Authors: Rosalind James
“Come on,” Zack said. “I’ll show you my room.” He led the
way around the side of the building on the concrete path, down the few
utilitarian steps to the wooden door that was the entrance to their ground
floor flat at the back of the house.
Emma followed behind, her mind racing, as man and boy
stepped aside to allow her to unlock the door. Nic reached for the bags of
shopping, and she surrendered them reluctantly. She didn’t want to let him in,
didn’t understand why he had come, but she didn’t know how to avoid it, either.
And Zack wasn’t helping.
“We can put the shopping down here,” Zack said excitedly. It
was only a few steps to the kitchen doorway, and inside to the small table
where they ate. “Then I can show you my room.”
“In a minute,” Nic told him. “I need to talk to your mum
first.”
“You can have your bath, Zack,” Emma decided. “I’ll run it
for you now. By the time you’re done, Nic will be ready for his tour.”
“Promise you won’t leave first.” Zack looked at Nic beseechingly.
“I won’t leave,” Nic assured him. “Come get me when you’re
clean.”
“Wait here, then,” Emma told Nic helplessly. “I’ll be a few
minutes.”
Nic was sitting on the small slipcovered couch in the tiny
lounge, frowning absently at the painted coffee table, but stood as Emma reappeared
from the little hallway that led to the bedrooms and bath.
“Come into the kitchen,” she said warily. “Since you’re
here.” She took a deep breath, tried to calm her racing heart, to still the
anxiety that rushed through her, threatened to overwhelm her. Nic, in the
flesh. The solid,
hard
flesh. Taking up way too much space in her flat.
“Do you want something to drink?” she asked as she waved him
to a chair at the kitchen table. “I don’t have much, I’m afraid. Water? Juice?
Cup of tea?” She snapped her mouth shut on the words. Why was she trying to
make him comfortable? Because she felt so uncomfortable herself, she supposed.
“Cup of tea, thanks.” She could feel his eyes on her as she
pulled bread and milk from the grocery bags and moved to put them away. She was
aware of a pang of embarrassment for the modesty of the little room. No
dishwasher, just the ancient faucet over the dented stainless-steel sink.
Nothing new or flash here. Nothing like the house he shared with his fiancée, which
she’d seen profiled in the
Herald
only a couple months ago. How she’d
envied that big, gleaming, modern kitchen—although she’d wondered if anybody
had ever prepared a meal in it.
Well, whose fault was it that he had all that, and she had
only this? She had nothing to be ashamed of, she reminded herself fiercely. She
switched the electric jug on, then turned and leaned against the bench, her
hands gripping the tiled edge behind her. “Why are you here, Nic? What’s this
all about?”
“What d’you think? I met Zack. Then I saw you, and I knew.
He’s mine. Isn’t he?”
She stared at him. “Are you trying to pretend you didn’t
know? That this is the first you’ve heard of him? I’m going to ask you again.
What’s this all about?”
He shook his head as if trying to clear his ears. “What?” he
asked in obvious confusion. “Of course I didn’t know. How was I supposed to
know? You didn’t tell me.”
Emma looked at him a moment longer, searching his face for
the truth, then turned at the sound of the water boiling, busied herself fixing
the cups. She really had become a Kiwi, she thought briefly. She was completely
discombobulated, so she was making tea.
By the time she had turned around again, she had herself
back under control. “I think we need to start over. Yes. He’s your son. And I did
tell you. But you didn’t want anything to do with him. Are you trying to tell
me that didn’t happen? Because I can show you the letters. Refresh your memory.”
“I think you’d better.”
“Fix the tea, then.” She left the room abruptly, and he
found the milk and sugar, prepared his own mug. He paused as he tried to remember
what she took in hers. How could he have forgotten that, when he remembered so
much? The way she’d looked that last morning, pulling herself up in the big
bed, wrapping her arms around him to kiss him goodbye, her eyes huge and soft,
mouth swollen from an early morning of lovemaking.
Her face was as pretty as ever, the broad forehead and cheekbones
together with the pointed chin giving her the same adorable kitten look that had
captivated him from the beginning. But there was a wariness about her now, as
if the kitten had found the world to be a more hostile place than she’d
expected. And none of the softness he remembered when she turned those big blue
eyes on him.
He heard her talking to Zack, the sound of the water
beginning to run from the tub before she came back to join him, a slim manila
folder in her hand.
“We need more time to talk about this,” he told her
abruptly. “Could I take you somewhere?”
“I don’t want to talk in front of Zack,” she said.
“Can’t he stay here for a bit? Or go outside and play, or
something?”
She looked at him aghast. “He’s
six,
Nic. What do you
want me to do, send him down to the pub? I need to make dinner, anyway. Maybe
we should talk about this another time.” She pulled her hair back from her face
in a tired gesture he’d never seen.
“How about if I go for a takeaway,” he suggested. “Eat it
with you, and we can talk once Zack goes to bed.”
“All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “I guess it’s better to
do it now. And I don’t have enough to feed you, too.”
Zack appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a pair of faded
All Black pajamas that drooped over his hands and feet. “You aren’t leaving,
are you?” he asked Nic anxiously when he saw him standing. “You said you’d come
see my room.”
“Just going for a takeaway,” Nic assured him. “I’ll see your
room afterwards, I promise. Chinese OK?” he asked Emma.
“Fine,” she answered distractedly. “Not too spicy for Zack,
though,” she added as an afterthought. “Chicken and vegetables. Something like
that.”
“See you both in half an hour, then,” he promised.
He was afraid she wouldn’t open the door to him on his
return. He wondered what he was doing, planning on sitting down to dinner with
her. He’d been so angry when he’d realized what she’d done, his first impulse
had been to go straight to his lawyer. But in the end, he’d decided to talk to
her first. Claudia hadn’t seemed too fussed at his being out this evening,
luckily. She had to work late as well, she’d told him. He wondered now why he
hadn’t told her about Zack. Well, he hadn’t been sure the boy was his, had he?
Yes, he had, he admitted to himself. The birthday. Those
eyes. And most of all, the way he’d moved. He’d known from the moment he’d seen
him on the field. Some flash of recognition. But he wanted to learn more before
he discussed it with Claudia. She had a way of looking at you, so calm, so
sure. He was so unsure himself just now. He wanted it straight in his own mind
before he shared the news with her.
Emma had changed out of her work clothes during his absence,
he saw when she opened the door. She was wearing some kind of lacy light blue
pullover over a pair of worn, faded jeans that clung to her slim legs. With the
makeup washed off, she looked more like the girl he remembered. Softer.
Younger. And her feet were bare, narrow, the long toes with their nails painted
pink. He felt his pulse give a kick in spite of himself when he saw the silver
toe ring.
She had literally made his own toes curl, he remembered. He
had a quick vision of how she’d looked, one afternoon when he’d come back to
the
bure
after a swim. On her back, her head toward the foot of the bed,
legs up against the wall, slim ankles crossed as she read a paperback. And that
silver toe ring. She’d been wearing a little dress that had fallen down around
her hips to reveal her bare legs. But she hadn’t been wearing it for long. And
she’d looked so good when he’d pulled it off. Had shivered under his hand.
He forced his mind back to the present, smiled down at Zack.
“Chicken and veggies, as promised. Beef, too. But I brought some potstickers as
well. Because they’re my favorites.”
“Mine too!” Zack said happily. “Potstickers are yum!”
“You have good taste, it’s clear. Eating in the kitchen?” he
asked, got a nod from Emma in return.
“Water OK?” Emma asked him as they sat down to eat,
indicating the glass at his place.
“You don’t have a beer, I suppose.”
“Sorry.”
“You used not to be averse to a beer, as I recall. Or the
odd bottle of wine.”
“Expensive,” she said briefly.
“OK.” He turned to Zack. “So tell me about your team. Playing
Rippa, eh. They didn’t have that when I was a kid.”
“You tackled?” Zack asked, eyes wide.
“Yeh.” Nic smiled. “We tackled. Think it’s better now.
Nine’s soon enough to start getting bashed in the head.”
“I guess,” Zack said doubtfully. “I
want
to tackle,
though. And I want to kick,” he added fiercely. “I really want to kick.”
“Rob said you had a boot,” Nic agreed, spooning out another
large serving of beef and vegies. Zack had a good appetite, he saw, but Emma
ate as little as ever. Or maybe she was just nervous. She was certainly
glancing anxiously between the two of them.
“I want to get better, though,” Zack told him, oblivious to
his mother’s tension. “I want to kick like you. I want to play fullback, too.
We only play seven on a side in Rippa, you know. I can’t wait to be nine.”
“It’ll come soon enough,” Nic said.
“That’s what everyone says,” Zack sighed.
“Maybe you’d like to practice some kicking with me,” Nic
suggested.
“Really?” Zack asked, eyes wide. “Would you help me?”
“Nic,” Emma cautioned. “Wait.”
“We need to talk about it,” she told her son. “Nic and I. Let’s
make sure he really has time to help you before you start getting excited. Finish
your dinner. If you want to show Nic your room before bedtime, you need to
hustle up.”
Zack gave her a chastened look, then dropped his eyes back
to his plate, began to eat again.
Nic started to say something, stopped at a warning glance
from Emma. He finished the rest of his own meal in a few more bites, looked
across at the boy. “Ready, mate?”
“May I be excused, Mum?” Zack asked.
“Sure.”
Zack carried his plate and glass carefully to the sink,
stood on a small stepstool to place them inside. He turned back to Nic and said,
“You need to clear your place. It’s the rules.”
“Zack,” Emma protested. “Nic’s a guest. He doesn’t have to
clear his place.”
“No worries.” Nic took his own dishes across and set them
with Zack’s. “I like to follow the rules. Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Emma pulled Zack to her, rolled up his sleeves and
pajama legs with a few deft moves. “Or you’re going to trip over yourself.”
“Got a bit of growing to do before you fit those,” Nic
remarked to the boy as they left the kitchen.
“Mum found them at the Op Shop,” Zack explained. “They’re a
bit big, but they’re my favorites. Mum’s a champion Op Shopper. That’s what she
says. They were for my birthday. They’re brilliant, aren’t they? They’re real,
you know.” He looked up at Nic anxiously. “Mum made me some, before. But these
are the
real
ones. They would’ve been in the regular shop.”
“That’s important, eh.” Nic tried to push away the thought
of his son having to get his pajamas from the Op Shop, concentrating instead on
the tiny bedroom Zack was proudly showing him now, a large All Black poster and
flag dominating the wall space.
“This is you,” Zack told him, pointing to Nic’s figure
amidst his teammates, all standing with arms folded, the players looking large
and menacing against a dark background. The wall to which the poster was pinned
was painted a rich, deep orange, a contrast to the blue of the rest of the
room. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did, imbuing the little room with
personality and warmth.
“I have a Blues poster, too,” Zack went on. “But it’s behind
the door. Because there was no room.” He closed the bedroom door to show off
the image. “You’re on that, too. You’re my favorite.” He looked up at Nic
beseechingly. “D’you really think you could help me kick? If Mum says yes?”
“Course I do. And I’ll talk to your Mum about it. As long as
she says yes, I’ll help you.”
“She doesn’t want me to be disappointed,” Zack explained, his
face serious. “Because you’re not my dad. Dads mean it when they say things to
their own kids. But not to other kids. They get busy, and they forget. And it
makes Mum sad.”
Nic felt a lump form in his throat. “I won’t forget,” he
promised. “I’ll talk to her tonight.”
Zack nodded. “D’you want to see my Legos? I don’t have as
many as Graham.” He pulled out a robot from a simple, three-tiered shelving
unit consisting of orange-painted boards resting on brackets affixed to the
blue wall. In addition to the few carefully assembled Lego figures, the shelves
held an assortment of children’s books. The simple assembly was the only furniture
in the room other than the bed and a small dresser. No room for a desk anyway.
“I got money from Grandpa and Grandma for Christmas and my
birthday, and I’m saving up for a big set,” Zack was saying now. “A
Lord of
the Rings
set. That’s my favorite. D’you want to see, in the catalog?”
“Yeh. I do.” Nic dropped to the floor beside the small,
earnest figure, onto a round woven carpet in blue with touches of orange that
covered the worn beige carpeting. He watched as Zack pulled a well-thumbed
catalog off the shelf, opened it to a marked page.
“Helm’s Deep, see?” Zack showed him.
“Have you seen the films, then?” Nic asked.
“Yeh. At Graham’s. Mum was angry as. She said I was too
young. But I wasn’t scared. Well, maybe a
bit
scared. Of the troll. And
the orcs. The orcs are scary. Specially that one, where the man puts his hand
on his face? And he has those teeth?”