Inheriting Jack

by Kris Webb

  I watched the miniature Spiderman following the truck and swallowed the words of protest that were on my lips. When did I suddenly become so grumpy? I could put up with a bit of noise if it made Jack happy.

  Maggie turned back to me. ‘I know it’s stupid, but I saw a movie years ago when this couple met and fell in love. There was this montage of them doing fabulous things, like riding horses on the beach and kissing under waterfalls. That’s what I want – a happy time and then pretty soon after that, another happy time. I know there have to be some bad times in there, but it’s got to get better than this.’

  Patrick chose that moment to stick his head out of the stairwell. Not seeing any overt displays of emotion, he bounded up the last few steps.

  ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said.

  ‘Does it involve finding a fabulous single man without hang-ups for each of us?’ Maggie tried to smile.

  ‘Ah, no. I was actually going to suggest that we all head to New Farm Park for lunch.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked. Patrick’s usual Sunday afternoon venue was The Victory.

  He looked embarrassed. ‘I actually had a good time with Jack this morning – I thought we could try out a couple of the footballs I bought.’

  ‘Well, he should probably have a sleep. But heading out after that is a great idea.’

  I had finally accepted that working while Jack was awake was impossible, which meant that I didn’t feel constantly guilty about not doing anything. Although I still felt panicky whenever I thought about how much I had to do, I figured that removing one negative emotion had to be a step in the right direction.

  ‘What about you, Maggie?’

  She shook her head. ‘Thanks, I can’t. I didn’t make it into work yesterday, so I need to go and check what’s going on. Besides, trust me, you don’t really want me around today.’

  She stood up. I put my arms around her and gave her a hug.

  ‘Bye, Jack,’ she called across the room to where he was repeatedly driving the truck into the skirting board.

  Intent on the task, he didn’t turn around.

  ‘I’m going to have my work cut out for me improving on that present,’ Maggie smiled.

  ‘Just promise you’ll make the next one quiet?’ I pleaded.

  With a wicked smile, Maggie turned around and headed for the steps.

  ‘Do not call Text-messaging Man!’ I yelled after her.

  SEVENTEEN

  Patrick walked ahead, his rusty old VB esky in one hand and a rug in the other. Jack and I trailed along behind, stopping every few seconds for Jack to pick up every slimy and disgusting object he could see. Any vague resemblance we bore to a normal family disappeared when Patrick shook out the picnic rug under a shady tree.

  The only rug I’d been able to find was one of Patrick’s from his university days. It was lime green and had the words College Property – do not remove emblazoned across it.

  Completely unconcerned at the public display of his theft, Patrick sat down and flicked back the lid of the ancient esky.

  ‘Well,’ he said, surveying the contents. ‘Can’t say the food looks too inspiring but the last-minute stop at the bottle shop was an act of genius.’

  He extracted a cold bottle of white wine, two plastic glasses and a bottle opener.

  Jack had been so difficult during my trip to the supermarket on Friday night that I’d managed to forget just about everything I had intended to buy. As a result our picnic consisted of an old block of cheese, a single boiled egg, a day-old baguette and jars of jam and mayonnaise. I had hoped the fact that it was to be consumed in the beautiful outdoors would transform it into a feast, but judging by Patrick’s comment, that hadn’t happened.

  I leaned back and looked around. Despite the average food, this wasn’t too bad at all.

  Jack toddled off, chunk of jam-smothered baguette in hand. He found a bark-covered garden bed and, laying his baguette carefully on the ground, proceeded to bash two pieces of bark together.

  Patrick poured two glasses of wine and handed one to me.

  ‘Why haven’t we ever done this before?’ he asked.

  ‘Probably because we used to have lives and money,’ I responded.

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Patrick nodded.

  ‘Have you heard from Mum and Dad this week?’ I asked.

  Patrick nodded. ‘They sent me a text message a few days ago. To be honest I only understood about half of it – Dad uses some of the most bizarre abbreviations. But the general gist of it was that they were having a great time.’

  Jack had finished with the bark and was striding purposefully towards the flower garden.

  ‘Even in a park that child can find things to destroy,’ I sighed, beginning to stand up.

  ‘I’ll go.’

  Patrick sprang to his feet and grabbed the football he’d brought along. He picked Jack up and turned him around.

  ‘Okay Jack, here goes your first football lesson. Remember me in your biography.’

  I took a sip of wine and moved so that I could lean my back against the tree.

  Rather quickly, Patrick abandoned the drop-kick tutorial and resorted to trying to convince Jack to run into the stationary ball.

  ‘Yes!’ he yelled in triumph, punching the air, when Jack made contact with the ball, which moved sideways about ten centimetres. Having completely lost interest, Jack wandered past the ball and off towards some children playing a short distance away.

  ‘Right, well that was a huge success,’ Patrick said in disappointment. He seemed to have been envisaging an afternoon of end-to-end kicking with Jack.

  I laughed. ‘Sit down and drink your wine, we can keep an eye on him from here.’

  Jack had stopped and was watching the children play an improvised form of hopscotch. He tilted his head, entranced by what they were doing. Copying them, he bent his knees and lurched forwards, his feet not leaving the ground.

  I felt my heart contract. He was so little and had so much to learn.

  Picking himself up, he spotted a dog in the centre of the park and headed off towards it at a determined trot. One of the mothers at the playgroup had talked knowledgeably about the ‘comfort zone’ around a parent, which a child would apparently never leave. If Jack did have a comfort zone, it was about the size of New Farm.

  The dog was on a leash and so not an immediate threat, but I dragged myself to my feet and followed him.

  As Jack neared the dog, it barked at him. He stopped in shock and whirled around. Unable to see anyone familiar, he burst into tears.

  I broke into a run and reached him quickly.

  ‘Jack. It’s all right, it’s all right.’

  I knelt on the ground and put my arms around him.

  He kept repeating something as I pulled him into my arms. He tucked his head under my neck and as I spoke soothingly to him I realised what he was saying. It was ‘Julia’.

  My throat tightened and I held him closer. ‘It’s all right, Jack, I’m here.’

  I picked him up and carried him back to our rug. Disaster over, he scrambled out of my arms and headed off in the other direction. But I was left with an emotion I couldn’t identify.

  When I turned back to Patrick, he was watching me. ‘You’re starting to love him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Of course I love him, he’s Anita’s son.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant. You’re starting to think about him like he’s here for good, not just someone you’re looking after for a while.’

  Patrick’s question made me realise that somewhere during the last few weeks, Jack had turned from being a terrible burden who had transformed my life, into a terrible burden to whom I’d become rather attached.

  The small amount of affection Jack had to give me to make me happy was ridiculous. After him saying my name, I felt like I’d do anything he asked. Which luckily was a pretty safe commitment, given his limited vocabulary.

  ‘I guess you’re right.’ I looked over at Patrick, who was waiting for me to ela
borate. ‘To be honest, I actually find it very hard to remember what I did before he arrived.’

  ‘Sleep?’ Patrick suggested.

  ‘Well yes, there is that. The problem, though, is that nothing’s ever just about Jack and me. I always feel as though Anita’s part of the equation, too. I hope that won’t keep happening forever.’

  Patrick looked up at the sky. ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad thing,’ he said, turning back to me. ‘Maybe it just won’t always be sad when you think of her.’

  ‘See, that’s the problem. I don’t just feel sad when I think of her. I also feel . . . I don’t know.’ I struggled to put my feelings into words. ‘Guilty and panicky.’

  Patrick looked at me and I knew I wasn’t explaining myself very well.

  ‘You know, I think I actually feel worse now about Anita being dead than when it first happened. I can almost accept the fact that I’ll never see her again. But as I get more attached to Jack, her missing his life and him not having her in his, seems more and more tragic. Add onto that the worry that I’m not doing anything as well as she would have and I’d be an insomniac if I wasn’t always so tired.’

  ‘But you never saw Anita with Jack. She might have been an awful mother.’

  ‘Do you really believe that?’

  ‘Well, no . . . But she certainly wasn’t a saint and I think you’re doing an amazing job.’

  ‘Thanks.’ His words meant a lot. Jack wasn’t exactly giving me a lot of constructive feedback. Now I’d started, I wanted to tell someone what I’d been feeling for weeks. ‘You knew Anita, she was always so bloody happy.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘She’s the only person I’ve ever met who could manage to be cheerful with a hangover.’

  ‘Exactly. Take yesterday morning for example. Jack pushed his bowl of cereal and milk onto the floor. I didn’t yell at him, but not far off it. The first thing that struck me when he looked up at me with his big eyes was that Anita wouldn’t have been cross. I’m worried that I’m going to spend my life comparing myself to her and trying to do what she would have done.’

  ‘Well, that’s got to stop,’ Patrick said, filling up my glass. ‘Anita left Jack with you because she knew you’d love him and look after him. There’s no point in spending the whole time trying to guess how she would have done everything.’

  ‘Okay. Supposing I do that. But you know the first thing Jack’s going to say to me when he’s old enough to figure out how to hurt me?’

  ‘You’re not my mother?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Well,’ I asked, ‘what on earth do I do then?’

  Patrick looked at me. ‘I have no idea. But I think you’ve just got to deal with now and let the future look after itself.’

  ‘I guess so.’ I sighed. Jack was still watching the children and I wondered if I could pay them to come and hang out in our backyard.

  ‘Well, what about you?’ I asked. ‘Where to from here?’

  ‘I have no idea. The whole reason for the lay-offs, even apart from Jennifer, was that the market is in a slump. I doubt that any of the other big firms are hiring. I know I should be, but I’m not actually that bothered about it. Something might come of this television thing with Tony. But in any event I’ll get more time to go out in the boat.’

  Patrick had a little aluminium runabout he took out on Moreton Bay whenever he had a chance. I wasn’t entirely sure what he did on it, though I could count on one hand the number of fish he’d caught in the last year.

  ‘How are you feeling about living with Jack? It wasn’t exactly the deal when you moved in.’ I’d been putting off this conversation, but I figured I had to address it sometime. ‘Do you want to look for somewhere else to live?’

  ‘What? Do you want to me to move out?’

  ‘No. Of course not – especially after what you did this morning. But do you really want to live with us indefinitely? Having a toddler running around the living room is going to cramp your style no end. What happens next time you want to bring someone home?’

  ‘I swear, if I even look at a woman before I turn forty, please hit me over the head. Trust me, I’ve had enough of the weaker sex for a long time. Besides, I’m working on the theory that once Jack starts paying the rent on his room, we’ll be able to split it three ways and I’ll be in clover. Do you think two is too young for a paper run?’

  ‘Nah – he should have the walking thing sorted out by then.’

  I’d taken my eyes off Jack for about ten seconds and when I looked up I saw him headfirst in someone else’s picnic basket. While Jack didn’t seem to move that quickly when I was watching him, he seemed to have a turbo charge that kicked in when I wasn’t.

  Pushing myself to my feet I jogged over to him.

  ‘Sorry,’ I apologised to the owners of the basket. I pulled a plastic plate out of Jack’s mouth, wiped it on my shirt and put it back in the basket.

  ‘Jeez,’ Patrick said when we rejoined him. ‘It’s just as well Jack’s cute. If I’d done that I’d have a black eye by now. Maybe I can train him as a pickpocket and do the rounds of the parks each day,’ he said in sudden inspiration. ‘Forget the paper round.’

  ‘Great idea, except I reckon you’d end up with a bunch of chewed serviettes rather than hard currency.’

  ‘Mmm . . . I’ll keep it in mind for when things get really bad.’

  Jack was having a second go at his piece of baguette, which was covered in saliva and dirt. That was good, I told myself. One of the women at playgroup had mentioned a study that had found children had to be exposed to germs to develop their immune systems. I had immediately vowed to stop worrying so much, but had the feeling Jack was overdoing things. Even I’d felt sick when I’d seen him lick some dried chewing gum on the footpath yesterday.

  As we were packing up to head home, I heard the telltale tinkle of music and my blood ran cold. I could have counted on one hand the number of times I’d seen an ice-cream van in the last five years. But now one seemed to be lurking around every suburban corner.

  Patrick noticed that I’d frozen on the spot. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. He registered the music. ‘Oh.’

  Patrick had found my run-in with Grant, my ex-boyfriend, hilarious and had told everyone he could think of.

  ‘You know, maybe you should just face up to your fear. Go talk to the man – apologise or whatever. Kind of like getting back on the horse. Being terrified of a guy who sells soft serve is kind of sad.’

  I hated to admit it, but he had a point. Earlier in the week I’d been walking to the corner shop and had done a four-block detour to avoid the ice-cream van. I couldn’t keep living like this.

  I hesitated.

  ‘Go on. I dare you to ask him out for a drink,’ he added with a grin.

  My heart sank. As kids, Patrick and I had devised an elaborate system of dares and challenges. Whether it was a competition to see who could hold their breath underwater the longest, or a dare to try to convince the old lady across the street we only spoke French, you could never back down once a challenge had been issued.

  ‘C’mon Patrick, I’m nearly thirty-two. I don’t do dares any more.’

  ‘Okay,’ Patrick shook his head sadly. ‘I guess that makes me the lifetime winner then.’

  ‘I’m not even sure he’ll talk to me. And besides,’ I added, trying to sound mature, ‘for all I know, he’s married with twins by now.’

  Grant and I had been classic high-school sweethearts. For nearly four years we were the couple who held hands at lunchtime and walked home together after school. We had known each other since primary school and started going out in grade eight. By the time we hit senior, everyone assumed we were going to get married and live happily ever after.

  That was until an American exchange student called Bob arrived at school. Bob’s southern accent had set every female heart in school racing, and despite my coupled status, I was not immune. To add to his already
considerable attractions, Bob was almost a full year older than we were. When our group of friends was invited to his eighteenth birthday party, Anita and I planned our outfits for a week. Grant, though, came down with the flu the day before and had to stay home.

  Not only was this the coolest party we had ever been to, it was also one of the first ones with alcohol. By the time I had downed four bourbon and Cokes, I was feeling so light-headed that when Bob asked me to go for a walk I didn’t hesitate. We’d barely made it to the front gate before he kissed me and, without thinking, I kissed him back. By the time Anita came out to check on me, we were rolling around on the front lawn. She marched up and dragged me home, calling my parents to tell them I was staying the night at her house.

  The next morning, having been sick several times and with a crushing headache, I went round to Grant’s place and confessed. The look of hurt on his face was the thing that had stayed with me over the years. We broke up and hardly spoke to each other for the rest of the year. To top it off, Bob was incredibly offended when I wouldn’t sleep with him and bad-mouthed me to anyone who would listen.

  All in all it was not one of my finest moments.

  Up until that point I had been completely convinced I was in love with Grant and that we were going to spend our lives together. He was the first guy I slept with and I was sure he was going to be the last. We even knew that once our kids had grown up, we were going to move to a house in the country where Grant was going to write a bestseller.

  And then, just like that, it was over. All this time later, I still occasionally wondered how different my life would have been if I hadn’t been so stupid.

  So if I’d had to choose the top ten people I’d have most hated to see standing in that ice-cream van, Grant would have been way up there.

  ‘Yeah, and maybe he’s as single as you. You won’t know unless you ask – besides, he’s a nice guy.’

  While we were going out, Grant had treated Patrick a bit like a younger brother, taking him to football games and the occasional concert.

  ‘So what’s in it for me if I do?’ This was also part of our system. The reward for a successful dare had to match the level of difficulty.