Toby shrugged at that. "I don't know what the fuck to think about any of it."
"You think he ran off with another woman?" Jake enquired, casting Toby a curious look.
"Yeah. I do. I would never have picked that he and Iris were anything but perfect, but then Charlotte and I were living down in Brisbane when he left, so things might have changed and Iris might be holding out on us about it. But between you and me, my money's on him being shacked up with someone else, far away from here, with no intention of ever coming back. What I really hate, out of this whole situation, is the way he's shit on Charlotte. That pisses me off the most. She still misses him. Every time we have a baby, every christening, every birthday, Easter and Christmas; I see it on her face and I know there's not a damned thing I can do to make her feel better about it."
Jake nodded, finishing up the last of his coffee. "Totally agree, mate. Totally. Come on, let's get back up there before Ellie smuggles your latest out in her handbag." He stood and turned to head towards the exit.
Toby reached out and put his hand on Jake's arm to stop him. "Hey, is everything alright there with that?" It was the closest he could come to asking outright, and even this was pushing the boundaries into territory Toby felt was really none of his business.
Jake looked at him for a moment too long before shaking his head. "It isn't going to happen mate. Life sucks sometimes; it is what it is."
Toby released Jake's arm, almost sorry he had even asked. There was no comfort in knowing their loss. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, so am I. I'm just going to have stick to living vicariously through your lot."
"Isn't there other options for you both?"
Jake shook his head. "We're not ready for that yet. Maybe later; we'll see." He turned then and started to walk away, the conversation done with.
Toby followed a few paces behind. The nature of individual existences and the degree of variance between them never failed to ground him. There were times, particularly such as these, where the greatest of joys would be eclipsed by grip of foreboding. That he had fared too well, travelled far too great a distance from his roots; it all seemed extraordinary. He would wait through each birth, anticipating the worst; this would be the one to die, the one when Charlotte would die. It mattered nothing that infant mortality was low, that women rarely died in childbirth anymore. What mattered, was that he had been on a winning streak, and that was surely due to come to a close. Nobody got everything they ever wanted. It was the nature of life, the reality of existence. Watching Jake walk ahead of him, he wondered why he was blessed with four healthy children while his best mate was unable to even have one.
Happiness was a state of being Toby regarded with suspicion. He embraced it, relished in it, worked at ensuring it; yet he did not trust it. It was fragile, impermanent; he lived each day bracing himself for the loss of it. He wished he could be the type of man who was not inclined to look over his shoulder quite so much, but some habits were just too ingrained to let go of.
This was the time that mattered. The still after a birth, when there were no more visitors, no more nurses, no more noise, and no more lights on. Just Toby and Charlotte with a new baby nestled across them as they lay squashed together on the narrow hospital bed.
"What am I going to do with all these girls?" Toby wondered out loud.
"Nothing different to what you'll do with Ashley."
"Bullshit. He's not going to give me any worry. But three of these reincarnations of you? I remember what you were like when you were a teenager." Toby grinned at Charlotte in the darkness, kissing her on the temple as he held a tiny hand loosely between his thumb and forefinger.
"What did you feel the first time you saw me?" Charlotte asked, snuggling into his arms deeper, so tired from giving birth and being awake for nearly twenty hours.
"An erection."
Charlotte burst into giggles, giving him a light shove. "Be serious!"
He laughed in reply. "I am! Why do you think I'm freaking out about having three girls? I know what boys are like. I was one. I'm still like that around you!" He kissed her again, on the lips this time. "Do you think you might agree to us getting married any time soon? Seeing as we have four kids now."
"We can't afford to get married. We have four kids." Charlotte kissed him one more time before slumping down further against him.
"While I admire your budgeting mindset, that's hardly true and you know it. We could have the biggest wedding you could ever dream of." Toby took more of Danielle's weight from Charlotte's arms, sensing that she was ready to fall asleep herself. "Do you want me to put her in the cot now? I should probably go so you can get some sleep." He made no move to leave though. Any separation, for even one night, was barely tolerable for him.
"No. I want you to stay. Just stay," Charlotte murmured sleepily, throwing her leg over his.
"I'm not supposed to."
"Who cares? Use your best barrister voice on them if they tell you off."
"I have a best barrister voice?"
"You have a best barrister everything. Voice, walk, look; the whole package. It's very sexy." Charlotte's voice was tinged with exhaustion as she teased him.
"I thought I was supposed to be scaring them into letting me stay, not turning them on," Toby teased, running his hand through her hair as she closed her eyes.
"You could make them so hot for you they'll agree to letting you stay just so they can perve on you."
He laughed softly. "Yeah, that's what I'll do. Go to sleep. I've got baby covered." He kissed her on the forehead, leaving his lips there as he inhaled the scent of her skin and her hair, feeling the comfort of her right down to his bones. Just as he thought she was asleep, she spoke once more.
"Ellie and Jake can't have kids."
Toby nodded, even though her eyes were still closed and she couldn't see it. "I know. Do you know why?"
"No. But it hardly matters, does it? The outcome is the same. My heart aches for them; we are so lucky."
"Yes. We are. Now go to sleep."
She nodded, turning slightly to face him, her body slipping closer to his. He hoisted his tiny sleeping daughter up higher onto his chest and watched them both as they slept. The perfection of such a sight was absolute.
"Why is Granny ruining the hedge?" Ashley asked as he leaned against the veranda railing, peering down into the pool area with interest. Charlotte got up from the outdoor lounge chair, Danielle attached to her, feeding, so she could take a look at what Ashley was talking about. Iris was down in the pool area, hacking at the hedge with an axe, making a mess of what had formerly been a very nice hedge.
"Daddy just made that all square," Ashley added.
Charlotte looked down at him, placing her hand onto his head, threading her fingers through his thick dark hair. He was still wearing his school uniform; he had been sitting with Charlotte working at his first grade readers when the sound of cursing and hacking from down below had distracted him too much for any continuation. He refused to settle until he knew what all the fuss was. He was a curious boy by nature; a great thinker with an insatiable need to know all of the details so he could think them through, process them, and then present his thoughts for evaluation.
He was a lot like his father.
Charlotte watched her mother for some time, taking note of the haphazard way she was hacking at the hedge. It was ridiculous. And yes, as Ashley had pointed out, Toby had just trimmed it all to perfection. She could hardly imagine what he was going to make of this. Turning back to Ashley, she shrugged. "I guess Granny doesn't like the hedge much anymore."
He looked thoughtful as he considered her answer. "Why is she crying?"
Charlotte took a closer look at her mother, startled to note that she was indeed crying, tears running freely down her face, an expression caught between anger and sorrow wrought upon it. "I suppose she really, really, doesn't like the hedge. Come on, let's leave her to it." Charlotte steered Ashley from the rail back to the lounge, coaxing him int
o reading some more.
"What the fuck?!" Toby's voice could be heard clearly filtering in from the backyard through to the kitchen. Charlotte headed out to him through the laundry door, glad the children were all tucked away in their bedrooms, unable to hear him. He was standing with his hands on his hips staring into the disaster ridden pool area, branches all over the place, some even floating in the pool itself.
"Mum had a tantrum with the hedge. It was pretty intense."
He turned to face Charlotte, disbelief written all over his face. "She didn't think to maybe just, I don't know, calm the fuck down?"
Charlotte reached out and rubbed her hand up and down his arm, deeply sympathetic. "I'll help clean it up. Sorry. The hedge was Dad's pride and joy. I think this is just-"
"I know what this is," Toby interrupted. "It's not dealing with shit. That's what this is. I don't have time for this. It's fucking eight o'clock most nights when I get home. What am I supposed to do now? Fish branches out of the pool?" Pissed off had nothing on Toby in this moment. "I'm tired. I want to see my kids. Not deal with this shit."
"Leave it. I'll do it tomorrow. I'll make her help. Don't worry about it," Charlotte soothed, trying to calm him down. He was fiercely protective of his time and he hated any intrusions upon the small window of it he had to spend with the kids each night.
He shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I am not making you do that. I'll do it later. I'm going to see the girls and then I'll read Ashley a story." He leaned forward to press a kiss on her forehead as he moved past her, heading back inside.
Charlotte remained out by the pool, staring into the darkness at the mess her mother had made. Iris could go for a long time without a meltdown, and Charlotte would start to think that finally, after all this time, she had at last let it all go. And then an occasion would pass, or an anniversary that only her mother knew about, and it would start again. Six months ago, completely out of the blue with no occasion Charlotte could pin it to, she had burnt every single book Royce had left behind in an old steel laundry basin out in the middle of the backyard and let the kids toast marshmallows on the inferno. Last year at Christmas she had organised for the entire outside of the house to be repainted in a completely different colour scheme because Royce had chosen the previous one. Sometimes her rages were rather subdued, more of a statement than anything else; other times they were the equivalent of a natural disaster in both scope and devastation.
Charlotte tipped her face up to the sky. So many stars tonight. Her father was under this sky somewhere else; somewhere of his own choosing; somewhere they were not.
It was getting harder and harder not to hate him for it.
Charlotte went inside and headed up the hall to her mother's room, entering without knocking. Iris was curled up on her bed watching TV in her pyjamas. Charlotte sat beside her, saying nothing at first. There were so many things she wanted to say, not least of all, "Clean up those bloody branches," but she refrained, because now that she was here, beside her mother, she was struck by just how forlorn she looked. And before the chance to say anything whatsoever presented itself, Iris sagged down against her, her head falling into Charlotte's lap, loud sobs pushing their way out through her small frame. Charlotte stroked her mother's hair, putting her other arm firmly around her so she could pull her in close.
They were only branches after all.
Toby sat opposite the school guidance officer, listening to her talk on and on about the emotional pressures that kids can be placed under, blah fucking blah, with a surreal sort of disbelief that he was actually sitting here expected to take this seriously. It was a sheer fluke he had been able to come in at all. When Charlotte had phoned in a state asking if he could possibly go down to the school because there had been an incident with Ashley, it was only the fact he'd had a court appearance cancelled that he could even answer the phone, much less actually help her out. She almost never rang him for help, usually relying on Iris and managing it all herself; he knew how lucky he was that she did this. But on this occasion, he was able to come through for her. Charlotte had no details, the school had simply rung her requesting a parental presence due to an incident, and to get there as soon as possible. Toby decided this might be a good time to interrupt the monologue from the child psychologist wannabe. Time was money. For him more than her, he had no doubt.
"What happened?"
She stopped speaking, looking at him with surprise. "I'm explaining that," she replied, a touch of superiority entering her tone.
Yeah, that was not happening. "No, you were diagnosing my family. What happened today? Just the facts, none of the theories on why you think Ashley is a little psycho."
She looked offended now. "I was just trying to give you my impressions."
"I don't want your impressions. I want to know why I'm sitting here."
"Ashley cut a girl's hair today in class." She sat back then, looking at him with superior satisfaction.
Toby waited, and it was some moments before he realised that this was the incident. "Right. Kids cut hair all the time. What's the big deal? A snip here, a snip there. Who even notices?" To think that Charlotte dealt with this sort of crap all the time; she deserved a fucking medal. She was definitely the better parent when it came to micro managing the small shit.
The woman reached over to the side of her desk and tossed a long blond plait out into the middle of it, two bright blue ribbons still tied in place at both ends. Oh shit; that was a lot of hair, more than thirty centimetres of it, for sure. He looked at it for a few moments, assessing his next move. Clearly guilty. He was not going to win this. "Where is Ashley now?"
"In the sick bay."
They had confined him then. "Did he hurt her with the scissors?"
"No. But the little girl is very distressed. Her mother is furious."
Of course she would be. He would be too if some little shit cut Bree's hair off while she was at kindergarten. "Okay. I'll take him home. We'll get to the bottom of it."
"I don't think you understand the seriousness of this. Ashley is being expelled. He's not welcome back. This is an elite establishment. We can't have our students sitting in fear of one of their classmates."
Toby stared at her, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You're expelling a six year old? For cutting someone's hair?"
"It's assault. This is serious."
Nothing pissed him off more than people who tried to use legal terms they knew nothing about. "Do not talk to me about what constitutes assault," Toby replied, leaning forward, his manner altering vastly as his anger peaked. "This is not assault. But you know what, you can shove your fucking elite establishment right up your arse and keep it there for all I care. And you want to know something else? You don't know shit about my family and my son and you have no right to psycho analyse him for your own benefit." He stood then, not even sparing her another glance; he was so angry and so aware he had probably stepped over several lines of proprietary just then in the worst possible way. It was remarkable how he could command professionalism in the most notorious of situations, yet faced with someone blind siding him about his son, total capitulation into the masses. Stalking out of the room and out into the main office, he asked abruptly where the sick bay was. Before the bewildered secretary could answer him, Ashley poked his head around a door and peered out at him. Toby strode over, hoisting him up into his arms and leaving the building without even so much as a backward glance.
Toby parked the car down at the Strand. He looked over at Ashley who had his face turned towards the passenger window. "Hey, you want to tell me what that whole hair cutting thing back at school was about? That wasn't a very nice thing to do."
Ashley just shrugged, keeping his face turned away.
Toby reached over and took a gentle hold of his chin, turning it towards him. "Ash, why did you cut that girl's hair off?"
Ashley's eyes filled with tears. "Because she's mean. I hate her. She's always so mean to me. She teases me and pokes her ruler int
o me and trips me over when the teachers aren't looking. I hate her. I hate girls! I hate all girls! They're dumb and they're mean and they hog you and I never asked for them anyway!" He was crying then, tears soaking his face and dripping down into Toby's hand.
Toby stared at him, stunned. He pulled Ashley up and over onto his lap, squashing him between the steering wheel and his body. Cradling his head, he let him cry, hugging him tightly. How could he have missed what was right in front of him? He needed to stop working so late each night. When the sobs subsided into hiccups, Toby pulled out a hankie and cleaned up Ashley's face. "Well, you know what I think?"
Ashley shook his head.
"If that girl was so mean to you, then she probably had it coming. But the thing is mate, that sometimes, even when someone has it coming, we still have to walk away. You can't get people back like that; you just can't do it. It doesn't seem fair, but it's just the way it is." He rubbed Ashley's back gently. "How would you feel if someone cut Bree's hair off like that?"
Ashley shrugged. "I don't know," he sulked.
"I think you would be mad."
He shrugged again.
"You have to go to a new school now."
"Good. I hate that school."
Toby kissed him on the head, his anger so endearing; and even though he knew he had to discourage it, he could not help but still be amused by it. "Mummy's going to be a bit cross."
Ashley shrugged again. "I don't care. She likes the girls more than me anyway."
And that brought them around to the real topic at hand. Toby was aware that Bree and Courtney tried to monopolise him; they were pushy and loud and would elbow each other to get to him first, Ashley always waiting patiently for his turn, inevitably receiving his attentions last. Toby felt deeply remorseful about this in hindsight. He had overlooked his son's sensitivity and mistaken it for understanding; but he was so tiny himself, how could he possibly be expected to understand anything as emotionally complex as the division of a busy father's attention amongst his children?
Selling the Drama Page 22