Inheriting Jack

by Kris Webb

  ‘Do they always have such short contracts?’

  Tony shook his head. ‘I’m a bit of a long shot for them. I didn’t have any real experience and they gave me a year to prove myself.’

  ‘And have you?’

  Tony shook his head. ‘Depends who you ask. I’ve made some pretty big changes and I think it is slowly turning around, but I’m running out of time. The trouble is that John is into instant gratification. If I don’t get something big happening soon, I don’t think I’ll get any more time.’

  ‘So what will you do if your contract isn’t renewed?’

  Tony looked down at Jack. ‘To tell you the truth I have no idea. All I know is one way or another I am going to break into the industry.’ His jaw was suddenly tight and I was surprised at his intensity.

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to sell the Kids in the Kitchen idea?’

  ‘Hope so. We have a production meeting scheduled for this week. John’s expecting a concept proposal then. I thought if Patrick was interested, I’d see if he wanted to come along. Do you think he would be able to get time off work?’

  ‘Um . . . maybe.’

  I was starting to get the hang of doing everything with one eye on Jack. But it was hard to enjoy myself when I expected him to bolt or start screaming at any moment. I could see from the corner of my eye that he was engrossed in his books and I forced myself to sit back in the chair and relax slightly. This wasn’t so bad. Maybe if I just brought enough things to entertain Jack, then I’d still be able to meet friends at places like this.

  The waiter returned, bearing the bill despite the fact that we were still only halfway through our food.

  Tony reached for it. ‘I’ll get this.’

  ‘Okay, thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll get the next one.’

  As I said the words, I realised how pathetically desperate they sounded.

  Tony stood up and started shuffling through the newspaper. ‘My wallet is in here somewhere. Can you see it?’

  I lifted a few piles of paper before a terrible suspicion hit me. Looking down at Jack, I saw that rather than reading his books, he had been quietly disembowelling Tony’s wallet, which was now sitting in a puddle of jam surrounded by various credit cards and pieces of paper. As Tony and I watched in stunned silence, a gust blew a handful of banknotes through the cafe.

  Galvanised into action, I dived for a fifty-dollar note under the nearest table, startling the occupants as I scuffled around under their feet.

  ‘Sorry,’ I apologised briefly. After scrambling back to my feet, I launched myself at another note drifting towards the kitchen.

  Having retrieved what I hoped was all of the money, I turned to see Tony holding his sticky wallet between two fingers and trying to prise his Visa card from Jack’s grasp.

  One of the books I’d bought in my Baby World shopping frenzy had explained that the best way to deal with toddlers was to treat them as equals and explain to them rationally why you want them to do, or not do, something.

  ‘Jack, that’s Tony’s credit card and he needs it. Please give it back to him,’ I tried.

  Jack clutched the card tighter.

  ‘Jack, you’re upsetting me by not giving Tony the card, please give it back,’ I instructed firmly.

  So much for reasoning with children. Reaching out, I yanked the card from Jack’s grasp and handed it to Tony. Jack screamed in response and, grabbing handfuls of the remaining cards, threw them wildly around him.

  The book, which I vowed to burn as soon as I made it home, also said that the only way to deal with a toddler’s tantrums was to ignore them and let them run their course. Fine advice when you were alone in a fully soundproofed and padded room, but not quite so practical in a coffee shop full of people who were already less than thrilled with your presence.

  Trying to restrain Jack with one arm, I gathered a handful of Tony’s cards with the other and dumped them on the table.

  It was definitely time to leave and I tried to lift Jack into his stroller. He arched his back and braced his feet on the bar, refusing to sit down. With more force than I intended, I bent his knees and thumped him down in the seat. He sat in sudden silence, which I suspected was more a result of having had the air driven out of his lungs rather than any belated obedience.

  Taking advantage of what I was sure was only a momentary silence, I turned to Tony, who was surveying the wreckage of his wallet.

  I couldn’t see his face, but I was sure he was furious. ‘Tony, I am so sorry. I think the best thing for everyone is if I just get Jack out of here.’

  As I had thought, Jack had only been getting his breath back and as soon as he did he let out another huge yell.

  Tony turned to me and I saw to my amazement that he was smiling. Taking out the few items still left inside, he handed his wallet back to Jack. Silence descended immediately. I was sure there was a disciplinary issue I should be concerned about here, but as far as I was concerned Tony’s act was inspired by the wisdom of Solomon.

  ‘Julia, it’s only a wallet.’ Relieved, I looked at him as he continued, ‘Of course my grandmother gave it to me shortly before she died . . .’

  I must have looked as stricken as I felt.

  ‘I’m joking. I bought it in Bangkok for ten dollars a couple of months ago.’

  ‘Really?’ I hoped desperately that he was telling the truth.

  ‘Really,’ he confirmed. ‘Now why don’t I pay so we can get out of here? I have the distinct impression that these people won’t be too sad to see the back of us.’

  As Tony went to the counter to pay, I loaded all of Jack’s paraphernalia into the stroller and wheeled it outside. Even though Tony had been very understanding about the whole experience, I was sure he was itching to get away. When he reappeared, however, he was carrying two takeaway coffee containers.

  ‘I thought maybe we could have our second coffee on the move. Shall we head over there?’ He gestured to a large park across the road.

  I couldn’t believe how understanding he was being. I couldn’t imagine any of my friends, male or female, taking this episode so easily in their stride.

  ‘Okay, so let me guess,’ I said as we crossed the road. ‘You are the eldest in a family of sixteen, all of whom you had to bring up by yourself because your parents owned a farm and had to work in the fields all day?’

  Tony laughed. ‘Not quite. My parents are both doctors and I have one sister. The only reason I know anything about kids is that my sister has three boys who are all under five. You should try having breakfast at their place!’

  Just the idea of Jack multiplied by three made me feel exhausted. ‘Your sister deserves a medal,’ I said with feeling.

  ‘I think you deserve a medal.’ Tony was suddenly serious. ‘What you have taken on is enormous. You must have really loved Anita.’

  His words caught me off guard and I nodded, suddenly terrified I was going to cry.

  I felt Tony’s hand briefly touch mine and tactfully, he changed the subject. ‘I don’t think that wallet is going to stay in one piece long enough for us to have a peaceful coffee,’ he said, looking at Jack. ‘Do you have a problem with Jack eating ice-cream?’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Ah, actually Jack’s diet is somewhat patchy. I keep telling myself that I’ll feed him properly when I get the hang of everything else, but at the moment I’m concentrating on getting through each day.’ I realised I hadn’t managed to answer Tony’s question in amongst my ramblings. ‘So,’ I summarised, ‘ice-cream is just fine by me.’

  Just then I heard the unmistakable tinkle of an approaching ice-cream van, which Tony had obviously already spotted. My smile faltered.

  ‘Ah, let’s not worry about stopping the ice-cream van. Why don’t we just grab it from a shop somewhere,’ I suggested in a poor attempt at nonchalance.

  ‘Sure,’ Tony answered, looking at me strangely. ‘Except . . .’ he looked around. ‘There doesn’t seem to be one nearby.’ He paused, clearly wondering how to
deal with someone with a soft serve phobia.

  I decided I had no choice but to come clean.

  ‘Well, it’s just that . . .’ I struggled for words. ‘If this is the same ice-cream man who covers New Farm, then I’d rather not see him.’

  Tony said nothing and I blundered on. ‘A few mornings ago Jack had been up since five, after waking all through the night. I’d finally got him to sleep when what happens but the bloody ice-cream van tootles along the street playing that stupid music ridiculously loudly. Anyway, he woke up Jack, who screamed hysterically. I mean, you’d think they’d have road-tested the music to make sure it didn’t terrify small children, wouldn’t you?’ I finished weakly.

  I scuffed my shoe on the footpath, noticing idly that three of my toenails had black grime under them.

  ‘To make matters even worse, he parked right in front of the house. After about ten minutes I’d had enough and ah . . .’ I paused, embarrassed. ‘Well, I went down and suggested that maybe he could move on elsewhere.’

  ‘You abused the ice-cream man?’ Tony asked with a broad smile. ‘That’s almost as bad as swearing at Santa!’

  ‘No!’ I exclaimed. ‘I . . . well yeah, okay, I did. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, I started talking while his back was to me and when he turned around I realised I had gone out with him in high school. I tried to back down but by then it was too late. I haven’t seen him since, I think he’s avoiding our street.’

  I still couldn’t believe how much I had overreacted – or what bad luck it was that the ice-cream man had turned out to be the guy I had once thought was the love of my life. The late nights and Jack’s constant crying had changed me from a reasonably calm individual into a shrew who yelled at a man who made thousands of children happy. I’d slunk back into the house and tried to forget it had happened. What I hadn’t expected was to have him cross my path again so soon.

  Tony laughed and I managed a smile, still mortified by the way I’d acted. At least he seemed to find it funny, rather than evidence of a deep-seated personality disorder.

  ‘All right, how about I buy the ice-cream and you find somewhere to sit?’

  ‘That’d be really good,’ I said gratefully.

  Tony perched the coffees in Jack’s stroller basket and I pushed it towards a bench as he headed over to the van. The day was getting hotter and I reflected idly that Jack’s ice-cream would end up in a puddle in his lap pretty quickly.

  Several minutes later Tony was back, walking towards us with a cone in one hand and his mobile phone pressed to his ear with the other.

  ‘Yep, sure. No, I understand.’

  I glanced around uncomfortably, trying to look as though I wasn’t listening to the conversation.

  ‘All right, I’ll be there in ten minutes.’ He pushed a button on the phone and slid it into the pocket of his trousers. ‘I’m really sorry, Julia, but I’ve got to go. That was John. There’s a problem at the station he needs me to sort out. I’m going to have to cancel on Mum and Dad too – Mum’s going to kill me for doing this again.’

  ‘No problem,’ I answered, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

  ‘Well, I’ll see you later, Jack,’ Tony said. ‘I hope you enjoy the wallet.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want it back?’ I asked.

  ‘Quite sure,’ he answered, eyeing the object which was by now covered with saliva and bite marks. ‘I’ve really got to get moving, I’ll catch you later.’ Tony strode back purposefully in the direction we’d come.

  ‘Great,’ I said leadenly. Realising that I was still holding the dripping cone, I thrust it at Jack. Eyeing the cooling containers of coffee, I picked one up and took a deep swallow, glumly contemplating the long walk home.

  EIGHT

  After eight days I was definitely getting tougher with Jack. By Tuesday I’d come to the conclusion that if I didn’t get his sleeping under control, I would go mad. It seemed pretty clear that wouldn’t be a good result for either of us.

  He had been almost asleep on his feet this morning, but as soon as I put him into bed he’d sprung up, howling at the indignity of it all. However, after a long ten minutes he seemed to come to the conclusion that he wasn’t going to be rescued. His cries became increasingly less committed until finally there was silence.

  I tiptoed into the room to look at him. True to form, Harold was pressed to his face as if he were a soft teddy bear instead of a rock-hard piece of wart-covered plastic. I stood for a moment looking down at the smooth curve of his cheek, his dark eyelashes distinct against his creamy skin. Suddenly I forgave him for the 5 a.m. start to the day and the morning’s tantrums. No child who looked so beautiful asleep could really be a problem – I just had to try a bit harder.

  I closed the door behind me, wondering how Patrick was faring at work. I’d almost had to push him out the door the last two mornings, his reluctance to go to work reminding me of the elaborate lies he used to come up with to try to get a day off school. While Patrick had approached the rendezvous on Sunday morning with trepidation, Jennifer had apparently been calm and collected. After making him repeat what he’d told her the previous night, she’d looked at him coolly and then asked him how important his job was to him.

  ‘I mean, how was I supposed to reply to that?’ he’d asked me. ‘Oh well, it stops me living on the street, but other than that I’m not too bothered?’

  ‘So what did you say?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ he admitted.‘It was like those job interviews where you’re concentrating so hard on saying the right thing that you can’t remember what you actually said. Anyway, it can’t have been too good as she just turned around and walked away.’

  Patrick was usually laid-back and it was strange to see him worked up. While he clearly wasn’t blameless, I had the feeling that he genuinely regretted hurting Jennifer.

  When I told him that Tony was interested in using him to host his cooking show, he just snorted. ‘Julia, I’m an accountant. I’ve never done a day’s acting in my life, and you know how bad my singing voice is.’

  I nodded, deciding not to comment.

  ‘I’m not exactly going to take the showbiz world by storm. My accounting career isn’t in fabulous ascendancy at the moment, and I need to figure out something sensible to do about it. Getting carried away about a television show that about five people will ever see just doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Why don’t you at least talk to Tony about it – he said they could do the taping on weekends.’

  ‘I’ll call him but I’m really not interested. Anyway, why are you so keen for me to do it? Wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that it would increase your chances of seeing Tony again, would it?’

  I flushed guiltily.

  By the time Patrick had made it home after meeting Jennifer, I’d spent hours squirming each time I thought about the morning’s debacle. I had come to the conclusion that unless I came up with a cunning plan I’d never see Tony again. No sane man would look for a repeat of that performance, nephews or no nephews. I had constructed an elaborate strategy, which included us dropping in while Patrick was taping his show. I figured that if Tony could see Jack and me having a riotously fun time together – doing what, I still wasn’t sure – he might not be too terrified to ask me out again.

  At Patrick’s words, I had realised how sad I was being. I needed to just accept that, at least until I could get the Jack situation under control, romantic involvements were impossible.

  Now Jack was asleep I picked up the weekend paper, which I still hadn’t managed to read, and headed out to the deck. The January edition of Babies and Toddlers was lying on the table where I’d left it ever since the Baby World woman had forced it on me, telling me it was a treasure trove of wonderful parenting information.

  I glanced longingly at the newspaper in my hands but I put it down and picked up the magazine. Now that it appeared I was able to keep Jack alive, I should probably try to raise the bar a little.


  The first article was headed, ‘How early can you socialise your child?’

  As soon as your baby is strong enough to sit up, neighbourhood playgroups can be a great way to teach your child to interact.

  There followed a comparison between the social skills of children who spent time with others and those who didn’t. Basically babies who hadn’t been socialised enough turned into boring adults who couldn’t hold a conversation unless it was about them. That actually explained more than one of my past boyfriends.

  Worried that I’d be responsible for Jack growing into a socially dysfunctional adult, I grabbed the latest edition of the local newspaper. Turning to the back I scanned the advertisements, secretly hoping I wouldn’t be able to find anything. With disappointment I spotted one for a playgroup attached to a local kindergarten.

  Unable to think of a good enough reason not to, I dialled the number.

  Yes, they had a vacancy, the very efficient-sounding coordinator informed me. But only for that afternoon’s session. Was I able to make it? Unenthusiastically I admitted that I could.

  Apparently I’d been lucky enough to ring on the first day of term and they were having a getting-to-know-you afternoon tea. All I had to do was bring a plate of food.

  My secretary rang as soon as I hung up. She gave me the unwelcome news that the opposing lawyers in Gordon’s matter had delivered a twenty-page statement from some amazingly qualified engineer. Apparently he said that with the weather conditions on the day of the accident, the tree branch would have fallen two metres from the statue.

  The one matter that no one had agreed to cover in my absence was Gordon’s, and I finally worked up the courage to call him.

  ‘Is Leonie suggesting that I used a rope to pull the damn thing down on top of David?’ Gordon demanded.

  His habit of calling the statue by the original’s name was quite disturbing.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Gordon. They’re just getting desperate and pulling in useless experts.’