by Trish Morey
In the past day she’d tried unsuccessfully to put him out of her mind. She’d tried to come to terms with the thought she might never see him again, and yet here he was.
But in reality what chance had she had to put him out of her mind? Forty-eight hours ago they’d been in the throes of lovemaking. Just watching him made her body ache for more. Heat built up inside her and she crossed her legs, trying to suppress her growing need. It didn’t seem right to think such thoughts at a child’s birthday party.
Finally the players collectively decided they’d had enough. They all drifted up to the table, puffing and with sweat-spiked hair, eager for cordial and sustenance.
‘Wow,’ said Jason turning to Nick as he reached for a cup, ‘where’d you learn to play like that?’
‘Back in Greece, where I grew up.’
‘You’re from Greece?’ He looked at his mother strangely, then focused back on Nick. ‘Kalimera,’ he said. ‘Kalimera, Kyrios Santos.’
Nick stopped pouring cordial into the cups held out around him. ‘Kalimera, Jason. You speak Greek?’
‘I’m learning at school. My teacher says we should practice whenever we meet someone from Greece.’
‘Sounds like good advice,’ he said, and resumed pouring cordial. ‘Are you all learning Greek?’
A chorus of ‘no’ went up, with cries of ‘French’ and ‘Spanish’.
‘Why did you choose Greek, Jason?’
He shrugged as he piled up his plate with four sausage rolls, three pieces of pizza and a half-dozen cocktail frankfurters, over all of which he squeezed an unhealthy spurt of tomato sauce. ‘Mum picked it. But that’s okay. I like it.’
Alex was anxious to change the subject. ‘Nick, I don’t expect you want cordial. Can I get you something stronger—a beer or some wine, maybe?’
He looked at her, eyes narrowed. ‘Thanks, but cordial is fine—really.’
She shivered as his eyes bored into her. Was he working it all out? Good for him. Whatever happened he wasn’t going to be able to say she had denied her son his heritage.
‘Did you two want to talk?’ Tilly asked. ‘I can always look after these guys for a while. They won’t be getting into much mischief with their mouths full.’
‘There’s no need—’
‘We’d appreciate it—’
Tilly looked from one to the other, smiling. ‘Well, what’s it to be, then?’
Alex shrugged, knowing when she was beaten and realising that the time had finally come. ‘Okay,’ she said, heading into the kitchen, ‘follow me.’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ she heard him say behind her, in a way that put ripples down her spine.
It was dark inside, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. He’d enjoyed the determined sway of her hips as she led him into the room, and now she’d turned with her back to the kitchen sink he was enjoying the way her bust filled the soft scoop-neck T-shirt. The soft floral skirt she was wearing floated around the top of her knees, giving only a hint of the smooth legs beneath.
‘Jason seems to like his present. Thank you for that.’
He shrugged. ‘It was no trouble—seeing I crashed his party.’ Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dim light he could see more clearly. He was about to lean against the kitchen table but thought better of it when he saw the soccer ball birthday cake sitting in pride of place. ‘Nice cake,’ he said, though there was something about it that jagged in his mind, something not quite right.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’
He looked up at her voice. He hadn’t expected to be here. ‘No, I guess not.’
‘But we do have to talk…’ She’d wanted to get her head around how she was going to introduce the subject of their son, but instead blurted out the first thing that came to mind. ‘Why did you sneak off like that?’
Good question, he thought. Because it was easier. ‘I thought it would be better for both of us.’
‘Well, it wasn’t. I had something to tell you and you didn’t give me the chance.’
‘I forgot.’
Truth was, he’d wanted out of there—fast. He’d known he’d enjoy the lovemaking, but that day had been something else. The sex had been incredible. Though it had gone beyond that. The day he’d spent with her had taken him back to a time he’d thought he’d never experience again. It had scared him, and his first reaction had been to run. That wasn’t what he’d intended. He turned his eyes back to her and remembered what he’d been saying.
‘How could I not forget—in the heat of the moment?’
She felt it too. He could see by her widening eyes and the way her grip tightened on the counter behind. She could feel this indefinable heat that accompanied her presence.
She cleared her throat, her hands clinging to the counter in their white knuckled grip. ‘Then I’m glad you came back.’
‘What is it?’ he asked, curious about what was so important, and more curious about that cake, done up like a soccer ball.
Something about it didn’t seem right. He looked over at it once more and it hit him.
Breath hissed in through his teeth.
‘When is Jason’s birthday?’
She looked taken aback for a second. She blinked and he saw her throat move as she swallowed. ‘Today.’
‘No,’ he said, ‘not his party. His birthday.’
‘Today.’
Today! The anniversary of Stavros’s death. What kind of coincidence was that?
‘But he’s seven today—correct? I thought he was seven.’ Seven candles would confirm what he suspected. She’d met someone else when she’d come home and it had been his baby she’d delivered a year or so later. He indicated the cake. ‘Yet I count eight candles. Did someone make a mistake?’
She looked at him and nodded, but instead of making him relieved, the look on her face made his gut clench tighter with every dip of her head.
‘I made a mistake. I should have told you earlier.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m sorry, Nick. Jason is your son.’
Silence, and the seconds spun out, encompassing them both as their eyes locked true to each other.
Until finally the screen door slammed and the subject of their conversation skidded to a halt in the middle of the kitchen between them.
‘Aunt Tilly says it’s time for cake, before the guys have to go home.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘Are you guys okay? You both look kind of funny.’
Alex roused herself first. She took a deep breath and flexed her shoulders, trying to ease the building strain. ‘Fine, Jason. We were just talking. I’ll get the cake.’
‘Okay,’ he said, running once more for the door. ‘Hey, guys!’ he yelled before he’d cleared the door. ‘Here comes the cake.’ Cheers drifted in from outside.
She moved to the table, almost in slow motion, trying to keep as far away as possible from Nick as she could. Say something, she screamed inside. Say anything. But Nick didn’t move a muscle until she was leaning over the cake and then he suddenly edged her aside.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said in a voice that invited no argument. ‘It’s about time I was allowed to do something for my son.’
He swept the cake off the table and strode outside. Alex was left following, teeth jammed into her bottom lip. He was talking, and he was at least civil. That was something, given the circumstances. But she could see he was tightly wound up, and she just prayed he wouldn’t unwind right now. She still had to tell Jason after all.
She followed him out through the door and noticed Tilly’s raised eyebrows at the strange procession. Nick put the cake down on the table, to delighted oohs and aahs from the boys, and looked around.
Alex held out her hand. ‘Do you want to light the candles?’
‘Thank you,’ he said, his words polite but his eyes cold and damning as he took the matches from her.
Tilly looked over at her, her eyes questioning. Well? she mouthed. Alex gave a brief nod and looked away, before Tilly or anyone else might see th
e moisture welling there.
The candles lit, Nick started the boys singing ‘Happy Birthday’. Alex remembered her camera at the last minute and managed a shot of Jason blowing out each and every candle in one go. For once she didn’t have to reach for the video camera. Nick was here to witness this birthday party after all.
‘Now,’ said Nick, after the cheers had subsided, ‘make a wish.’
The boy looked at Nick, this man who all of a sudden seemed to be the one in control, a slight frown puckering his young eyebrows. Then he looked at his mother. Alex smiled and he seemed to relax a little. Then he squeezed his eyes shut for a good ten seconds.
Then he opened them and yelled, ‘Bags the biggest bit.’
Nick sliced the cake into man-sized portions the boys appreciated, and before the last one had finished parents were arriving to collect their exhausted and chocolate-smeared children.
Soon only the four of them remained. Alex dreaded what was coming as she started the cleaning up. She could sense the volcano that was building inside Nick, could see the tension rising in his dark eyes, and though all remained calm on the exterior, she knew he was going to blow.
Tilly sensed it too, as they were washing up the last of the dishes in the kitchen. Nick was gazing out of the window at his son, still kicking the new soccer ball around. ‘I might wander off, sis, in a little while,’ she said, drying her hands on a towel. ‘Do you think Jason might like to come to my place for a while?’
Nick looked up sharply. ‘No!’
Tilly recoiled as if she’d been slapped. ‘We’ll be back, if that’s what you’re worried about. It just looks like you two have some unfinished business. Maybe it’s better if you sort that out first, before involving my nephew.’
Nick looked at Alex. Did he really think she would try and spirit Jason away when at last they had finally met? But in his position maybe she’d be nervous about exactly the same thing. She didn’t have a shiny track record in the keeping-him-informed stakes. ‘They’ll be back. I promise.’
He grunted something about a couple of minutes and strode outside in time to pick up a deftly aimed pass from Jason. She watched him out of the window, noticed the tension dissolving in his shoulders as his muscles freed up and they kicked the ball to each other.
And it hit her like a soccer ball into her gut. Father and son together. The picture she’d never had in her mind was now being played out in the backyard. They could be any normal family on a public holiday weekend. Father and son kicking around a football while Mum cleaned up inside. The cliché brought a sardonic smile to her face.
Tilly picked up her bag and keys. ‘You be all right?’
She nodded. ‘Sure. Best to get it over with. It had to happen one day, I guess.’
Tilly kissed her sister on the cheek, gave her arm a squeeze and smiled. ‘I’ll be back in an hour—okay? But call me on my mobile before if you need to.’ She called to Jason and he came running, soccer ball in his arms. After a quick peck on his cheek, they were gone.
Alex waved from the front door and knew the moment he stepped up behind her—knew by the prickle of her skin, by the scent of man—hot, angry man. Every nerve cell screamed his presence. Except this time it was for all the wrong reasons.
This time she felt afraid.
‘Thank you for inviting me to my son’s eighth birthday,’ he said from behind her.
She closed her eyes, made a mental prayer for strength, and turned to face him.
‘I would have, if you hadn’t bolted from my bed without a word.’
He glared at her. ‘You say that now. How am I supposed to believe you? You have lied to me for eight years—even longer! Why should you start telling the truth now?’
‘I never lied to you!’
‘So what do you call more than eight years of silence? Eight years of hiding my son from me. Eight years of depriving me of seeing my son grow up. What is that if not a lie?’
‘I didn’t lie—’
‘And when would you have told me if I hadn’t turned up in Sydney? If I hadn’t turned up on your doorstep today? How much longer would you have made me wait for the truth? I would never have found out about Jason being my son. You would never have told me.’
He took a few steps around the room, picking up a photograph at random and moving on to the next.
‘I’ve already missed out on eight years of his life. How much more would you have had me miss?’
Suddenly she moved to an old chest of drawers in the corner of the room. She pulled out the bottom drawer. ‘Look,’ she said, holding one of the stash of folders contained within. ‘I have photos—lots of photos—and…’ She pulled out the next drawer. ‘Videos. Every birthday. Jason when he was newborn, in the bath, his first steps. I have them all on video…’
‘You have had my son for eight years and all you offer me is videos?’
She dropped the folder back in the drawer and pushed it shut, realising how pathetic her offer sounded. He was right. She’d been a fool all these years, thinking that somehow a picture every now and then or a few minutes of film was going to somehow make up for years of absence.
‘And where is his father in these videos? You have deprived my son of a father for eight years. How could you be so selfish?’
Selfish! After eight years of struggling by herself to create some sort of security for her child—years when her own youth had been put aside so she could be a young mother to a child no one had asked for but was there to be cared for and loved nonetheless—to hear that word used about her stung deep. She swallowed down the burn at the back of her throat, fought the prick of tears that was threatening. She sniffed.
‘He’s my son too, don’t forget.’
‘How could I forget? He must be your son. Not once did you intimate that I might be involved.’ He paused for a second, revelation bright in his eyes. ‘That’s why you resigned, isn’t it? So you wouldn’t have to tell me. So I would never find out.’
She gulped, shook her head. ‘It wasn’t like that…I can explain…’
In three strides he had crossed the room between them and stood before her, gripping her arms and glaring down at her so that she felt small and powerless.
‘Then what was it like? Why did you never tell me? Why did you let me believe he was another man’s child? Why did you never tell me when he was born?’
‘I didn’t think you’d believe me.’
‘What?’
‘We used a condom. He shouldn’t have happened. Why would you believe me?’
‘But a baby. How could you keep that secret from his father?’
She swallowed back a sob. ‘I know. I rang the day he was born—remember. I rang to tell you. But it was the day—’
‘The day Stavros died,’ he finished, dropping her arms and wheeling around. ‘We could have done with some good news that day.’
She laughed—a harsh, brittle laugh that sounded as if at any moment it would fracture in the tense, heated air between them.
She rubbed her arms where they still stung, as if he had branded her. ‘It wouldn’t have been good news—not to your family.’
‘Not good news? My family lurched from one nightmare to the next after that. Don’t you think we deserved a bit of happiness? Something to look forward to—a child for me—a grandchild for my parents?’
‘An illegitimate grandchild for your parents. The second—remember?’
He brushed her words away with a firm sweep of his arm.
‘That child was never Stavros’s!’
‘But Stavros believed he was. He went against your parents’ wishes. He married the mother, believing he was doing the right thing.’
‘She wanted his money—’
‘Yes, and so did her boyfriend. He wanted the family to pay up—hush money. But the plan went wrong and Stavros acted from the heart. So she won a bigger prize—she married into the Santos family and drove her boyfriend crazy with jealousy until he couldn’t stand that she wasn’t comi
ng back and killed Stavros.’
‘What has this to do with you not telling me?’
She looked at him, momentarily dumbstruck.
‘Don’t you remember how you felt all the months leading up to Stavros’s death? Month after month you would tell me how the situation had worsened. How your parents would not accept the girl. How she flouted Stavros’s will and spent his money as fast as she could, leaving the baby in the care of full-time nanny.’
She took a deep breath.
‘Then you told me how Stavros had realised what a mistake he had made. When I found out I was pregnant they had only just been married. I thought it was so romantic of him to defy his parents and marry for love. But I knew how much his family, including you, were against the marriage. And there was me, wanting so much for their marriage to work out.’
She stopped talking but he remained silent, totally unresponsive to her story. What impact her words had had she couldn’t tell. His jawline remained firm and set and his eyes glinted with anger still. She ran her tongue over dry lips.
‘But things didn’t improve. They got worse. And as they grew worse I grew more and more afraid to tell you. I knew your parents would never believe me. I knew you would never believe me.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Because you never believed her story either. Stavros had used protection, you told me. You thought she was lying. Why, then, should you believe me?’
‘She was lying!’
Her chin lifted a tad. ‘Absolutely. So you weren’t about to fall for that old trick again.’
She could see his jaw working as his teeth ground together.
‘I still had a right to know!’ he said at last.
She nodded in agreement, and when she spoke her voice was more resigned. She picked up one of the photos sitting on the mantel nearby. Jason had only been two days old, wrapped in his blue hospital shawl, his alert dark eyes absorbing everything. She smiled.