“I can’t drink tea,” she said. “Caffeine. It said on the pamphlet. Bad for the tadpole.”
“I’ll have a cup of tea, then.” He made it in his perfectly appointed, absolutely streamlined kitchen, phoned in an enormous order to the Thai takeaway, heavy on the meat and veggies, put kitten chow and water into two saucers for the furball, and thought, Cat dishes. After that, he sat on one of the swiveling chrome barstools beside his cousin, picked the kitten up when she decided she was lonely on the floor by herself and complained about it, and said, “First question. Does your mum know you’re here?”
“No.” Ella had lost some of her bravado. She had one elbow on the marble kitchen bench and was pleating her school jumper between her fingers, stretching it out of shape.
“Where does she think you are?”
“At your house. With Caro.” Marko’s youngest sister, still at school and still at home.
The call could wait fifteen minutes, then. “Does she know you’re pregnant?”
“Yes. I told you. And she’s doing her drama llama bit all over the shop, no worries.”
Marko wasn’t quite sure where to go next, so he started with the easy one. “So. You’ve been seeing some bloke, and…”
She gave a huff. “Well, obviously. Julian Mafutoa, but it’s not like he’s the love of my life. And before you get excited and start waving your hands in the air like Mum—he didn’t pressure me, or anything else Mum thinks. She thinks men are evil, that they’re all out to get you, just because my dad was a loser. She gave me all these warnings. It got really old.” When Marko didn’t answer straight away, because he was still trying to work out exactly what to say, she said, “It was my idea, all right? I’m the one who said we should go ahead. With Julian.”
“Have I ever waved my hands in the air?”
“No. But you never know.” She was giving him some side-eye like she expected him to leap from his stool and start shouting.
“Not happening now, either,” he said. “But I’ll say this. Birth control’s a thing, in future.” There. Something he was sure of.
“He said he heard it didn’t feel good.”
“Condoms, you mean.” When she nodded, he said, “It feels just bloody fine. Is it exactly the same? No. But if it’s a choice between doing it or not, a man’s going to take doing it with a condom over not doing it every single time. It feels good enough, trust me. And if you don’t want to use them, you go to the doctor, get birth control, get tested, and stay exclusive. That’s the choice. Not use them or don’t. Especially as I’ll bet it wasn’t just the one time.”
She’d got over her distress, because she wasn’t pleating her jumper anymore. Instead, she had her arms crossed. “Thanks. You’re super helpful. Because you used them every single time when you were sixteen. That’s why everybody gets to lecture me. Because they were all so careful. And perfect.”
“No,” he said, and got a pang of pure terror. Was there a little somebody running around in the world with his eyes? He’d been more careful once he’d been playing professional sport, of course, after he’d been given The Talk a time or two. Or a hundred. “It could’ve happened to most of us, I reckon. So when did you find out? And how far gone are you?”
She shrugged, not looking at him. “Four months or so, the doctor said, but I guess I find out later. I thought that couldn’t be it, because Julian didn’t, you know, finish. But then I couldn’t button my skirt for ages, and it was getting worse, so I thought I should check.”
“And you did check, I’m guessing.” He didn’t tell her that “I’ll pull out” were the other three little words that girls should take with a grain of salt. She’d probably sussed that out by now.
“Well, yeh,” she said. “Of course I did. I wouldn’t come all the way up here for nothing. I took the bus to Timaru on Sunday, because I thought, well, this isn’t going away, but maybe I just got fat, or cancer or something. I got one of those kits there. I couldn’t do it in Tekapo, could I, not with everybody seeing me buy it. So I did it in the ladies’ at Pak ‘N’ Save, and then I went to New World and tried there, in case the first test was from a faulty batch or something. And then I rang Caro and told her, and she said we should tell your mum, because she’d know what to do, and she wouldn’t throw a wobbly like my mum, but I didn’t, because I wanted to check first. And anyway, I know what the choices are. Not like there are so many of them.”
“To check…” he said slowly.
“So I went back to Tekapo,” she said, “and I went to Julian’s house, and we went for a walk, you know, and he wanted to go to the same place as before, to do it, but I said ‘Wait,’ and told him. He said maybe it was wrong and I should check again, and I said I didn’t need to check again, because I’d already checked twice, and he said, ‘My mum and dad are going to kill me,’ and then he said we’d talk later and buggered off. So that was that.”
The kitten was curled up asleep in Marko’s lap, and he had one hand over her to keep her from falling off, but he wasn’t feeling tender. He was feeling fairly murderous, in fact. Cowardly bastard. “Wrong fella, then,” he said, when he had himself under control again.
Finally, he saw the shine of tears in Ella’s dark eyes. “I get that he was scared,” she said. “But can’t he see that I’m scared, too?”
“Yeh,” he said. “He should’ve. He should.”
He put an arm around her and pulled her into his chest, and she laid her cheek against him, took a deep, wavering breath, and said, “It’s just… a bit hard, you know?”
He ran a hand over her back. She didn’t pull away, but her shoulders only shook a few times, even after a journey that must have taken all day. Buses and a plane and buses again, and holding those fears inside for weeks. He felt the woolen fabric of her school jumper under his fingers and thought, She’s still just a baby herself. Even though she could fool you on that. Too much adulting required, living with Jakinda. One person allowed to do the drama, and it wasn’t Ella. It had never been Ella.
He’d been sixteen himself when she’d been born. He only realized now how young he’d truly been. In the months and years that had followed, he’d been aware, now and then, of an urgent, quiet conversation between his parents, but had been consumed with his own concerns like every other young bloke. Until he’d learned what it was all about.
It had been windy that night. He remembered the eerie feeling as the wisps of cloud were driven across the face of the full moon, and the bleakness in the air that said snow was coming. And he remembered the silence.
He and his dad had driven nearly three hours, down from the Southern Alps and across the Canterbury plain, without speaking. His dad because he was coldly, quietly furious, and Marko because he was a hot mess of feelings and was trying to conceal it. They’d ended up in the outskirts of Christchurch at a shonky little house with doors made of the cheapest plywood, and locks that wouldn’t take more than a boot to burst.
He could still feel the smoothness of the cricket bat in his hands, the wood so familiar and yet so oddly heavy. He could remember the fear, too, that had gripped his shoulder muscles and tightened his fingers around the bat, and the coppery taste of it in his mouth.
Not the fear of being hurt. The fear of failing. Of not being able to hold Drake off if he came bursting through that door. Or worst of all—of freezing at the critical moment.
He remembered, too, how glad he’d been that his dad had been there. What a relief it had been to know that even if he failed, even if he froze, his dad wouldn’t. Not possible.
The two of them had stood guard, his dad at the front door with his deer rifle, Marko between the back door and the bedroom with the bat, and he’d watched his father’s baby sister pack her things. Hers, and her daughter’s.
He’d seen the tears dripping from an eye that was swollen shut, the hands that shook as she yanked clothes from drawers and closets and stuffed them frantically into rubbish bags. And all the while, Ella had sat on the floor between
the bed and the wall, her Barbie in her hand, and waited. Silent. Still. Hidden. Like she’d done that before.
Five years old.
That time, Jakinda hadn’t gone back. Because that time, Drake had hit his daughter, too.
Give Jakinda some credit. She’d left, and she’d done her best to keep Ella safe ever since. And now? Maybe she’d seen it all happening again, and she couldn’t bear it.
That was then. This was now. Ella was sitting back, sniffing away the few tears she’d let fall, and Marko got up, tore off some paper toweling from the roll on the counter, and thought, Have to buy some tissues.
The doorbell rang. The kitten, woken from her nap, was on his shoulder again. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and told Ella, “We’ll get it sorted. But first, we’ll eat. When did you eat last?”
She shrugged and blew her nose. “Dunno. I had to wait for the bus at Britomart for ages, and then you weren’t here.”
“Door,” he said when the bell rang again, and went to get it. Food would help.
Ella seemed calmer, although silent, when they were eating vegetables and chicken. Finally, she took a long drink of water and said, “Crying sucks.”
He laughed out of sheer surprise. “Yeh. Does. And no worries. It’s a situation, that’s all. We’ll get it sorted, and you’ll cope.”
“Wish you’d tell Mum that. I thought she was going to have a stroke. First thing she said was, ‘We’ll get you an abortion. No other choice.’ I thought I was a bad Catholic. So first thing Monday, we were at the doctor’s. You have to see two, did you know that? And they both have to say your health would be in jeopardy if you stayed pregnant. Which they do say. That law’s stupid.”
“I did know that,” Marko said.
“The doctor was quite happy to say it, of course. ‘Because she’s sixteen,’ he said. ‘No good for her, and no good for a baby.’ Like I’d be some monster mum or something. Worse than those ones you see screaming at their kids in the Countdown carpark? Yeh, right. And he talked to Mum, not to me, which was annoying. He told her to hurry and make the appointment with the second doctor because it looked like it was almost too late, because I had to be seventeen or eighteen weeks already, and Mum said, ‘No worries. She’s doing it.’ And when I said it was my choice, she started to cry, there in the exam room, and said, ‘I’ve tried so hard. Am I going to be punished forever? I made a mistake. I paid. My little girl. My baby.’ Like it was about her. I’m the one who’s pregnant! And then she got all quiet and asked me, ‘How did this happen?’ Like it was a big mystery. And when I said, ‘Well, you know, Mum, the usual way,’ she said, ‘Oh, my God’ again, like it helped, and then she asked, ‘Did he force you? Is that why you didn’t tell me? Because if he did, and that’s why you didn’t say anything sooner—we’re going to the police.’ Like it would’ve been better if I’d been… you know. All in front of the doctor. Awkward much?”
“Awkward heaps,” Marko said. “But you haven’t been to the second doctor yet.”
“No. I came here instead. The weekend was rubbish, and Monday, too, but on Tuesday, I thought—well, at least I know, and I can make a plan. I didn’t want to leave school, but I didn’t want to be in school. Not my school. It’d be awful, and Mum’s over the top. Round the bend. You weren’t there, or you’d know. I talked to Caro, and she said I should come to you and go to school here, so I could go home afterwards without all the drama. And I thought—brilliant. So that’s my plan.”
She looked like she thought that should explain it. His head was spinning more than a little. “You might have rung me first.”
“Well,” she said, “then you might’ve said no.”
“It’s possible.” He had a feeling he was about to get much more than he’d bargained for. “What are you doing about this baby, then?”
“There, you see,” she said. “That’s the brilliant part. That’s the other reason I came. They have a whole system. You get to choose. Caro and I looked it up. The parents fill out papers telling you all about them, and you choose which ones. They’re vetted before, so you know the baby’s going someplace safe where they’ll love it, and you don’t have to worry.”
“Ah. We’re doing an adoption?”
“Well, yeh. Obviously. Because then I’d be doing a good thing for somebody else, which would make it right that it happened, or at least not like some tragedy. And the baby could seem like anything the parents were, as long as they’re not gingers or blondes or something. Because Julian’s Samoan, and I’m all mixed. And besides, here I am, doing well at school, not using P or being an alcoholic or in prison or on the dole. Julian’s all right, too, got good parents and all. So that’s all good, because genes, right? Other than my dad, of course, but what are you going to do. And my mum, maybe, but she’s not horrible, just all emotional and involved. And at least I’m not weeping all over the shop and panicking every time something happens, so that must be a recessive gene. Heaps of people would want the baby, I’d think, and it would be good. Like a service. Like a good deed.”
“It would be that,” he said, feeling his way. “Not an easy road, though. Are you sure?”
“Yes. I know Mum thinks I’m sixteen, and that I don’t know. But I do. It wouldn’t be easy no matter what I did. I thought, though—it could be almost like a gap year, if I came to Auckland for it. Maybe it could be like… an adventure, if I thought of it like that. It’s not like you’d have to do some kind of caring for me like you may be thinking. Mum isn’t always the best about going to the shops and cooking tea or paying the rent, you know. I’d just be a housemate. And it won’t even be for that long. I got through almost half of it already, and I didn’t even know! I thought I had a nasty tummy bug, that’s all. And then that I had cancer. So—you see.”
Marko had a feeling it was going to be tougher than she thought. A journey? Yes. An adventure? Maybe not. “Have you spoken to somebody about that, then? About adoption?”
“I thought—better to do it all up here. So I’ll be far away. After.”
“Find adoptive parents in Auckland,” Marko guessed.
“Yeh. Better, I thought. For when I go home. To be far away.”
She was running her thumbs over her nails again. Looking too young for all of this. Looking sixteen.
He could send her back. To Tekapo, which didn’t just mean Jakinda. It meant Marko’s parents as well, and his little sister Caro, and their grandmother. That would be the smart thing to do. It definitely would be the easier thing as far as he was concerned. But as hard a road as Ella would face in Auckland, would it be any easier in Tekapo? She didn’t think so. And it was her road to walk, for better or worse.
Two possible answers. He couldn’t have said which was right, but maybe his answer had been written a long time ago. Maybe when he’d been given three younger sisters. And maybe on the night his dad had stood in front of a door holding a deer rifle.
“Good as gold,” he said.
“Yeh? Seriously? Brilliant.” Ella smiled, and he saw all the bravery in it, and all the terrible, unseeing youth. “You’ll see. It’s a perfect plan.”
There were just a couple problems with Ella’s plan.
First, Marko’s new house wasn’t exactly guest-ready. He’d been planning to get to it over time. By which he’d probably meant, “When the season’s over.” Next December.
Second… well, everything else. Just taking on a kitten had seemed like a major change in his routine. What was this going to be?
Play what’s in front of you. It’s not forever. She’s not an elephant. Maximum gestation nine months. And she was looking too much like that five-year-old clutching her Barbie.
“Bedroom,” he told her. “Unpack. And then you can ring your mum.”
“I thought…” She looked up at him like the big brother he almost was, and there was that tug again, the strings his family had around his heart. “I was hoping you could do it. You could explain. She’ll listen to you.”
“No
.” This, he knew for sure. “I’ll sit with you while you do it. Start as you mean to go on. This is your start. But first…” He got off the stool, put his kitten back into his pocket, and picked up Ella’s duffel. “You unpack.”
She followed him up the spare modern staircase and into an expansive bedroom, where he set her duffel on the bed and said, “Here you are.”
“Uh, Marko…”
“I have sheets,” he said. “A towel as well. Somewhere. Hang on.” He found them on a high shelf in his closet, then thought a second and dug out his sleeping bag. When he came back, Ella was sitting on the bare mattress, her shoulders drooping. He dropped a white towel and facecloth, a set of white sheets, and the sleeping bag beside her and said, “There you go. Oh. Hangers.” Another trip to his bedroom. He found five extra. “Right,” he said once he’d put them on the bed with the rest of it. “Sorted.”
“OK,” she said.
It didn’t sound all that cheerful. He said, “I told you. We’ll talk about the rest tomorrow. One step at a time. For now, unpack, get yourself…” He waved a hand around vaguely, and the kitten shifted on his shoulder. “Settled. Showered, or whatever, and then come down so we can ring your mum. Last thing, then bed. You’re almost there.”
“It’s not that,” she said. “It’s just…” She looked around.
“Oh.” He considered that. “Huh. You mean that it’s not decorated.”
“I mean that it’s not anything. Sorry, but… Caro said your house was flash, and it is, but…”
He could’ve been offended, but he’d heard his share of female commentary and female expectations. So he just said, “A bed, four walls all your own, a window, a ceiling light that works, because I put the bulb in myself, and a private bath. With towels. Also a million-dollar view of the sea. You should’ve seen my flat in Dunedin when I first went to play for Otago. A mattress on the floor, a couch that probably had to be burnt when we moved out, and a bath shared with three mates, each of them filthier than the last. Took my showers on tiptoe for fear I’d catch something disgusting. Consider yourself lucky. Besides, we can do a bit of a shop on Sunday.”
Just Say (Hell) No (Escape to New Zealand Book 11) Page 7