonight it is Will’s turn to ask God to bless us and this food,” he said. Will, his face grave, recited, “Thank you for the food we eat. Thank you for the friends we meet. Thank you for the birds that sing. Thank you, God, for everything. Amen.”
Nikki joined the Amen, and heard one from Zee, too. When in Rome do as the Romans do? Or was he a believer? She had fallen back into the way of going to church in the months with Gran and Poppa, finding comfort in the familiar prayers and songs. Was she a believer? She supposed she must be. She certainly wasn’t an unbeliever.
The next part of the family ritual was for everyone at the table to say the best part of their day. Will said it was building the train track. Stacey said having Aunt Nikki arrive to stay was her best thing, and Nikki agreed. Emma, in enthusiastic appreciation of her mother’s cooking, proclaimed the lamb roast in front of her to be best, and Dave shook his head. “It’s tough deciding between the train track and lamb roast,” he complained. “But I’m going to pick the train track.” Will held up a palm and Dave high-fived it, then hunched his neck at a glare from Becky, which made Will laugh.
“Train track,” Zee agreed. “It is the biggest one I’ve ever seen.” He leant closer to Nikki as the attention moved to Beks, and whispered, “having you to stay is pretty neat, too.”
Nikki expected Beks to side with her and Stacey, but her friend surprised and topped them all when she put her hands on her belly with eyes that looked at a private vision and explained, “The best part of my day was feeling the new baby move.”
That stopped the meal for a few minutes, while Stacey and Will ran around the table to check, and Emma demanded to be lifted from her chair to put her own hands on her mother’s abdomen.
Zee and Nikki exchanged glances, and stayed silent to allow the family this special time together. Nikki found herself yearning for the kind of closeness the Mastertons shared. From his fond but wistful smile, Zee was having similar thoughts.
He was good with children. She’d seen it at the Big Dig, and witnessed it again as he chatted to Will after Will returned to his chair. She’d never seen Tyler Russo with children. They moved in a circle of lawyers, scientists, and marketers, all committed to the cause of calling corporates to account when they damaged the environment. None of them had children. Indeed, not having children was almost a requirement—the world had too many people already, they told one another. People had a duty to consider the results of their actions, they insisted, over a glass of wine shipped from Spain, while wearing designer shoes from Italy and eating French cheese and Greek olives.
Nikki hadn’t questioned it, had thought sacrificing a family life was something noble, until Beks sent a message with an ultrasound picture of child number three, the baby who would be Emma. Delighted, Nikki told her fiancé the good news, and was hurt and dismayed when Tyler ranted about narrow-minded selfish provincials who absorbed the world’s resources and gave little back.
“Will you think that way about us having children?” she asked him.
He had laughed. “Come on, Nicola. We have years to think about having a child. If we decide to go that route at all. We’re still young.”
She shook off the memories, and joined in the conversation around the table—a general free-for-all of ideas for baby names, with Dave and Zee competing to choose the most ridiculous. “Mum,” Stacey said at last, “Daddy and Zee are being silly.”
“They are, darling,” Becky agreed, “and for that they can do the dishes, while Aunt Nikki and I help you with your baths and get you off to bed. If that’s okay, Niks. If you’re too tired...”
“I’d love to,” Nikki assured her friend.
Zee was in deep trouble. Nikki was a top environmental litigator, working for a fanatical activist group. She was meant to be tough-minded, hard-hearted and competitive. Not funny and sweet and clever and sentimental. He’d come out from the kitchen to find her cuddled up with Stacey, reading her a story while Beks put the younger two children to bed. Nikki had her cheek resting on Stacey’s head, and was rubbing it back and forth, her eyes soft.
He’d excused himself to go take Oliver for a walk before dark, but he couldn’t walk fast enough to outstrip his thoughts.
She had been wonderful with the children at the Big Dig, managing even Pokey’s little brat, and look how she’d turned today’s competition into a co-operative venture, getting all of them on board, including Stacey! What a mother she would make.
“Not my children,” he told Oliver. “I won’t be having any after she emasculates me for not telling her who I am.”
Oliver drooped his head and whined, responsive to tone.
“If I’d told her straight up, though, I wouldn’t have got to know her,” he argued, and Oliver barked eagerly. Zee decided to take that for agreement. “Do you think I can convince her of that?” he asked.
At least the information he’d been collecting about Mr Chow might soften the impact. He’d tell her that first, he decided. Stopping the development was more urgent than progressing his courtship. Perhaps he could save his own personal history until she was celebrating the win? “I’m being a coward, aren’t I, Oliver?” he asked.
But the dog had stopped to investigate a power pole, and didn’t respond.
“I’ll tell her about Chow, then lead up to telling her the truth by talking about my family,” Zee decided. “I’ll go over when we get back.”
He let Oliver back into the flat and crossed to the main house. The kitchen and family room were dark, but he could see light under the lounge door and hear gun-fire and then a swell of theme music from the television. He knocked and went in; Dave and Becky were on the couch, Becky with her head on Dave’s lap.
Dave lifted one eyebrow. “Didn’t expect you back again tonight, mate.”
No sign of Nikki. And Zee had clearly interrupted a bit of marital canoodling. “I wanted to tell you two and Nikki something. But it can wait till tomorrow.”
“Nikki’s gone to bed. She was worn out,” Becky told him.
“She looked tired,” Zee realised. “She’s been working pretty hard. Tomorrow, then.”
He backed out, and returned to his flat and his dog, taking his last sight of the Mastertons wi
th him. They’d turned their attention away from him and back to one another before he was out of the door—Dave’s hand gently cupping his wife’s face, Becky’s hand sliding under Dave’s tee-shit. It was the loving connection in their gaze that haunted him. They were living proof that true love was real and reachable. But was it reachable for him?
5
The email took a long time to write. Zee knew what he needed to say, but the words didn’t come easily. Twice, he deserted his laptop to do his Saturday chores—take Oliver out for a walk, clean the studio, catch up on his laundry, set dinner simmering in the slow cooker. In the end, he thought he had it. Reading it over carefully, he adjusted a few words here and there, went to send, then changed his mind and resaved as a draft.
Stop procrastinating, you idiot.
It was as good as it was going to get. He opened the draft and clicked on the send button before he could have second—no, nineteenth or twentieth thoughts.
Hi Dad
It’s Drew here. I should have been in touch long ago. In fact, I shouldn’t have stormed off without first talking to you. And I’m going to admit straight up front that I’d still be putting off writing if I didn’t want something.
First, the apology. I knew fairly early on you couldn’t have been involved in Pat’s deal with Russo at Global Earth Watch. It just isn’t your style, or Brendan’s either. I’m sorry I didn’t figure that out before I blew up.
That wasn’t why I left, though it was the trigger for the timing. I’d been thinking of trying something else, outside of O’Neal Hotel Corporation, for quite a while. I needed to see if I could make it on my own. I should have talked to you about that, too. Looking back, I can see that you’ve always supported all of us to do what we thought was right for us. You might have argued—probably would have. But just to be sure I’d thought things through, and then I would have had your blessing to make my own decision.
I’m sorry for judging you and getting it wrong.
I’ve been living in New Zealand; which I expect you knew. And I’m guessing you knew I’ve gone back to my old name. Zachary Henderson, not Andrew O’Neal. When Grandma and I decided to change my name when I first came to live with you, you understood it was part of me trying to fit in. I hope you’ll understand that I needed to be that guy again, and see what he could grow into without the corporation and the O’Neal history behind him.
But, as Grandma always said, family is family. I like being Z. Henderson of Valentine Bay, New Zealand. But I’ll also always be an O’Neal. I needed some distance and the good friends I’ve found here to understand that.
Which brings me to my request. There’s a developer here who is building a hotel in a beautiful spot not far from where I live. Not a bad idea. The local economy would benefit from a properly designed and targeted project, one that respected the local community and the environment.
I have fears about the project as it stands, especially since Chow Hsin-hung seems to be involved. I overheard him talking to the developer about bringing in his own labour, but the investors in the publicly-available documentation, which is attached, are all New Zealand residents or New Zealand-registered companies whose directors are New Zealand residents.
I have tried following the trail from the named investors to Chow. I’m sure he’s holding the purse, but I can’t prove the connection. Would you put some people on to it? I’m happy to cover any costs.
Dad, I’d like to keep in touch. Give my love to the rest of the family, and feel free to pass on my email address.
How to sign off had bewildered him for a while. Just his name seemed far too cold. ‘Kind regards’ was too business like, and ‘Love’ was a step too far. He did love his father, and he knew his father loved him, but a male O’Neal didn’t talk about such things. In the end, he settled on ‘I miss you all, Drew’.
He hovered over the laptop, berating himself for expecting an instant reply. His father was a busy man, and might—in any case—need some time to come to terms with an out-of-blue contact from the prodigal son. But in less than fifteen minutes, the laptop dinged for an incoming message.
Drew, it is good to hear from you. Or should I call you Zack now? Or Z, as I’m told your friends do. Don’t give the past another thought. I’m glad you’ve found what you were looking for, and very pleased you’ve got in touch. Yes, I’ll look into the Chow connection. As you know, the family owes him a disfavour. I will be in touch. Your stepmother sends her love.
Dad.
Zee grinned at the ‘as I’m told your friends do’. He’d assumed his father was keeping tabs on him, and he’d been right. And ‘the family owes him a disfavour’. Interesting. Did Dad have evidence that linked Chow to Russo and Pat?
The walk around the north coast to the heads had taken longer than Nikki had expected. It had been every bit as spectacular as she remembered. The trail ran along North Beach, and then dived in and out of the regrowth bush, climbing saddles between mini bays, dipping to skirt tiny beaches or meander between rock pools, ascending hills and running along cliff tops then plunging back to sea level again.
It was deserted—the weekend crowd wouldn’t attempt such a walk on a Sunday, and the local youth had been back at school for a week and probably had homework.
The day was one of the hottest of the summer, but she had plenty of sun cream and a broad hat. She could wade in the sea or linger under trees to cool down. And she had no reason to hurry.
Somewhere along the way she had resolved her doubts about doing the courses to register in New Zealand—more, to sit and pass the courses she needed to set up her own law practice in Valentine Bay. ‘Resolve’ was the wrong word, for she had not been going over the arguments for and against that had been plaguing her since the idea first raised itself in her head. Instead, between one cove and the next, she revisited the notion and found her mind made up.
It would be mostly wills and property conveyancing, she supposed. The occasional neighbourly dispute about noisy roosters. Maybe relationship breakdowns.
But not if Nikki walked off a cliff in the gathering gloom. The sun dropped behind the coastal hill leaving her still on the switchback trail north-east of the beach. She hurried her steps, peering at the path just in front of her feet, skirting shadows for fear they concealed dips and holes in the path.
Thankfully, before the path comprised nothing but shadows, she crested the hill that sloped down to North Beach, where white stones marked either side of the trail. In minutes, with only a minor stumble, Nikki was safely on the sand.
It was now full dark, stars providing the only light. She hoped Beks wasn’t worrying. She hoped no-one else was out and about, or at least no-one else with unsavoury intentions.
The tide was retreating, leaving a stretch of wet sand that made for easy walking, and another ten minutes would see her almost to the ridge between the beaches; fifteen minutes and she would be back at the Mastertons.
A shadow ran out of the dark, straight for her, and she almost shrieked before she recognized the bark of greeting, the joyfully wagging tail and lolling tongue.
“Oliver! Down, boy.” She used both hands to rub the ruff that collared his neck, bending over to praise him, while keeping an eye out for his master. “Good Oliver, good boy.” Thank goodness. She would admit to herself, if not to him, she was pleased to have Zee’s escort home.
“There you are,” he said, one shadow among the others resolving into a human being as he approached. “Beks was concerned you might have had an accident, or been delayed and got stuck in the dark. She sent me with a torch and a phone.”
“Uninjured,” Nikki said, standing and holding out her arms to show she was whole. “But it took longer than I thought. I would have let Beks know, but my phone ran out of battery.”
“Good walk, though?” he asked.
Nikki nodded. “The best. I’m almost reluctant to go home. It’s so peaceful out here.”
“What’s the hurry?” Zee asked. He turned to look out to sea
. “The moon will be up in half an hour, and it’s near full. How about a swim?”
Nikki laughed. “We can’t swim. I don’t have my togs with me, and anyway, Beks will worry.”
“Half a mo’.” Zee pulled his phone from his pocket and hit a couple of buttons. “Beks? I met her on North Beach. She’s fine. No, no problems, but we’re going to stop and have a swim, and watch the moon rise. Yes, we will. Thanks. Bye.”
Nikki tried to frown, but the grin kept breaking through. The heat from the day lingered, and a swim sounded wonderful. If she kept on her shorts and bra, she’d be decent enough, and no need for a towel when the air was so hot.
She unbuttoned her shirt, and looked around for somewhere to leave it that they’d find again in the dark.
Zee switched on his torch, driving back the shadows but making everything beyond the circle of light seem darker. He turned in a slow circle, then said, “We can leave our things there.”
Yes. Perfect. A rocky outcrop that had captured a large tangle of driftwood, centred on a log with an upright branch.
They hung their shirts on the branch, white shapes in the night. Her hat and their shoes went underneath with her little backpack, the shoes inside the hat so it didn’t blow away. Zee stripped off his jeans, too, but Nikki kept her shorts—for modesty or as a barrier against her secret longings she could not have said.
Oliver ran around them, whimpering with excitement.
“Yes, Oliver,” Zee assured him. “Swim.”
They ran down the beach, following the dog, who splashed through a couple of waves then stood hock deep, looking back at them. “Last one in is a rotten tomato,” Nikki said in imitation of his challenge last time they’d been here. She took a dozen swift steps forward, before diving under a wave and coming up on the other side, waist deep, shaking her hair to send drops flying.