A Child In Need

by Marion Lennox

  ‘John, we need to talk about this by ourselves,’ she said urgently, casting a sideways glance at Nick-who just as carefully looked away. ‘Maybe we could meet tonight.’

  But John had no intention of being placated. ‘This is ridiculous. I came into town to choose tiles.’

  ‘I’m with Harry. And Nick.’

  ‘Leave the kid with the lawyer.’

  ‘Hey…’ Nick’s protest was involuntary-but unnecessary. He could safely leave this to Shanni. She was angry enough for both of them.

  ‘The kid’s name is Harry,’ she said bluntly. ‘Not “the kid”. And Harry is my friend. I invited him and Nick-who’s a magistrate, not just a lawyer-out to lunch and for a play in the playground. When we’re finished-and not before-I’ll take Harry back to Wendy.’

  ‘Wendy…’ John’s voice rose in incredulity. ‘You mean this is a kid from the orphanage?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, and there was ice dripping from the word. Back off, Nick was thinking urgently, but there was no way he could get that message across. John had no intention of backing off. This was a man used to getting his own way, and he wasn’t tuned in to ice.

  ‘Shanni, this is ridiculous,’ John said through gritted teeth. ‘The whole town saw you walking down the street with this guy, and with the kid between you. Malcolm Taylor rang to tell me…’

  ‘So this is the real reason you’re here?’ Shanni’s anger was building by the minute. ‘Because Malcolm saw me with another man and decided to report me?’

  ‘The town will think you’re two-timing me!’

  ‘By sitting on the beach eating fish and chips with the local magistrate? In broad daylight and with a child between us?’ Nick and Harry were forgotten now. If he were John he’d disappear for a while, Nick thought. He could feel the anger radiating from Shanni, and it was almost tangible.

  ‘It’s not his place to take you to lunch.’

  ‘He didn’t take me to lunch. I took him for lunch.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Nick said mildly. ‘I had no choice at all. Ask Harry. I don’t have a choice in anything. This lady has the force of two bulldozers.’

  He was ignored.

  ‘Look, come and choose tiles and we’ll forget all about this,’ John said urgently. ‘I mean…the town will forget…’

  ‘That I’m a two-timing hussy?’

  ‘I never said…’

  ‘You didn’t need to.’ She was fairly spitting. ‘John, I like you very much, and you’ve been a real friend-but I will not be owned.’

  ‘You mean you don’t want to marry me?’

  She paused. There was a long, long silence. Unnoticed, the roundabout slowed to a halt. Both Nick and Harry were watching, entranced. Pirates and stomachs forgotten.

  ‘I guess…’ She closed her eyes and when she opened them the determination that Nick was starting to know was back in force. ‘I guess that’s what I do mean, John. Thank you for asking, but no.’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘No. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I see.’ Once again, there was a long, long silence-and then John turned to Nick, and the look he cast him was pure malevolence. ‘I just hope to hell he’s worth it,’ he spat. ‘To throw me over for a bloody lawyer with designer suits…’

  And he turned and stalked off over the sand-hills.

  ‘Push,’ said Harry.

  That at least was something he could do. Nick pushed while Shanni gazed at the retreating back of her lover and he could see indecision written all over her.

  ‘Go after him,’ he said gently. ‘I can take care of Harry.’ What was he saying?

  ‘Thank you.’ She turned to face them, an overbright smile pinned to her face. The decision had been made and there wasn’t regret there as far as Nick could see. There was just pure anger. ‘But I don’t need any more males telling me what to do.’

  ‘Especially not a designer-suited lawyer?’

  It broke the ice. She stared at him for a long minute and then, slowly, the anger faded. ‘Oh, heck…’ She broke into a weak chuckle. ‘Oh, help. I’m sorry. No. Wasn’t he awful?’

  ‘But…if people are getting that impression…’ Another thought was hitting Nick with force now, and he didn’t like it. If the town thought Shanni was throwing her John over for him… ‘Maybe we should cool it.’

  She stared. And then her jaw dropped in a sardonic look of incredulity. ‘Cool it? Cool what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe John has a point.’

  Anger was flooding right back. ‘So people all over town think I’m falling for you because I asked you to lunch. And you’re worried about it? You jerk! You’re as conceited and pompous as John.’

  ‘Push,’ said Harry firmly-he was tired of this adult conversation and was back to basics-and they both pushed while undercurrents zoomed around and between them as if the playground was wired for electricity. And some of it had got loose.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Nick said after a bit. Maybe he had overreacted. It was just this small-town thing. He did not want to get involved. He glanced at his watch and saw with relief there was just fifteen minutes left before three. ‘I need to get back.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she said cordially. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

  ‘You’re not coming?’

  ‘Harry and I are playing on the roundabout,’ she snapped. ‘You do what you like.’

  ‘Right. Right, then.’

  He took a deep breath, looked at her for a long minute and nodded.

  ‘See you later, Harry,’ he said.

  ‘When?’ Harry demanded, startled. His voice was urgent. ‘When will you see me?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Mr Daniels is a very busy man,’ Shanni said icily. ‘He’s probably got tiles to buy.’

  ‘I do have a court case or two to judge.’

  ‘Then don’t let us keep you,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Harry and I can manage very well without you. We can manage without men in general and without two males in particular. And one of them’s you.’

  ‘What’s been happening?’

  ‘I was expecting you to come back with a black eye at least.’

  Nick was no sooner in the courthouse than he was pounced on. Mary was at her desk, agog, and Rob was standing beside her, immaculate in his police uniform. The physical likeness to Shanni was unmistakable-as was their ability to ignore his personal boundaries.

  He stared at both of them with dislike. There was sand in his shoes. He needed time to empty it before he was due in court in four minutes. His stomach was still churning from the roundabout and he felt ill. He didn’t need an inquisition.

  ‘Why are you here?’ he snapped at Rob.

  ‘Hey, I brought the prisoner,’ Rob said, aggrieved. ‘Not that there’s any need for force. It’s Bart Commin in for shoplifting. He pinches four cans of baked beans every second Wednesday, because that’s the day before pension. It drives everyone nuts, but as soon as we make it official-try to give him the beans and dock his pension-he changes stores. We figure he likes the excitement.’

  ‘Great.’ Nick groaned. ‘Fourteen years’ intellectual training for this.’

  ‘Your tie’s crooked,’ Mary said, bright-eyed and interested. ‘You’ve never had a crooked tie before.’

  ‘So your sister had her wicked way with me behind the sand-hills,’ Nick snarled. ‘You want to put a two-page announcement in the local paper?’

  ‘Don’t reckon we have to,’ Rob said lazily, and grinned. ‘John’s done it for us.’

  Nick stared. ‘What exactly do you mean by that?’

  ‘He’s spreading it all over town,’ Rob told him. ‘I’ve heard it from at least three people on the way here. Seems my sister’s thrown John over for the magistrate.’

  ‘Oh, great!’

  ‘Your hair’s not mussed,’ Mary said, in a tone saying she wouldn’t have minded if it was. ‘That means you can’t have been too far out of line.’

  ‘Plus they had
the littl’un with them,’ Rob agreed. ‘It wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘You’ll go far as a policeman,’ Nick snapped. ‘Great detective work. Do you mind? I have a court case to run.’

  ‘Bart won’t worry if you’re running late,’ Rob said easily. ‘I’m prosecuting and he’s defending himself. There’s hardly an army of lawyers waiting.’

  ‘No.’ He would have preferred it if there was-in fact he would have preferred anything to these four enquiring eyes.

  ‘Did she really throw John over?’ Mary asked, breathless.

  He guessed he could tell them that. ‘She did.’

  There was a long drawn-out sigh from the pair of them, and he looked on, bemused.

  ‘Do you mind telling me what’s going on?’

  ‘We can’t stand the man,’ Rob said simply. ‘None of us can. We were starting to worry she’d marry him through lack of competition.’

  ‘And now along you come,’ Mary said dreamily.

  ‘Rob?’ Nick eyed his arresting officer with disfavour.

  ‘Yes, sir?’ There was a glint in Rob’s eye that reminded Nick of Shanni, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He wasn’t the least bit sure he wasn’t being laughed at here.

  ‘There’s a jug of water on my bench. Fetch it and throw it over your sister.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Rob grinned and Mary stopped looking dreamy and gave a half-hearted chuckle herself.

  ‘Okay. I know I’m being stupid. It’s just… I mean you’re eligible as anything, and you’d be quite good-looking if you didn’t have the…’ She paused and Nick glowered.

  ‘If I didn’t have the what?’

  ‘Pot-belly and bald spot?’ Rob suggested, and hooted with laughter. ‘Jeepers, Mary, leave the guy alone.’ But Mary just looked helpful.

  ‘It’s your hairstyle and slick clothes,’ she said. ‘They make you look like a gangster.’

  ‘Gee, thanks.’

  ‘Or one of those smart city lawyers you see on the movies,’ she added. ‘And you’re not one of those.’

  ‘No. More’s the pity.’

  ‘You don’t mind me saying it?’

  ‘Why should I?’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Go ahead. Any more improvements you can think of while you’re at it?’

  ‘You don’t really have to wear those skinny ties,’ she ventured.

  ‘The suit doesn’t fit here,’ Rob added, joining right into the spirit of things. ‘Old Judge Andrews wore tweed.’

  ‘The old judge kept forgetting to take his wellingtons off, too,’ Mary said thoughtfully. ‘He had a hobby farm so he kept arriving in court smelling of cow dung. It made him…I don’t know…more approachable somehow.’

  ‘You’d like me to come to court without my hair combed, in a tweed jacket, a wide tie and stinking of cow dung?’

  ‘You have to do something. You’ll never win our Shanni like you are now.’ Rob chortled at Nick’s expression and threw up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay, Your Worship. I can see I’ve gone too far. Let me organise a prisoner for you and we’ll get this court case under way.’

  He shouldn’t worry.

  He shouldn’t give a damn what they all thought of him, Nick decided as the afternoon wore on. The cases were trivial and demanded hardly any thought at all. He might as well think of his appearance.

  He might as well think about Shanni.

  Which was really, really stupid.

  He’d go up to town this weekend, he decided. If he left by five tomorrow night he could be back in his inner-city apartment by nine. Maybe ring a couple of friends, catch a late show, see the latest Enrico exhibition on Saturday…

  ‘Four hundred dollars or ten days in custody,’ he said, and discovered the whole courtroom was looking at him.

  ‘But…’ It was Mary, and she bit her lip almost as soon as she said it.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fifty bucks or overnight,’ the defendant explained for her, in a voice that sounded like gravel. The old man was an alcoholic. He stank. The smell of him reached every corner of the court.

  ‘Overnight gives us time to see he’s fed and washed,’ Rob explained.

  ‘So ten days gives you longer. Next case…’

  And he closed his file and glared at them all. And they glared right back. Every single one of them.

  And Shanni was waiting for him when court was finished for the day. Her anger was still sky-high. He came out of court, tossed his gown aside and turned to find Shanni watching him from the corridor.

  ‘I suppose you know what you’ve done,’ she said bluntly.

  Nick sighed. Now what?

  ‘Let’s see,’ he said wearily. ‘According to town gossip, so far today I’ve ravished you over fish and chips, I’ve had my wicked way in the sand-hills, I’ve broken your engagement to your knight in shining armour, and I’ve smashed the unwritten dress code for Bay Beach court. What else is there left?’

  ‘You’ve made Emma feed Bart for ten days!’

  ‘Emma?’

  ‘Rob’s wife. She does the meals for the custody cells. And Bart’ll dry out. We’ll have him screaming the place down.’

  ‘Then maybe he needs to be dried out.’ This was none of her business.

  ‘I thought Mary warned you. Bart’s dried out at least fifty times in living memory, all of them in the police cells, all of them with Rob and Emma not getting sleep for days and all of them totally useless as he hits the bottle the minute he’s back on the town. But go ahead. Jail him.’

  ‘I already have.’

  ‘I know.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘Smart city lawyers…’

  ‘I am the magistrate,’ he said mildly, and she ground her teeth some more.

  ‘Yeah. Well, stop filling police cells and go do something useful.’

  Something useful… For heaven’s sake, hadn’t these people heard of a little respect? He was the magistrate!

  But respect wasn’t in Shanni’s vocabulary.

  ‘The psychologist is coming to the children’s home tomorrow to assess Harry,’ she continued. ‘That’s why I’m here. Don’t get any funny ideas that I might want to see you or anything. I don’t. But Wendy needs a statement saying that you’ve been able to make contact.’

  ‘Make contact?’ Nick stared, bemused. She was still furious and she looked really something when she was angry. As if there were sparks inside as well as out.

  ‘Yes. That you’ve been able to communicate with him and he’s showed signs of affection. Otherwise he risks being classified as autistic and we’ll get nowhere. He’ll be taken away from Wendy, and there’s no chance he’ll be considered for adoption with a label like that.’

  ‘Shanni, it’s…’

  ‘None of your business,’ she snapped, eyes flashing. ‘Like Bart isn’t my business. This is a small community here, Nick Daniels, and everyone cares for everybody. And even if it wasn’t a small community… Haven’t you ever heard the line “Any man’s death diminishes me…”’

  That floored him. For heaven’s sake… John Donne’s poetry being flung at him by angry kindergarten teachers…

  ‘Any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind…’

  But Nick wasn’t, he thought blankly. No way. He’d tried as hard as he could, for all of his life, to be exactly the opposite. As uninvolved in mankind as possible.

  ‘How can you not care?’ Shanni said hotly. ‘Nick, you’re the only hope he has.’

  ‘I…’

  ‘You don’t care for anyone. Of course you don’t. I can see that.’ She shook her blonde curls in fury. ‘So don’t do anything about it. See him locked in a psychiatric institution…’

  ‘Hey…’

  ‘If you care, then go and talk to Wendy.’

  ‘Wendy?’

  ‘Wendy,’ she said kindly, as if he was a sandwich short of a picnic. ‘The head of the children’s home he’s in. Bay Beach orphanage is split into five homes and Wendy’s in charge of Harry’s.’ She glared again. ‘So h
elp her. If you have one ounce of decency in your body then it’s the least you can do.’

  ‘But you…’

  ‘And you needn’t worry. You won’t meet me there, so your reputation will remain untarnished. I’m going to a movie with my mother. Something about a runaway bride.’ She glowered. ‘Which will suit me down to the ground. Runaway bride? Ha! If all the men around her are as appalling as you and John, I can’t say I blame her for her choice.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GREAT!

  He seemed to have sand everywhere. Nick took himself back up to his apartment, emptied his shoes, washed his face and poured himself a glass of wine. It didn’t work. He still felt gritty and unsettled.

  And like a king-sized rat.

  He made himself steak and salad, sat down to watch the news on TV and he still felt rat-like. Which was stupidly unfair.

  Finally he showered and changed every piece of his sand-impregnated clothing, donning casual trousers and an open-necked shirt. Then he stared at himself in the mirror. See? he demanded of no one in particular-or the absent Shanni. He could be casual if he wanted to be.

  The thought was so pathetic and inane he made himself grin.

  His hair needed attention. He’d washed the sand out, and it was drying as its usual mop of unruly black curls. This wasn’t a judge-look at all. He grimaced, started to comb it flat and smooth-and then he stopped.

  This was stupid, he conceded. Slick hairstyles for casual was stupid. He wasn’t dressing for anyone. He’d leave it be-just run a comb loosely through it and leave it. Just for tonight.

  After all, he was only reading legal briefs tonight-wasn’t he? Hardly worth donning his city lawyer image for.

  He read one legal brief and paused.

  Harry… Psychiatric assessment tomorrow.

  Harry…

  It was nothing to do with him, he thought savagely-desperately. He couldn’t help.

  But in his heart, maybe he knew he could.

  He’d heard court cases before, submissions of social workers on why a child should be sent home to his parents or fostered or sent to a remand home. This child is incapable of attachment. Borderline autism. There’s no point in attempting foster care. We believe institutional care is the only option.