Ricochet Baby (24 page)

‘S
O WHAT’S THE
weather like over there, Orla?’ Bernard asks.

‘Oh it’s a grand soft day, you know how it is.’

‘Yeah, autumn and wet. I thought you were coming home, Orla.’

‘Well, yes, of course I am, and all, but I want to see that my mother’s mended first.’

Orla stands in the hallway of the house in Belfast, the receiver pressed hard against her ear, her hand over the mouthpiece, in an effort to conceal her conversation. Bernard shouts, as if hoping his voice will carry all the way from New Zealand without the aid of the phone.

‘I thought she was dying.’

‘Well, that’s what I thought too.’

‘So what’s happened? Another miracle?’

‘I wish you’d keep your voice down, Bernard.’

‘You got my letter?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the picture of the baby?’

‘Yes, oh I did. He’s a fine little man, that nephew of yours. Poor wee boy.’ Orla has looked at Nathan’s picture many times. She longs to trace the curve of his eyelids with the tip of her finger.

‘You and me, we could look after him, perhaps.’

‘Oh, and what does Roberta think about that?’

‘Roberta’s daft.’

‘Bernard,’ she says, ‘they wouldn’t give us Roberta’s baby? Not for keeps?’

He is too slow to answer.

‘She’s a bad girl, that Roberta of yours. All airs and graces and now look what she’s up and done to her parents.’

‘We need you here,’ he says. ‘If we had him for a bit. Well. You know what I mean.’

Yes, I know all too well what you mean, Orla says to herself, when she hangs up. If you and I have to face each other again, Bernard, a baby would soften the view. But perhaps he is right, it might be a place to begin. Only when Nathan was gone, because she knows this is what would happen, they would be right back where they left off, staring at blank walls rather than at each other.

‘If you’re thinking of going back to New Zealand, I’d advise against it,’ says her mother, when Orla returns to the front parlour. It is a little room, crowded with chairs covered with antimacassars, small tables stacked with framed photographs of family, and a tea trolley bearing china cups that never get used from one year to the next, except the first two on the right-hand side which are brought into service when the priest comes to visit, and a couch where her mother lies, a peggy-square rug pulled up to her chin, while she watches the television in the corner.

‘But my husband’s over there, Mam,’ says Orla.

‘Exactly,’ her mother replies. ‘What’s he doing over there, when he should be by your side? There’s nothing but harm and grief can come to you out there amongst those savages.’

‘I
T
’
S
AS IF
she’s living in a dream,’ says Glass to Edith, as they climb into bed. ‘Doesn’t she realise that she’s going to lose that baby for good?’

‘It mightn’t come to that,’ says Edith.

‘Oh come on, just take a look at her.’ Since Roberta’s hair has gone, it feels to Glass as if there is not much more he can lose. Just when he felt hope, everything has become confused again. And there is something different about Edith that he can’t put his finger on.

‘M
ICHAEL
,’ I
SAY
, ‘couldn’t you come home? Just for a couple of days?’

‘You don’t know what you’re asking,’ my brother says, from his terrace house in Sydney. I can see him now, although it is some years since Paul and I visited him there. The houses are small and close together but they have delicate verandahs trimmed with curly wrought iron. They have become smart and expensive. Michael’s walls and furniture are white, his pictures extravagant

‘You don’t know what my in-laws are like, they’ll run rings round our family.’

‘What about our father, the saint?’

I am silent. My father hasn’t spoken to me in days.

‘Have you got a good lawyer?’

‘Dad’s hired Tom Dunsford. Remember him?’

Michael groans. ‘Didn’t you tell him you wanted somebody flash? The old man can afford it.’

‘You know that’s not the way things work round here. Please Michael, I don’t ask much. This is about my son.’

For a moment I think he is going to weaken.

One day, I came in from school and my mother and Michael were sitting in the kitchen, their hands entwined across the table. Michael had been crying. I was shocked because, in places like Walnut, the saying big boys don’t cry still holds good. But he looked exhausted with weeping, as if it had been going on for some time.

‘Michael’s going off to university,’ my mother said. I was still quite young, and I didn’t really know what this meant, but I recall being surprised that Michael was so upset, now that he had his heart’s desire. Something major had happened. My father took phone calls in the evening. He spoke in a quiet voice; I heard him assuring callers that his son was leaving and wouldn’t be back for some time.

‘It’s not his fault,’ I heard my mother say, later that night. ‘He didn’t start it.’ This was in the worst days of her drinking, when she couldn’t put arguments together at all.

‘That’s his story,’ my father said. ‘The bugger.’

‘It won’t happen again,’ my mother said, ‘he promised.’

‘We’ll see,’ said my father, and I suppose he is still waiting to see, to be convinced one way or another, or perhaps he doesn’t think about it any more, I don’t know.

‘It would do more harm than good,’ says Michael.

‘So I’m on my own?’

‘I hear you’ve got a bloke.’

‘No,’ I say, ‘not like that. What about you?’

He doesn’t reply. He’s right, I am on my own.

A
S
R
OBERTA WALKS
into the church hall the first person she sees is Prudence holding Nathan. Her face bare of make-up, hair pulled back behind her ears, Prudence looks at once intense and
vulnerable
. She wears a simple yellow wool tunic over black leggings. Roberta is glad she can’t see herself. The previous day she and Edith visited Miss Millie’s Haberdashery in Walnut to buy clothes that fit, to tide her over until she’s back to her usual weight. They are baggy round the middle. Edith suggested she wear a scarf over her cropped hair.

‘It’s not a court,’ Roberta reminded her.

‘You just don’t know what they get up to,’ Edith said grimly. ‘From what I’ve heard of these family conferences.’

Roberta has just guessed her mother’s secret, if secret it is intended to be. Her mother is wholly sober. She is astonished that she hadn’t noticed sooner. In the end, Roberta wears her felt hat with the turned-up brim. It makes her feel jauntier when she puts it on, but she sees her mistake mirrored in the expressions around her.

Not that it is her appearance which preoccupies her; it is Nathan, casually held on Prudence’s hip. Roberta lifts her arms involuntarily towards him, and puts them down again. Nathan shows no sign of recognition; she will be ignored, and these people will know. Don’t let the bastards see what you’re thinking, had been Marise’s last advice over the phone. Play it cool. She wishes she could see Marise with her swinging grey hair in the throng of
people
jostling to get inside the hall, but Marise’s baby is due soon, and the doctor is concerned about her travelling. Besides, as Marise isn’t family, she didn’t think she could ask her. So what is Prudence doing here?

When she sees Roberta, Prudence kisses the end of Nathan’s nose. Nathan claps his hands. ‘We’re just staying a little while,’ Prudence murmurs as she passes.

‘She didn’t need to do that,’ Edith says. ‘She didn’t need to say anything.’

The hall, normally bare except for a battered piano in the
corner
, has been prepared for the occasion. Chairs are artfully laid out
to look as if everyone will sit in a big circle. Roberta is familiar with this layout by now. A small table is laden with plastic cups, a jar of instant coffee, a box of tea bags, a litre of milk, a screw-top jar
containing
hardened sugar.

Roberta has little idea how most of the people come to be
present
. In all, she counts twenty-four people in the room, including Nathan and herself. A group of officials, practising professional ease, stand on one side of the room. Mary Mason, the care and
protection
officer who sent Roberta the letter, is a tall woman with frizzy red hair and a stern, freckled face. She wears a no-nonsense tweed suit which makes her look hot in the spring afternoon. She is flanked by two social workers, the Plunket nurse who came to see Nathan when Roberta first brought him home and three lawyers — a young one appointed by the court, Brian Adams, who has been hired by the Cooksleys, and Tom Dunsford, who has acted for the Nichols since Glass was a child. Nurse Peach and Dr Q are seated already. Roberta doesn’t look at either of them.

The rest are family, more or less, their names and relationship to Nathan listed on a sheet of paper she has been handed. They are:

Apologies: Kaye and Frank Drury, Michael Nichols

The Cooksley family stand together, looking well groomed and complete. It comes as a shock to Roberta to see that today, with the exception of Edith, who looks rakish rather than smart in a
battered
linen suit, her family seem such a motley bunch lined up against the Cooksleys. Fay and Laura are becoming more and more like each other, she thinks, both wearing long, straight, dark skirts with slits and matching jackets, that make them look, at once, both elegant and out of place in the Walnut Presbyterian Church Hall. Milton, taking an afternoon off from work, is especially suave. Roberta allows herself to reflect, with a moment of bitterness, on Michael’s absence.

Mary Mason, clears her throat and looks round the room. Roberta wonders if she is going to say something like, dearly beloved, we are gathered together in the sight of this congregation.

‘Well, people,’ says Mary Mason. ‘Welcome to Nathan’s
family
.’ Bernard, who has been glancing surreptitiously at his watch, gives a start; he looks out of the window when he catches people looking at him.

‘We’re here to discuss Nathan’s future. As most of you will be aware, two applications have been made for Nathan’s custody. It’s the court’s job to decide the best arrangements for him. We hope, in cases like this, that families can get together and sort things out between them, keeping in mind the best interests of the child. It’s clear that Nathan is a lucky little boy to have so many people who care about him here to discuss his future.’ She smiles in a way that doesn’t invite comment.

‘We’ll begin with a professional overview of Nathan’s
situation
, then we’re going to leave you all together so you can talk things through on your own.’

The court-appointed lawyer is first. He hopes, he tells them, for an outcome in which Nathan continues to know both his
parents
in a loving and supporting environment. ‘Nathan appears very well cared for at the moment,’ he says, turning to Prudence. The Nichols family draw in their breaths. Roberta realises that Prudence has the status of a professional in this matter. ‘Could you tell us about his milestones, Ms Davies?’

‘Well,’ says Prudence, with a bright, sweet smile. ‘Nathan can say Dad Dad, can’t you, sweetheart? And he’s crawling everywhere, when he’s in the mood. He’s got five teeth, and another one coming. He sleeps through every night.’ Her hand smoothes Nathan’s hair. ‘He’s a bit shy with strangers.’ Nathan ducks his head against her chest.

The Plunket nurse is next.

‘I do realise that Roberta’s birth experience was very
traumatic
,’ she says doubtfully. ‘But her house was always very clean. Still, it was a pretty new house, so I suppose that’s fairly easy to keep up to scratch. There was never anything like unwrapped
nappies
around the house, nothing like that. I mean, I’d have to say, Nathan was very well provided for in the material sense.’ Leaning forward, she allows her doubt full rein. ‘I did wonder if there was just that something lacking. It was hard to put my finger on the problem.’ She looks at Roberta with regret. ‘He does seem very
contented
these days. Prue’s been doing a great job.’

‘Prue Pooh,’ says John Vance.

‘M …,’ Mary Mason glances at her file. ‘Mr Vance, please.’

The social workers say much the same thing as the Plunket nurse. Nathan is doing very well with Paul and Prue, not that it’s their job to influence the outcome. Brian Adams makes some notes.

‘What about, what about, er-um, what about the farm?’ says Dorothy, spittle flying in all directions. ‘He’ll get the farm from the Nichols, you know’ She shoots Edith a look of hatred, as fresh as if it was baked yesterday.

‘Yes, perhaps,’ says Glass, leaning over and taking her hand. ‘But this isn’t what it’s about, Dorothy.’

‘I mean, it’s not going to the Car-tholic church, is it, Glass?’

Glass pats her hand held between his. ‘Don’t worry, Dotty dear,’ he says.

Mary Mason gives Glass a clear, icy smile. ‘Perhaps if your family could just let us finish,’ she says. ‘You’ll all have your turn soon.’ She turns to Nurse Peach.

Roberta knows she has to look at her and at Dr Q, who gives her a slow wink, as Nurse Peach prepares to speak. Roberta opens and closes her mouth in surprise. Everyone is looking at her, so she composes herself.

‘Roberta is a feisty, independent person at heart,’ Nurse Peach is saying. ‘Today she is with her family but you should remember that at present she has no other choice. She wanted to go home to Paul, but she couldn’t. We didn’t impose a meeting like this on Roberta — you need to be sure you’re not forcing issues on people before they’re ready. It doesn’t mean Roberta will not be a very good mother when the time is right for her. In the ward, the other patients really liked her. She’s a caring person, with a sense of her own identity which keeps getting stronger all the time. Something has affected her confidence and that’s her difficulty. We consider the depression she suffered after Nathan’s birth to be clinically
overcome
. She needs your love and support, not your criticism.’

‘Hey wait a minute,’ says Paul, looking injured.

‘You’ll have your turn, Mr Cooksley,’ says Mary Mason. ‘Doctor, what is your view?’

Dr Q has a sardonic smile hovering at the corner of his mouth. ‘If you’re asking my opinion, I see that Roberta may have difficulties to face.’ His eyes travel round the room. ‘I’d relish the opportunity to work further with her.’

For a moment she had thought him on her side. She looks Dr Q in the eye, and he looks straight back at her.

Brian Adams shuffles paper to attract attention to himself. Preparing himself to get down to tin tacks, they say to each other afterwards. He is a fresh-faced man, youthful in appearance despite his grey hair. He has an engaging cleft in his chin. He and Milton look like two out of the same mould.

‘I am afraid,’ he says, after a meaningful hesitation, ‘that Mr Cooksley, Paul that is, was in despair, even before Nathan was born. He loved Roberta. But sadly, he has to accept that there’s something seriously amiss with his wife’s approach to motherhood. Nathan’s birth, on the doorstep of a total stranger — well that’s what we’re told — came as a dreadful shock to him. This concern about Roberta’s emotional health is all very well, but what about Paul?’

‘He’s got the baby,’ says Joan.

‘Paul did everything he could to provide support and
understanding
for his wife. Look at it this way — she wouldn’t see Paul or Nathan for months and then she walks in off the street,
expecting
to pick up where she left off.’ Brian Adams bestows a glimmer of a smile on the circle to remind them that this is a chat. ‘Well, Roberta may be well again, I’m delighted to hear it, but you did
discharge
yourself from the hospital, didn’t you? It seems to me that you do make all the decisions, Roberta.’

‘I thought you said this wasn’t a court,’ says Bernard.

‘Mr Adams, may I remind you that this is a family conference,’ says Mary Mason. ‘I’ll have to ask you to withdraw if this goes any further.’

‘Of course, Madam Chair,’ says the lawyer. ‘Forgive me, I just thought that before the family began their discussions they should be aware that these matters will be raised in court next week. I wouldn’t want it to come as a shock to them. I had hoped to open the way for the Cooksley family to say what is really on their minds. It could be embarrassing for them,
otherwise
.’

‘That kid should just be at home with his mother,’ says Joan Vance, nodding in Nathan’s direction. Nathan gives a breathy
contented
sigh against Prudence.

‘Well, the question of where Roberta might give Nathan a home would be a good place to begin, perhaps,’ says Mary Mason.

‘The country’s a damn fine place to bring up children.’ Joan looks proudly at John and Sally. The Cooksleys’ eyes follow hers. Roberta knows their worldly, half-suppressed grins of old.

‘Mr Dunsford?’ enquires Mary Mason.

But Tom Dunsford, in his loose three-piece suit with egg stains down the front, is fast asleep, his mouth open.

‘Tee hee,’ says Dorothy. ‘Dunsford always did sleep through everything. He writes lousy wills.’

Mary chooses to ignore Dorothy this time. Even the Cooksleys look as if they think it’s gone far enough.

Nathan stirs in his sleep.

‘Ms Davies has advised us that she doesn’t wish to add to the family conference. Thank you, Prue, you’re excused.

Prudence rises gracefully. For a moment she hesitates, as if considering whether to take Nathan over to Roberta to say
goodbye
,
then pulls a regretful face, before disappearing out the door. Paul’s eyes follow her all the way.

‘There’s a whiteboard available for you to write up your ideas as they come to you,’ continues Mary Mason, ‘and it might be useful to appoint a spokesperson who can sum up at the end when we return.’

‘Is that like a foreman of the jury?’ asks young John Vance.

‘Not at all,’ says Mary, trying to control her impatience. ‘It’s just a list of recommendations for the court when it sits.’

‘So what if you don’t agree with us?’ asks Joan. ‘Are we all wasting our time?’