Just Not Mine (Escape to New Zealand)

by Rosalind James

  “It isn’t an emergency, though,” Charlie said. “It’s because you were asleep.”

  “Close enough.” Hugh opened the door. “Go.”

  Except that it was raining. Actually, pissing down. Brilliant. He grabbed Charlie’s mac off the hook and helped him off with his backpack and into the raincoat, then got the pack on him again. “OK. Now go.”

  “What about Amelia?”

  “I’ll look after Amelia.”

  “If she’s ill,” Charlie said, still standing on the porch, “you have to take her to the doctor. I mean, if she’s really ill. Or you have to buy her ginger beer, if it’s a tummy bug.”

  “I’ll figure it out,” Hugh said. “Go take your maths test. I’ve got it.”

  He didn’t knock this time because, truth to tell, he was getting worried himself. He turned the key in the lock and pushed the bedroom door open again. “Amelia? Mel?”

  He hadn’t called her that since she’d been little, but the figure huddled on her side under the duvet, her back towards him, did look little, and he remembered, all of a sudden, how she’d used to march into his room in the mornings on his rare visits amongst the obligations of rugby and university—not to mention his lack of enthusiasm for being a fifth wheel in the happy family that wasn’t quite his.

  Amelia at three, four, five years old, an imperious little figure with a sturdy body that was all their dad, nothing of her petite, graceful French mother. Her dark hair mussed, still in her pajamas, she’d climb up to sit cross-legged on his bed, poke him until he woke up, and tell him her dreams. Long, elaborate tales of ponies and kittens and princesses and magic that he’d barely been able to follow, but had listened to all the same, more or less, because her adoration had been flattering. She’d clamored for rides on his shoulders, for him to read her bedtime stories, had come to him at night and demanded cuddles when he’d be watching sport on the telly with his dad, having a rare father/son moment.

  Charlie had been shyer when he’d come along, a mummy’s boy, and Hugh hadn’t been around enough anyway by that point for the attachment to form. But Amelia had worshiped Hugh from the start. When had that changed? When had he lost that, and why hadn’t he tried harder to get it back, especially once she’d lost her parents?

  Because he hadn’t been here, that was why. And by the time he was, she’d been walled off behind her almost-adolescent superiority, and, who knew, probably by her own ways of coping as well, and he … well, he’d been intimidated at the prospect of breaking through all of that. He’d told himself he wasn’t necessary anyway. He was doing his part. He was paying, and he was around—some of the time, anyway—and Amelia and Charlie had Aunt Cora for the rest.

  But right now, they didn’t. Right now, Amelia had him, and that was it, so he was going to have to do his best to make that be enough.

  He went and sat on the side of her bed, just as she’d done all those years ago, and put a tentative hand on her shoulder.

  And felt her shrug it off again immediately, roll over further, and pull her legs up into a tighter ball. She spoke, her voice muffled by the pillow, or by tears, or both. “Go away.”

  “Are you ill?” he asked again. He put his hand back all the same. “Mel. Look at me.” He kept the note of command in his voice, but tried to soften it a bit. “I need to know. I can help.”

  “No you can’t,” she said, and she wasn’t looking, either. So much for the note of command.

  “Is it something at school?” he pressed, because she didn’t seem ill to him. “Or something about your mum and dad, maybe? Or …” He hesitated. “A boy?”

  “No. You’re so stupid.”

  That set him back a little. He thought a moment, then tried again. “Maybe I am,” he said, “because I don’t know what’s wrong. But I know that whatever it is, you can tell me. I was a kid too, not that long ago. I know about bullies. I know about exams and feeling like you don’t fit in. I know about feeling awkward and about friends who don’t want to be your friend anymore. I know how much it all feels like it matters. Try me. Please.”

  “You can’t know about this,” she said, “because you’re not a girl. Auntie Cora would know, but she isn’t here. I tried to ring, and she didn’t answer. And Mummy’s dead. So there’s nobody.”

  “Auntie Cora could be there now,” he said. “We could try again, if you like.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “We could do it now.”

  “I rang Holly and June too,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. He could hear her voice breaking, and she sounded so forlorn. So lost. “I thought maybe June’s mum would help, but she said she had to work, and maybe after school. But after school’s too late. And she said June had to go to school, and I should go too, but I can’t. I don’t have the stuff. I don’t even know what to get. So there’s nobody who can help.”

  He was starting to get the glimmer of an idea, because she was twelve. And he was an idiot, not to have thought about this happening. “Is it …” He hesitated. “Is this a girl thing? Is it your period? Did you start it?”

  She pulled the duvet all the way over her head, and he thought he’d guessed right.

  “Because that’s not a disaster,” he said, trying his best to sound cheerful and persuasive. “That’s normal. All girls have that, don’t you know? Didn’t you have some class, and all? Didn’t they explain?”

  “I can’t talk to you about it,” she said, her voice anguished under the covers. “Go away.”

  “Why?” he pressed. “Because it’s embarrassing? I know it is. Bodies are embarrassing. Mine was, too, when I was twelve. In a different way, but still, and I didn’t have a dad to ask, so I do know what it’s like. And I’ve known heaps of girls, Mel. They all have periods. Boys your age may laugh about it, but that’s just because they’re embarrassed too. So get up, and we’ll get you sorted so you can go to school, and afterwards, you can ring Auntie Cora, or you can talk to June’s mum, and they’ll answer your questions. It’s going to be fine.”

  She rolled over at last to face him, only her blotchy face visible, flushed and angry, her hair tangled, one sweaty strand stuck to her cheek, because it was too warm and humid to be under that duvet. “You don’t,” she said. “You don’t know. Because …” She’d begun to cry, an angry sound. “There’s blood everywhere, and I don’t know how to get it out, and I don’t have any of the stuff, like I said. I need …” Her color was even higher. “I need the stuff,” she said again, and it was a wail.

  “We could go get it,” he suggested. Oh, geez. Crying. He wasn’t good with crying. “We’ll go to New World right now, and we’ll deal with the blood, too.” What did you buy? All those shelves of mysterious boxes—he had no clue. He’d always just gone for the condom packet and got out of there, away from the rows of tampons and pads. Light Days. Heavy Days. Wings. What the hell were wings, and would she need them or not? The women he’d known had all used tampons. Would Amelia know how to use a tampon, though? He abandoned that entire idea pretty smartly. June’s mum would have to sort that out. He’d study the boxes, read labels, ask somebody, and find something, something that wasn’t tampons, for now. He hoped.

  “You can come with me,” he said again. “Change your clothes, if there’s blood, put some … I dunno, some TP or something in there, and we’ll go find the right thing.”

  “No. I’m going to wait for June’s mum.”

  Lie in bed all day and bleed and work herself up? That wasn’t the answer, and he sat, helpless, trying to figure out what was.

  Josie’s car had been in the drive when he’d seen Charlie off, he realized. He’d barely seen her since their garden-digging session more than two weeks ago. Working, he’d guessed, and something else on the weekends. Not hiding from him, he hoped, but then, he didn’t seem to be much chop at dealing with distraught girls, so who knew.

  He leaned down, brushed the sweaty hair from Amelia’s face, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m going to get you help,” he promised. “We’r
e going to solve this. I’ll be back straight away.”

  If Josie wasn’t there, well, he’d go to New World on his own, ask one of the clerks what to get, and he’d help Amelia deal with the rest of it, blood and all. Embarrassment be damned.

  Dr. Josie

  Josie sat over another cup of tea and contemplated the rain blowing across her back garden. So much for her plan to get the vegies in.

  She should have done it over the weekend, when the weather had been fine, but the past couple weeks had taken too much out of her. Projecting supreme sexual confidence, being so devastatingly female when she was feeling anything but, when she was feeling bruised and battered inside, aching and vulnerable. Not enough of a woman for me.

  She’d done it, because she always did it, because that was what a professional did. She’d convinced herself once again that she was a brilliant surgeon, not to mention a sexual predator who used men as playthings, who was amused by the struggles of her victims, who would never, ever be a victim herself. Had put in the long, hard days, then put her body through its own rigorous workout, the regimen that didn’t allow for heartbreak or laziness, that kept her in modeling contracts. Had fulfilled every single obligation, and had crawled into bed at the end of every brutal day too exhausted to cry.

  She’d broken the news about Derek to Clive and Val at the studio, had left it to them to spread the word to the rest of the cast, and to her agent to alert the rest of the world, and then hadn’t looked to see what the world had thought of it. Had tried, during the rare moments of quiet when she was driving, working out, to sort out her feelings about the breakup, and when they remained nothing but a messy, tangled knot despite her efforts, had given up.

  Instead, she’d driven home this past Friday night, since she wasn’t called for Monday. She’d gone fishing with her dad at dawn on Saturday morning, had gone to church with her parents and grandparents and had Sunday dinner afterwards with as much of her family as could be gathered for it, hadn’t eaten too much of her mum’s food, and had watched her mum bite her tongue about that. And, yes, had felt better.

  Her parents hadn’t seemed surprised at the breakup, and they certainly hadn’t been disappointed. At least there was that.

  “Best thing that could’ve happened, you ask me,” her dad had said, steering the ute back up the winding road with the boat hitched on behind. He’d been quiet when she’d told him, quiet ever since, but now that he’d digested the news, he was ready to give his opinion. “I haven’t said much, because I knew you loved the fella, and he was good to you when you were ill. Credit to him for that. But he’s not in your class, and I was always worried he’d ask you to marry him. That would’ve broken my heart, because I’d have known he was bound to break yours. Better it happened now. Let him find a pretty face, let them admire each other and tell each other that’s enough. You’re meant for something better. For someone better. When I walk you down the aisle, I want to be giving you away to the man who deserves you. I want to know that he’ll care more about your happiness than he does about his own. That you’ll be his treasure, the way your mum is mine. That’s the man I can give you to with a whole heart. The man who’ll take care of you, because you’re his heart’s blood. Because nothing will matter more to him.”

  “I’m not sure he’s out there, Dad,” she admitted, the hot tears tightening in her chest, threatening the stoicism that had held them at bay during every disciplined hour of her long work week.

  “He’s there,” he said. “You have faith. God wouldn’t have made you so beautiful without making a fit partner for you as well. You wait for him.”

  “Takes more than looks,” she said. “Derek was beautiful too, and you just told me how much that mattered.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” he said, his tone sharp, his broad, tough hands so sure on the wheel. “You know I’m not talking about your outside. I’m talking about the part of you that was beautiful when you were a skinny kid, and will still be beautiful when you’re an old lady, and afterwards, too, when you’re an ancestor. Your spirit, and your heart. That’s what the right man will want. That’s what I’ll never stop loving in your mum, because that’s the part of her that will never change. Yeh, your man will care that your outside is beautiful, because he’s a man. But that’s not why he’ll love you. He’ll love you because your wairua is beautiful.”

  “I know you think I’m perfect, Dad,” she said, a choked laugh escaping, “but are you remembering that way I’m not? That perfect man who sees my inner beauty, isn’t he going to want kids, the way you did? I can’t give him that, and that’s going to matter. Maybe I can’t give any man enough, if I can’t give him that.”

  “Bite your tongue,” he told her. “You’re more than enough for a good man. When he comes, the right one, he’s going to know it. Not a doubt in my mind.”

  She had cried a little, then, had wiped her face on her sleeve, and her dad had backed the boat into its spot, and, when it was done, had held her close and let her cry it out, all the tears she hadn’t shared with anyone, the pain and the hurt and the fear of it.

  He’d let her show her weakness, and had loved her all the more for it. And still, she hadn’t shared her deepest fear, the one that was becoming a conviction now. That no matter what he thought, she’d never find a man who would love her the way her father did. Who would want the complicated, messy, imperfect parts of her. Who would want that most imperfect part of all.

  None of that had got her vegies planted, but she’d spend today doing some research, she decided. On kitchen plans, and on some other things as well. Whether or not the right man ever came along, she wouldn’t waste her life pining for him. Whatever she’d lost, she’d been given more than her share, and she knew it. She just had to focus on that.

  Now, she worked on her third cup of tea, thought about a slice of toast, and abandoned the notion. Tea was good. And afterwards, a smoothie made with nonfat yoghurt and berries and flaxseed and a lot of other things that she’d tell herself were delicious, no matter how much she’d rather have had eggs. And sausage. And bacon, and potatoes, and tomatoes, and mushrooms. And toast. But she’d been a half-kilo over on her latest weigh-in, and a smoothie it was going to be.

  She heard the doorbell, went to see who would be calling. Too early for the postie.

  It was Hugh. The pretty good man she deliberately hadn’t thought about while her dad was talking, because he was her neighbor. He wasn’t looking like he’d come by to declare his love, though. He was looking soaked, and harassed, and worried.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, opening the door and urging him inside. “Car? Kids?”

  “Kids,” he said, kicking off his jandals and standing in the entryway, dripping on her floor. At least she’d got a smile out of him. “Amelia. Sorry, I know it’s an imposition, but can you help?”

  “Of course. What is it? Something at school? She ill?”

  “Not ill,” he said. “And not at school. Started her period. Last night, this morning, I guess. I’m not sure. Too embarrassed to tell me much, or to have me help her, and I’m not sure what to do anyway. She says there’s blood, and she doesn’t have any … tampons, I guess.”

  “Not tampons. Pads, for now. Hang on.” She went through into her bathroom, grabbed a few, went and found a plastic bag to stick them into, then came back to join Hugh. “And blood? Underwear, pajamas, sheets? Like that?”

  He looked a little appalled. “She wouldn’t show me. Huddled up in bed, crying. Would there be that much blood?”

  “Oh, yeh. It can look like quite the battle scene if you let it go long enough. And she won’t be used to it. She’s probably got some cramps, too,” she decided. “Did she say?”

  “Said she had a bellyache, last night,” Hugh remembered. “Didn’t eat much dinner.”

  “Hang on.” Another detour for the packet of Nurofen. “Let’s go,” she said. “Dr. Josie to the rescue. Good thing I work in a hospital.”

  He laughed, and she heard t
he grateful relief in it. “Do you actually have any medical knowledge?” he asked when they’d dashed across through the rain, had made it into his entryway. “I’ve been wondering how many patients survive a stay in your hospital, the way the entire staff seems to be focused on shagging everybody in sight. Bit distracting, I’d have thought.”

  “That’s why they call it fiction,” she said. “But I think I’ve got just about enough expertise for this particular medical emergency. Lead me to the patient.”

  Hugh took her into Amelia’s room, where the girl was still lying in bed, Josie saw. “Right, then,” she said briskly, going to the blinds and snapping them up, unlatching a window and shoving it open, making the room immediately appear more cheerful. “Congratulations.”

  Amelia turned a truly woebegone face to her. “What?”

  “You’re becoming a woman now, aren’t you,” Josie said. “And that’s a beautiful thing, even though it doesn’t feel so beautiful just now. But it will, once we chuck Hugh out, get you cleaned up, and then make him drive us to New World for a bit of shopping so you can get to school.”

  She turned to Hugh. “Why don’t you go make breakfast? Something for Amelia to look forward to, eh. And you too, I’ll bet. Go on. Get out. No boys allowed.”

  She jollied Amelia out of bed, stripped the sheets with a brisk hand, saw the girl’s cringing embarrassment at the stains. “I’ll show you how to get these out,” she promised her. “Not a woman in the world who doesn’t have to learn how to remove bloodstains. But first, go pop into the shower. Be quick, now.”

  Hugh had barely got the bacon cooked when she was hustling Amelia into the kitchen.

  “That didn’t take long,” he said. “All good?”

  “Yeh. We’ll chuck these in the washer, and we’re good as gold, hey, Amelia.”

  “Yeh,” she said, although it wasn’t too enthusiastic.