She nodded. ‘All the best, Joe.’
And then he couldn’t help himself. He brought his arms around her, but she didn’t resist. She hugged him as hard as he was hugging her. He didn’t want to let her go, but he felt her pulling back after a while.
She looked up at him, her eyes glassy. ‘Bye Joe,’ she said, and then she turned and walked away.
He was still in a daze an hour later back at the house. People kept coming up and speaking to him, though now it was mostly people he knew at least. But Joe still didn’t know what to say to them. He didn’t really feel like talking to anyone. He had an urge to walk out the back door and beyond through the bush and up to the top of the ridge, and sit on the flat rock and watch the black cockatoos. He didn’t want to be with these people, he wanted to be with Jo. But he didn’t know how that was going to happen now.
Will came up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. ‘Was that Jo I saw at the cemetery?’
He nodded.
‘Is she coming back here?’
‘No, she couldn’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘She’s going away.’
Will came around to face him. ‘She’s going away? Where to?’
Joe sighed. ‘Europe.’
Will took a moment to process that. ‘Does she know?’
He shook his head.
‘So what are you still doing here?’
‘Will, it’s our father’s funeral.’
‘Yeah, I realise that. Why are you still here?’
Joe looked at him directly. ‘It’s Dad’s funeral.’
‘And so I’ll ask the question again, why are you still here?’
‘Because it’s Dad’s funeral,’ Joe repeated firmly.
Will folded his arms, shaking his head. ‘And where do think he’d want you to be right now?’
Joe just stared at him.
‘God, Joe, have I taught you nothing? Grand gesture! It’s time for the big one, brother, before she gets away for good.’
The Tribune
It was going on four o’clock when Jo arrived back at work. She was pretty sure she must have missed her cake; it didn’t bother her, she just hoped it hadn’t bothered anyone else.
She had cried on and off the whole way home. She was glad she’d gone, glad she’d had the chance to say goodbye to Joe. But it had been so hard, especially when he’d hugged her at the end. He’d held onto her so tight, like he didn’t want to let her go. And perhaps he didn’t, but that didn’t change anything. She had searched the crowd when she’d arrived, spotting Joe straight away, and Will and Mim, and the other two sisters, she assumed, tall and attractive like their brothers. But she couldn’t see Sarah anywhere. Surely she’d be standing with the family? Jo had decided in the end that she was either too heavily pregnant, or else she was still in hospital after the birth, which would be truly awful for Joe. What if the baby had been born close to when his father died? He’d said he didn’t get the chance to say goodbye . . . It was too sad to think about. She parked the car in the basement and signed it back in. She took the elevator up to the news floor, and as she walked back to her desk, Hugh Moncrieff was coming towards her, cradling a piece of cake in a paper napkin.
His faced dropped when he saw her. ‘Oh, we’ve just had your cake, Jo. When you didn’t show . . .’
She smiled reassuringly. ‘That’s fine, Hugh. I’m sorry, I was called out unexpectedly.’
He looked embarrassed.
‘Is it any good?’ Jo asked.
‘I have to say it’s not bad,’ he said. ‘It’s from that patisserie in the arcade. It’s a five-layered almond torte interspersed with a crème fraiche filling and smothered in dark chocolate ganache. Quite delicious actually. I think there’s still some left.’
‘Thanks, Hugh,’ she nodded. ‘Well, it was nice knowing you,’ she said, offering him her hand.
He almost blushed, wiping his fingers on the napkin and reaching out to shake her hand. ‘All the very best to you, Jo.’
She proceeded to her cubicle and dropped her bag on her desk. That was it, she supposed. She could go now. Though there was one more person she really should say goodbye to, despite everything. She walked over to Lachlan’s office. The blinds were closed, so she knocked on the door.
‘Just a minute,’ she heard his voice from inside.
A moment later the door opened and Carla strode out past her, slightly flushed. ‘Oh, Jo, I thought you’d left already,’ she said.
‘I’m on my way,’ she said. ‘Good luck with the column, Carla.’
‘Thanks,’ she said breezily, walking away.
Jo stepped into the office. Lachlan was sitting at his desk, a sheepish expression on his face.
She shook her head as she closed the door behind her. ‘Lachlan, really,’ she winced. ‘Carla?’
‘What can I say,’ he said, getting up and coming around the desk. ‘I’m incorrigible.’
‘Unconscionable more like,’ said Jo, folding her arms. ‘Sandra deserves better, and so do you, I might add.’
‘I don’t know about that,’ he shrugged, leaning back against the desk, facing her. ‘Maybe I’ve found my match.’
He had a point.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to say goodbye,’ said Jo.
He nodded. ‘Listen, I realise things didn’t work out for you and Bannister.’
She shrugged.
‘Are you sorry we broke up?’
Jo smiled. ‘No.’
He grinned then. ‘Fair enough.’ He stood up. ‘Do I get a kiss goodbye at least, for old times’ sake?’
‘Sure,’ she said, but she only lifted her cheek towards him. He bent to kiss it, giving her arm a gentle squeeze.
‘I’ll miss you,’ he said.
‘No you won’t,’ she returned. ‘You’ll barely notice I’m gone.’ She turned back to the door. ‘Try to be good, Lachlan.’
‘Try to be happy, Jo,’ he said as she walked out the door.
She went back to her desk and gathered up the last of her things into a small cardboard box, switched off her computer, and picked up her jacket from the back of her chair, slipping it on. She placed her handbag on top of the box, and then hoisted it onto her hip as she walked out of her cubicle. Jo was relieved no one paid any attention as she made her way across the news floor to the elevator bay.
The receptionist was munching on cake as she went to walk by. ‘Oh, Jo, we missed you at afternoon tea. Did you get some cake?’
‘It’s okay . . .’ Then she frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name?’
‘That’s all right, I’ve only been here a few weeks. It’s Marianne.’
Not Elizabeth, or Louise . . . Jo couldn’t remember all the names of the receptionists who had come and gone during her time here. People moved on every day, Jo realised, and they survived. So would she.
‘Well, bye Marianne,’ she said.
‘Goodbye Jo. All the best.’
She walked out to the lift bay and pressed the button for down, then stepped back, waiting in front of the second elevator on the right. For old times’ sake. The ping sounded at the other end, behind her; Jo glanced back at the indicator light, but it was going up. Another ping, and the doors in front of her were gliding open. She stepped in.
‘Hold it! Hold the lift.’
She turned around and her heart stopped. It was Joe, striding towards her. Somehow she found her voice. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I had to see you.’
‘You just saw me,’ she said, stunned. ‘Joe, you left your father’s funeral?’
‘I did,’ he said, stepping into the path of the lift doors so they wouldn’t close. ‘There’s something I have to tell you, Jo, something you should know before you leave . . . Can we talk?’
‘I’m . . . um, I was just on my way out.’
‘Can I ride down with you?’
She was staring at him in disbelief. ‘Sure,’ she said in a small voice.
&nbs
p; He stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the ground floor.
‘What is it, Joe?’ she asked. ‘What do you have to tell me?’
He took a breath. ‘Sarah and I . . . we’re not together. She’s in love with someone else. Same as me.’
The box slid out of Jo’s arms but he caught it before it dropped to the floor, setting it down. He straightened up again to face her. She seemed to be in shock. ‘But . . . the baby?’ she said, her voice barely making it out of her throat. ‘It’s not yours?’
‘No, it’s mine. She’s mine. Julia. She was born just over a week ago.’ He glanced up at the numbers rapidly descending. Damn, this thing was moving too fast. He reached over to slam his hand on the emergency stop.
That roused her. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Sorry. I’m sorry, Jo, I know you get nervous in confined spaces, but I just need another minute.’
‘It’s okay,’ she said calmly. And it was. Jo didn’t feel anxious, she felt safe. With him. Like in her dreams.
‘It’s over with Sarah,’ he was saying. ‘It never really got started this time around, but it’s certainly over.’
‘I don’t understand. If the baby’s yours . . .’
‘Jo,’ he took a breath. ‘I’m the biological father of the baby, nothing’s going to change that. But Sarah’s in love with someone else. And he’s a really decent guy. He followed her all the way out here; he’ll be a good father, because he loves Sarah. And he loves the baby, even though she isn’t his. I’m prepared to step back and let him do that. Because the right thing is for that little girl to have two parents who love each other and are committed to each other.’
‘So you’re giving her up?
‘No, not at all,’ said Joe. ‘I’ll have a relationship with her, I just won’t be there day to day. But I’m going to make sure she knows I love her and that we did the right thing by her.’ He paused, thinking about what to say next. ‘Jo, it was never going to work. I can’t be a good father, I can’t be good at anything if I’m not with you.’
She stared up at him, her eyes glassy. ‘But I’m leaving the country, Joe, I told you.’
‘I know, and I want you to go, I want you to do whatever you need to do, Jo, I’ll never stand in your way.’
Now she looked confused.
He took hold of her arms. ‘It’s just . . . I want to come with you.’
‘Oh,’ she said, her eyes wide. ‘But . . .’ She seemed hesitant. ‘But you said you don’t want to live overseas any more, you said you wanted to settle down.’
‘That’s all changed. I’m going to spend part of the year overseas now anyway. And I want to settle down with you, wherever that is.’
She was breathing hard. ‘I don’t know where I’m going to be yet, they haven’t appointed me.’
‘I don’t care.’
‘It might be Moscow.’
‘I’ll bring a coat.’
Her heart was racing. ‘But what will you do?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, I was thinking, I might write a book about my dad.’
She smiled faintly. ‘So you have a plan?’
‘Not really. I’m making it up as I go along.’
She looked at him. ‘You’d really up and leave everything, just like that?’
‘In a heartbeat,’ he said without hesitating. ‘I love you, Jo. I never stopped loving you this whole time. When I sorted things out with Sarah, the first thing I wanted to do was find you and tell you, see if there was any chance you’d have me back. I didn’t know if you’d ever want to have anything to do with me again. And then you were there, today, and I can’t let you go again . . . not without me.’
There was silence, she wasn’t saying anything. Maybe it was too late, maybe she couldn’t understand . . . but something in her eyes, gazing up at him, wide and glassy, gave him hope.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked tentatively.
‘I’m thinking . . .’ she said slowly. ‘. . . Okay.’
He breathed out. ‘Okay?’ he said. ‘You’re saying okay?’
She smiled then. ‘I’m saying okay, Joe.’
And he smiled too, and they drew into each other’s arms, completely in sync, like it was a movie or something. And their lips met, with no bumping of noses or knocking of teeth, in a perfect, wonderful, exhilarating kiss.
‘Is everything all right in there?’ the intercom crackled into life.
They drew back to smile at each other.
‘Everything’s just great,’ said Jo.
CARLA DELACQUA
BITCH
Novelty weddings, is there anything quite so absurd? Reciting solemn vows as you parachute out of a plane or ride a surfboard, or even hang by a bungee rope. At least I can recognise the inherent, if lame, romance in the notion, if you go for that kind of thing.
But here’s one that takes the idea to a whole new level – excuse the pun – of inanity. Two former employees of this newspaper, who should know better, decided to tie the connubial knot in – wait for it – an elevator of all places. And why? Because they met in an elevator that broke down. Aww, I think I’m going to puke. Lucky they didn’t meet in an STD clinic.
If this trend takes off, are we going to be confronted anywhere and everywhere with a new breed of reality weddings? The line at the post office could suddenly become the conga line at someone’s reception; people will get stuck behind wedding car processions at their local McDonald’s drive-thru; every second pickup joint will become a tacky reception venue.
The fact is, most people meet on the Internet these days, so some entrepreneurial person ought to get onto this and offer weddings online, with virtual food, virtual guests, virtual speeches. It would be a lot less boring, considerably cheaper, and the happy couple wouldn’t even have to be in the same room. Should get them used to the rest of married life.
See, this obsession with novelty weddings is just to distract the players from the main game, the fact that they’re committing to each other for the rest of their lives and that neither of them probably believes it for a second, deep down. If they did, why are pre-nups under ‘essential’ on every wedding planner’s to-do list these days?
Divorce is now wedded to the paradigm of marriage. That might sound ironic, but the facts are, thirty-four percent of couples who say ‘I do’ today will not last ten years, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘till death us do part’. That is, you’re more likely to divorce each other if you don’t kill each other first.
Truth is, it’s all stuff and nonsense. And that’s a bitch.
Editor’s note: Despite the opinions of this columnist, the staff at the Tribune wish the aforementioned couple every happiness.
Crossing Paths Page 50
