Claiming Noah (32 page)

Spencer smiled at her and despite her anger Catriona couldn't help but smile back. ‘Why are you smiling? I'm mad at you.'

‘I can see that.' Spencer reached for her hand again and this time she let him take it. ‘I love how fired up you get over the smallest things. If you want to go to my place, that's fine, we'll go. Just don't say that I didn't warn you.'

During the thirty-minute drive to Spencer's apartment, terraces and renovated houses turned into unrenovated houses and shabby apartment buildings with squat balconies, the railings hidden by clothes hung across them to dry. Then the houses disappeared completely as they made their way along Parramatta Road, past car dealerships and bridal shops with mannequins modelling ostentatious designs, and massage parlours with blacked-out windows. Catriona chatted incessantly throughout the journey; she knew if she stopped even for a few seconds then the realisation of what she was doing would force her to change her mind. She was so focused on keeping the conversation going she didn't even notice they had arrived at Spencer's building.

‘This is it,' he said as he turned off the ignition and unbuckled his seatbelt.

Catriona glanced up at the apartment building and despite her shock at its appearance she tried to keep an impassive expression on her face. The ten-storey building, located at the corner of a busy intersection, was so devoid of character she wouldn't have noticed it even if she walked past it every day. No-one would look twice at the grey exterior, brightened only by the presence of garish graffiti tags by the front door, or the small windows with broken venetian blinds. The building just blended into the grey sky like a chameleon trying to hide itself from a predator.

Spencer ushered her up the narrow staircase to the fourth floor, all the while apologising for the state of the building. Catriona tried not to focus on the paint peeling from the walls, or the numerous stains across the ratty carpet covering the stairs. She had never thought about where Spencer lived. James had told her his place was grim, but she had assumed he was exaggerating.

Spencer opened the front door of his apartment and let Catriona walk in first. Compared to what she had just seen, it wasn't too bad. Sure it was small; from her vantage point at the front door she could see the entire studio apartment. There was a kitchenette, a small red lounge pushed up against a wall, a double bed under the only window and an open door, which she presumed led to the bathroom. But despite its size the apartment was pleasant enough. At least it was a marked improvement to the bleak exterior and stairwell.

Spencer moved around the room, gathering up articles of clothing that were draped over the couch and bed and depositing them on top of a chest of drawers. ‘I would have cleaned up if I knew you were coming over,' he said.

Catriona noticed that none of the clothes belonged to a woman. She took a few steps forward until she could see through the open door of the bathroom. The only items on the vanity were an electric razor, a bottle of aftershave and a solitary toothbrush sitting in a holder.

‘Where are Jess's things?' she asked Spencer.

He answered her without turning around. ‘We broke up a week ago. She moved back to her parents' place.'

‘Is that why you started spending time with me?'

‘That had nothing to do with it.'

Catriona knew she should have left it at that, but she didn't. ‘So, why did you break up, then? Did she break up with you?'

When Spencer turned around he was smiling. ‘Wow, you're direct, aren't you? Fair questions, I suppose . . . It turns out I was a bit too old for her. She said she wanted someone her own age.' He watched Catriona try to suppress a smile. ‘Just say it, go ahead.'

‘I told you so.'

‘I know you did. I'm an idiot, I admit it. I don't know what I was thinking being with her.'

‘Do you know what you're doing with me?'

Spencer moved towards her until they were standing toe-to-toe. ‘Yes,' he said with a deliberate slowness, the huskiness of his voice sending a shiver through Catriona's body.

She tried to banish all thoughts of James from her mind, but even though she was staring straight at Spencer all she could see was James's face. She thought she knew what she wanted, but now that she and Spencer were together in his apartment, with his bed in plain sight, she felt indecision take hold of her.

Spencer made the decision for her. His kisses and hands slowly separated her clothes from her body until she was standing naked before him. When she closed her eyes she pictured James's hands trailing the length of her body, James's lips hot against her neck. But it didn't feel like James. The hands were rough and assertive, not gentle like James's. Spencer's kisses were passionate, unyielding, stalling her breath with their intensity, his lips marking her body as if he were trying to tattoo her. Though she tried not to think about him, Catriona's mind brought up memories of James kissing her with tender lips, never pressing too hard, as if he were afraid he would crush her. She pressed harder against Spencer, clenching his hair between her fingers. The hair felt too short, too coarse. When she opened her eyes and peered at him through her lashes she saw skin that was too tanned, hair that was too grey, eyes that were the wrong colour.

As Spencer moved her body with his, pushing her towards the bed, Catriona forced the comparisons from her mind until her hesitation dissipated and the shadow of James receded into the walls.

•  •  •

After Spencer fell asleep, Catriona lifted his heavy arm off her and quietly pulled on her clothes. She felt there was a magnet pulling her towards something and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep until she surrendered to its force.

When she reached the plastic shopping bag, which Spencer had left by the front door, she stood staring at it for a few minutes before she bent down and pulled out the magazine. She flicked through the pages impatiently, passing all the usual type of women's-magazine articles of how to get fit for summer, the best celebrity bodies and an article that appeared to be about children working in sweatshops. And then, on a double-spread on pages seventy-four and seventy-five, she found the article she was searching for. In the main photo, sitting between two people she had never met, was her son. The woman had her arm around him and all three of the people in the photo were smiling at the camera. Catriona's reaction on seeing the photograph was as intense as a punch to the stomach, and she had to sit on the couch so her legs didn't give way. Judging from the photograph alone the article appeared to be about a happy family, but the title plastered across the top of the two pages provided a stark contrast to the idyllic photo: ‘Family finally reunited after two years of pain and heartbreak'. Well, it was twenty-one months really, but obviously the editor felt that didn't have the same ring to it.

Catriona tried to read the article, but after every few words her eyes would dart back to Noah's face in the photograph. She wasn't sure if she was glad that he looked happy and loved or if she resented that he could look happy with anyone other than her and James. It felt so wrong, so sordid. This was her son; these strangers had her son. It should be
her
sitting there with her arm around him and smiling, not them.

Spencer appeared in front of her. She hadn't heard him get up. He was naked apart from his boxer shorts and his eyes were bleary with sleep.

‘What are you doing?' he asked. ‘Come back to bed.'

Catriona looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. She clutched the pages of the magazine with such force that her hands started to cramp. ‘I'm going to fight for custody of Noah. He's my son and I'm his mother, and he should be with me. I need him to be with me.'

She looked down at the article again. Noah smiled back up at her from the photograph in a way that she interpreted as encouragement.

Monday, 24 March 2014

D
iana's hands hung motionless in the air, halfway between the chest of drawers and her suitcase, as she stared out the window towards the ocean. It was calm today; through her open window she could just hear the sound of the waves breaking. The ocean seemed to be enticing her to stop packing, to stay at the beach permanently. It would be an easy life. She and Noah could rent a house somewhere on the beach. A small place with a couple of bedrooms would do. She could call Richard and apologise for her outburst the day before, ask him if he'd consider spending time with her again. She could get a job working for a few hours a day, maybe in a cafe. Or she could go back to teaching. Then she and Noah could spend every afternoon on the beach. They could swim when the weather was warm and rug up for walks along the beach when it was cold. She could teach Noah to fish when he was older. Her father had taught her when she was young and even though she hadn't done it in years she still remembered how to cast a line and bait a hook. Noah would like that.

Tom knocked on her open door. ‘Your phone was ringing downstairs.' He stood in her doorway, one arm crossed across his chest as he held out her phone with a look of warning on his face. ‘It's Liam.'

Diana took the phone from Tom and waited until he had left the doorway before she held the phone up to her ear. ‘Yes? What do you want?'

‘You have to come home now.'

‘We're already packing up, we'll be home this afternoon. I told you that already.'

‘No, you don't understand. Something's happened.'

Diana could hear the panic in his voice. ‘What is it? What's happened?'

The phone was silent for a few seconds. Diana thought she could hear Liam crying. She hadn't heard him cry since Noah was kidnapped.

‘It's Noah. Di, I don't know what we're going to do.'

‘Noah's fine, he's right here.' She craned her neck around her doorway so she could see into his bedroom. He was playing with his fire engine on the bedroom floor. He loved it; he had been playing with it for two weeks straight. None of the toys they had bought him for his birthday had captured his attention as much as that fire engine.

When Liam didn't reply she asked, ‘What are you talking about?'

‘That woman, the wife of the man who kidnapped Noah. She's submitted a custody application. She wants full custody of him.'

Diana felt a blinding pain in her chest and she seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. ‘No, but . . . she can't. We're his parents . . . I don't understand.'

Liam was openly crying now. ‘She can, Di. We may be his legal parents, but she's his biological mother. And she's been raising him since he was a baby.'

‘But,
I'm
his mother,' Diana whispered.

‘And so is she.' After a beat Liam added, ‘I'm so scared. I think there's a chance she could get custody of him. I don't know what to do. What are we going to do?'

He was asking her? How on earth was she supposed to know what to do? How could she lose Noah again? She couldn't live through that again; she barely survived the first time.

‘I'll speak to Jerry,' she said finally. ‘He handles cases like this all the time. He'll help us. He'll tell us whether she has a case against us.'

‘Jerry,' Liam breathed out as if he had been holding on to that name in his mouth. ‘Of course.'

‘We'll be home this afternoon,' Diana said. ‘We'll talk about it then.' After a pause she added, ‘It'll be okay, we'll get through this. He's our son, he belongs with us.'

‘Thanks, Di. Hurry home.'

She pressed the end-call button and stared at her phone for a while in disbelief, wondering what she had done to deserve this.

Tom appeared in her doorway again.

‘Did you hear that?' she asked him.

He nodded. ‘I think so.' He walked over to her, the phone hanging limp in her hand, and pulled her into an embrace. ‘I was worried this would happen, but I thought when you hadn't heard anything that it was going to be okay, that she'd let you keep him without a fight.'

‘You thought about it?' Diana pulled back and looked at him in surprise. ‘It never even occurred to me. Why didn't you say anything?'

‘I didn't want to upset you; I hoped I was wrong.'

‘Will Jerry help us?'

‘I'm sure he will. I'll call him right now.'

After Tom left her bedroom, Diana walked into Noah's room and sat on his bed. He looked up from his fire engine in anticipation and then held the toy out to her.

‘Of course I'll play with you, honey,' she said as she got off the bed and sat cross-legged on the carpet next to him.

Noah handed her one of his other trucks while he kept his fire engine, but instead of driving the truck along the carpet she ran her hand over his hair. It had already grown down past his collar and she was planning to take him for a haircut next week. He had grown up so much and she had missed most of it. She wasn't prepared to miss any more of his life.

‘Jerry said he can help,' Tom called out from the doorway of Noah's room. ‘He said he'll come over to your place and talk to you and Liam as soon as you're ready. I said you'd probably want to see him tonight.'

‘Of course, the sooner the better. What did he say? Does he think that . . . does she . . .'

Tom looked at Noah and then at Diana. ‘He said she may have a chance, it depends how compelling her case is. But he also said that you have the upper hand because you're the legal parents. But I don't know how it all works; he can explain it to you tonight.'

•  •  •

There was barely a sound in the car during the drive back to Sydney. Even Noah seemed affected by the sombre mood and spent most of the trip staring out the window in broody silence.

When they arrived home Liam was sitting at the dining table waiting for them, an array of documents spread in a semi-circle around him along with half a dozen empty coffee-stained mugs and a plate bearing the remnants of a pizza. Liam's golf bag was propped up against the wall, his golf shoes tied together and hanging from one of the clubs. Even from where she stood in the living room, Diana could see an overflow of dishes in the kitchen sink covered with greasy food smears.