Inheriting Jack

by Kris Webb

  The shop was still open and Carla greeted me with a smile, waving away my apologies. Jack was sitting on the floor in his pyjamas, scrawling with a crayon on a large piece of butcher’s paper.

  ‘Hello Jack.’

  I was faintly apprehensive about what his reaction would be upon seeing me. Screams at the thought of being taken away from the lovely Carla by nasty Julia weren’t what I needed at this point in my life.

  He looked up at me without expression.

  The fact that he wasn’t screaming was a good thing, I told myself in an attempt to be positive.

  He pulled his feet under him and stood up without using his hands, a manoeuvre I admired each time I saw it. His pyjamas were half a size too big and stretched past his knees and I could see his little chest above the top button on the shirt.

  He walked towards me and stopped only centimetres from my leg. Tilting his head back, he looked up at me and extended his hand. Gently I closed my fingers across his palm and allowed myself to be led to the kitchen.

  ‘Wow, a cat! That’s great,’ I enthused as he pointed at it, his cherubic face serious. I tightened my grip on his little hand. It was a start.

  TWELVE

  This working from home business was fantastic.

  Patrick was running around with a piece of toast in his mouth, trying to find a clean shirt. I sat on the sofa in my pyjamas, calmly eating my cereal and watching Jack run a plastic truck along the skirting board.

  By the time Patrick left, Jack was ready for a sleep and I put him into bed.

  The message bank on my mobile phone was beeping accusingly at me and I’d run out of space on the whiteboard which had become my to-do list. But I decided a coffee was the most pressing need.

  I took my time frothing milk and then espressed my usual two shots of coffee into the largest mug I could find. After a moment’s hesitation I added a third, just to be safe.

  Jack slept for an hour, which gave me enough time to check my emails and make a couple of calls. I had made the wonderful discovery that his compulsion to deposit things into the rubbish bin could actually be used to my advantage. So when he woke, I sat him on the study floor where he transferred the contents of my briefcase (which I’d cunningly filled with scrap paper) through the swing-top lid. I was pretty confident that this particular child entertainment technique wouldn’t be listed in the Perfect Parent handbook but it worked for me. The satisfaction I obtained from outwitting an eighteen month old was slightly worrying, but I chose not to dwell on it.

  Trying to concentrate on an agreement for the sale of a business, I vaguely registered Jack disappearing out of sight. A few minutes later he returned. I noticed he was carrying the plastic packet containing the earplugs I had used to block out the early morning traffic before his arrival. Absently I reached out to take it from him. My stomach dropped when I realised it contained only one earplug.

  ‘Where’s the other one, Jack?’ I asked, despite the fact that his vocabulary consisted mostly of the names of earth-moving equipment. ‘Did you drop it on your way out here?’

  I rushed into the bedroom and pulled open the bedside drawer where the packet must have come from. Nothing there. A check of bedroom and living room floors didn’t reveal one either and I picked Jack up.

  ‘Jack, you didn’t eat that earplug, did you?’ I asked. I snatched up the packet. KEEP OUT OF REACH OF CHILDREN, it proclaimed in large letters. CONTENTS ARE NONTOXIC BUT ARE A CHOKING HAZARD.

  No kidding, I thought to myself. Trying to think rationally, I figured that since Jack hadn’t choked already, it was probably all right.

  As I was staring at him happily banging two CD cases together, my mobile rang.

  I answered it absently.

  ‘Hello Julia, Gordon here.’

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. Part of my grand ‘working from home’ plan was that clients and work colleagues only had my mobile number – which I wouldn’t answer if Jack was around. The choking scare had made me careless.

  ‘Gordon. How are you?’ I tried to sound calm as I judged Jack’s vital signs.

  ‘Fine. I’ve just been looking at my statement again and think that one or two things need tweaking.’

  I took a deep breath. War and Peace couldn’t have been revised as many times as Gordon’s statement.

  ‘Of course, Gordon,’ I answered. ‘Let me just find it.’

  Wedging the phone under my chin, I hurried into my study and shuffled through a pile of papers on the desk until I found his statement.

  ‘Okay.’ Racing back into the living room, I perched on the edge of a lounge chair from where I could see Jack.

  He walked towards me and reached for the phone. Discovering it to be out of his reach, he grabbed at the pen in my hand. Desperately I shook the pen in an attempt to dislodge his fingers. When that didn’t work, I tried to write with his fingers still attached to the pen but could only make an indecipherable scrawl.

  ‘Are you with me?’ Gordon asked. I realised that I had only heard about half of what he’d been saying.

  ‘Most of it. Maybe you could just run it by me quickly again?’

  He repeated what he’d said. Another tug at the pen finally pulled Jack’s fingers away and I quickly began scribbling over the statement.

  Jack looked at me with an affronted look on his face.

  ‘Ah, sorry, Gordon, but could you wait for a moment?’ I asked.

  I was learning to expect chaos and had prepared for this kind of contingency. With Jack in tow I headed back to the study and, pulling open my filing cabinet, I took out the packet of Tiny Teddies I’d stashed there a few days ago. After ripping it open, I placed it in front of Jack.

  Suppressing a stab of guilt, I sat down at the desk. At least the biscuits should dislodge the earplug if it was still wedged in his throat.

  ‘Right, Gordon. Fire away.’

  His ‘tweaking’ involved major redrafting of large parts of his statement and I wrote rapidly for the next five minutes.

  Finally losing interest in the biscuits, Jack stood and picked up Harold. My blood chilled. Nothing that involved Harold ever seemed to work in my favour. As if in slow motion, I saw Jack walk towards me, squeezing Harold as he did. Knowing what was coming, I stood and backed up until my heels were pressed against the wall. It wasn’t far enough, though, and when Jack released Harold’s stomach, the guttural croak filled the room.

  ‘Julia? What was that?’ Gordon asked midway through his sentence.

  ‘Ah, just a boat’s horn,’ I improvised. ‘I’m outside the office – near the river.’

  ‘Really? It sounded like a frog.’

  ‘Frog?’ I laughed nervously. ‘No, of course not.’

  As I watched, Jack depressed Harold’s stomach again. Squeezing past him I bolted down the hall into the bedroom and slammed the door behind me.

  As I did, I heard a series of croaks, which became gradually louder. The realisation that I was being stalked by a small child and a plastic frog didn’t help my concentration levels.

  ‘What are you doing near the river?’ Gordon asked. ‘Off for an early lunch at a fancy restaurant?’

  ‘Ah, no, I’m just on my way to a meeting.’

  ‘Not compromising your focus on my case, I hope?’ Gordon asked.

  Oh, for God’s sake. ‘No, Gordon. Trust me, no other client has more of my attention at the moment than you.’ That was my first honest statement for several minutes.

  As I watched the door, the handle turned.

  Surely Jack couldn’t open the door, even with the help of the dastardly Harold, I thought in terror. Nightmare On Elm Street had nothing on this scenario.

  I retreated to the far side of the room.

  ‘Was that the lot, Gordon?’

  ‘Yes. I think so. Thank you, Julia. You’ll have the revised statement to me tomorrow morning?’

  Tomorrow morning. For a statement that had been finalised before his call and wasn’t needed for a month? Jack should have a
nother sleep in the afternoon, but I had three other jobs I’d been planning to do then.

  ‘Of course, Gordon. It will be there.’

  There had to be better ways to make a living.

  I realised I hadn’t heard either Harold or Jack for at least a minute. Silence was even more worrying than the croaking. I said a hurried goodbye to Gordon and dashed off in search of the latest disaster.

  I found Jack a moment before he pulled my entire stack of dinner plates onto the floor.

  ‘Buy child-proof locks,’ I squeezed onto the side of the whiteboard.

  As my adrenaline levels subsided, I thought about my plans for the rest of the day. Now that Jack was awake I’d return some emails and do a bit of other work that didn’t require too much thought. After lunch we’d head out to playgroup and then I’d bring Jack home for a late-afternoon sleep which would let me knock over the work that needed a bit more concentration.

  On the weekend I’d cleverly smuggled away a box of blocks that Jack had spent ages playing with. I figured that if he hadn’t seen them for a while, I’d be able to leave him to it for at least an hour.

  ‘Look, Jack!’ I produced the box with a flourish from the top of the bookshelf.

  He toddled over and plonked himself down in front of it.

  ‘Excellent,’ I muttered, settling myself in front of my laptop.

  Two minutes later he stood and headed out into the living room.

  ‘What? Jack, what’s the matter? It’s your blocks!’

  I picked him up and put him back beside them. ‘Look.’ I picked a couple out and banged them vaguely together, not too sure exactly what one did with blocks.

  Jack looked at me blankly.

  ‘Here – have a look at this blue one!’ I’d made an effort to at least look at some of the toddler books I’d bought and remembered something I’d read about subliminal colour education and mentally patted myself on the back.

  Jack reached out for the block, took it from me and dropped it on the floor with total disdain.

  ‘Right . . .’ I realised I’d just been dismissed.

  He walked back over to the desk and reached up for a stack of papers poking over the edge. It fell onto his foot with a thump.

  His face creased and he let out a half-hearted cry.

  Surveying the stack of jumbled pages, I took a deep breath. ‘Here – let’s do this together.’

  I sat him beside me and handed him a few of the pages as I tried to restore some order to the remainder. He looked at them for a moment before crumpling them between his hands.

  ‘Oh Jack.’

  I took them from him and put the unsorted mess back on the desk – in the middle.

  Jack’s eyes lit up when he saw a file sitting on the other side of the desk. Beating him to it, I piled it and every document I could see into the middle of the desk.

  Maybe, I thought, he’d just occupy himself if I ignored him. Turning my chair to the desk, I sat with my back to him. I pulled up some of the emails that needed replies, trying to concentrate.

  Dead silence from behind me.

  I paused with my fingers over the keyboard, head cocked, trying to pick up some sound. Surely if he was engaged in major destruction, I’d be able to hear something. I typed a few words, stopped and turned my head as far as I could to one side. Nothing. Slowly I turned my head back to the centre and around the other way. Still nothing.

  Unable to bear it any longer, I turned around to see Jack positioned right behind me, playing gently with Harold’s warty legs. I snapped my head back, but not before he’d spotted me. He started a low whine and walked around to my side, holding his arms up.

  ‘You can sit on my lap as long as you don’t touch anything. Okay?’

  I picked him up and positioned him on my lap in front of the keyboard. Immediately he lunged for the keys, sending a row of gobbledygook spitting across the screen.

  ‘Jack, this really isn’t helping.’

  I looked around the room desperately. He’d already done banging the saucepans this morning, and throwing the CDs on the floor seemed to have lost its appeal.

  Just then my mobile rang. I stuffed it under some cushions. There was no way I could get through another conversation without a major incident from Jack. Whoever it was would just have to leave a message.

  I racked my brain for something that would keep him occupied for longer than thirty seconds. I simply had to get these emails out. With sudden inspiration, I unplugged my laptop and, with Jack toddling along behind, headed for the bath. Turning both taps on full, I scoured the bathroom cabinets, tossing into the bath every object that could possibly interest him. As an afterthought I squeezed in a huge dollop of my amazingly expensive Lancôme bubble bath, which I’d previously been eking out in teaspoon-sized portions.

  So excited was Jack that he managed to climb in before I had taken off his white T-shirt, which immediately went the same shade of blue as the water.

  A small sacrifice, I thought, as I perched on the toilet seat and opened the computer again. Somehow I doubted the marketing people at IBM had meant customers to take the name laptop quite so literally.

  Amazingly the blue bubbles kept Jack playing happily for long enough to allow me to deal with the most pressing correspondence and when I finally pulled him out it was time for lunch.

  I knew I should go back to the playgroup. People had been really nice once the quiche incident had loosened things up. But I didn’t feel up to it today. Next week, I assured myself. Instead I headed out to the park, driving the long way around to avoid passing the kindergarten.

  It was only the third week that I’d been hanging out in children’s playgrounds but already I hated them with a passion. The mind-numbing tedium of standing around watching Jack was only broken by the occasional panic when he did something life-threatening. Finally my watch edged closer to the time when he usually had his afternoon sleep and I dragged him reluctantly to the car. After pulling up outside the house, I turned around to see him fast asleep.

  Okay, this wasn’t a disaster, I assured myself. I’d pop him into his cot and he’d sleep for a couple more hours, which, according to my day’s schedule, was when I would have time to do some serious work.

  Unfortunately Jack had clearly not read the memo about how the day was to run.

  He woke as I took him inside. Twenty minutes of screaming later, I gave in and picked him out of his cot just as the first drops of rain started. After exhausting every single indoor activity I could think of, I threw him into the car in desperation and drove to a building site he loved going past. Delighted, he peered out the window, pointing at all the equipment. Optimistically, I pulled out Gordon’s statement and started work on the amendments.

  Glancing up a few minutes later, I saw the workmen who were sheltering under a large tree off to one side pointing at my car and conferring. Horrified, and with a screaming Jack, I drove off, unable to face explaining to a policeman why I was lurking beside a building site.

  I’d fallen into a pattern of feeding Jack at five-thirty each day. But by four forty-five I was desperate to stop the grizzling and, with a worrying thrill of power, decided to declare it dinnertime.

  Figuring there wasn’t much point in hiding the problem, I’d confessed to Carla about the state of Jack’s eating habits, which still hadn’t advanced much. Feeling rather like the blind leading the blind, we had assured each other he would have to eat something healthy eventually. No child had ever starved to death because they didn’t like eating vegetables. Had they?

  We’d agreed the only way to handle it was to present a united front, and the hundreds and thousands packet had been hidden at the back of the cupboard. Carla had reported that he’d been fine with bread and strawberry jam for lunch yesterday and, bizarrely, had devoured a plate full of marinated olives. Unable to face a fight tonight, I cooked him fish fingers for dinner, promising myself I’d introduce vegetables tomorrow.

  Finally, at six o’clock, I heard Patr
ick’s key in the lock. ‘I thought you’d never get home!’ Patrick hadn’t even closed the door before I descended on him. ‘Today has been the longest day of my entire life.’

  Patrick looked at my crazed eyes and skirted around me.

  Undeterred, I followed him.

  ‘What happened to the bliss of working from home?’ he asked with a smirk as he pulled his tie and jacket off and threw them over the back of a chair.

  The morning seemed so long ago I could hardly remember it.

  ‘Working from home is not all it is cracked up to be,’ I said with deep feeling. ‘Don’t suppose you’d bath him for me?’ I asked hopefully.

  Patrick grabbed Jack and swung him into the air. Jack giggled.

  ‘I think I could just about manage that,’ he said, sitting him on one shoulder and heading for the bathroom.

  Delighted, I stood up, planning to start some of the work I hadn’t done that day, but Patrick turned back to me. ‘On the condition you bring me in a glass of wine.’

  The two of them disappeared, Jack still giggling, and I opened the wine, poured two glasses and took a large sip. By the time I reached the bathroom, Patrick had just managed to get Jack out of his clothes. Despite the fact that he had already spent a good part of the day submerged, he was enthusiastic about getting in again. Until he saw the bathwater. He took one look at the water-coloured water and started wailing.

  Patrick looked at me, confused. ‘What’s that all about? He loves the bath.’

  I tried to look innocent but clearly failed.

  ‘Julia – what did you do?’

  In answer, I poured in about twenty dollars worth of bubble bath. As the water turned blue, Jack started to giggle.

  ‘I think you may have created a monster,’ Patrick frowned, looking at the bottle. ‘And a very expensive monster,’ he added.

  ‘Yeah, but if it keeps him happy, who cares?’ I answered, taking a glass and sitting on the floor with my back to the wall. I knew I had a mountain of work to do, but first I needed some grown-up conversation.