Just Not Mine (Escape to New Zealand)

by Rosalind James

  1 missed call.

  It was Aunt Cora. They’d talked just this morning, a quick one, and she’d wished the kids Merry Christmas already, so why would she be calling now? He debated waiting until the morning, but if she was calling again … And she hadn’t sounded quite like herself earlier. Probably worried about how it was going to work out with the Mad Butcher of Brighton after all, now that they were down to the wire.

  He left the caravan, started up the drive toward the front garden so he wouldn’t wake the kids, and pushed the Call button.

  “Hello,” he heard. “Hugh. Oh, good.”

  “Merry Christmas again,” he said. “How ya going? Having a good day?” He could afford to be cheerful, now, because she was coming back, and everything was going to get easier. And because he was cheerful.

  “Yes,” she said, and laughed. “You could say that. Because …” She paused for effect. “Henry asked me to marry him last night. And I said yes.”

  “He … Really?” It had sounded increasingly serious, but—so soon? “Whoa. That’s awesome. That’s … whoa, quick.”

  “No, it’s not,” she said. “It hasn’t been quick at all, it’s been much too long. When it’s right, it’s right. We’re both old enough to recognize it, that’s all, and take our chance.”

  “So he’s, what? Coming back with you? Or following you, still? Or what? What have you got planned?”

  “No,” she said, and the excitement was gone, replaced by caution, and something else. “That’s not what we’ve decided. We had a long talk about it, were up half the night deciding. And what it comes down to is, we’ve realized that’s not what’s best for either of us, and it’s not going to work. This is my home, and it’s his. He’s built up his business here, his family’s here, and so is the rest of mine. He wants to stay, and so do I.”

  “You’re staying there? For good, you mean?” It wasn’t that it had never occurred to him, it was just that he hadn’t thought it was possible. She’d never even hinted at it. She’d leave the kids? No, that couldn’t be it. That wasn’t what she was saying, and his heart had begun to pound. “So, wait,” he said. “Wait. You’re wanting to take the kids back there after all? Because I don’t think that’s best. They’re doing all right, but they’re not out of the woods. I thought we agreed that they’d be best off here. That was the whole idea.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m not. I’m not taking them, because we did agree. They’re better off staying where they are.”

  “So … what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying …” She stopped, then began again. “I’m saying that I want all of you to come for the wedding, and Henry and I will come out and visit too. Every year, I hope. And I’ll call. I’ll help out as much as I can, talk to them, all that, but that’s it.”

  “What?” He was standing in the middle of the front garden, in the dark, and it didn’t feel warm anymore. It didn’t feel anything. “That’s it? You’re moving back there, and that’s it? You’re just going to leave them? Alone?”

  “Of course I’m not going to leave them alone,” she said. “I’m going to leave them with you. If they were really alone, that would be different, but they aren’t. They’ve got you. That was always the plan, that they’d have you.”

  He began to pace now, the agitation demanding release. “No,” he told her. “That was not always the plan. That was nowhere close to the plan. They were meant to have both of us. They were meant to have you, because they need you. You’re their aunt, and their guardian. We agreed.”

  “I’m one of their guardians,” she said. “You’re the other, and it’s your turn to step up. I helped out as much as I could, for as long as I could. And, Hugh, come on. Think about it. What am I, really? I’m their aunt, who’d seen them a few times in their life, and I came all that way all the same, stayed a year and a half, did my best to love them and care for them and help them through the worst of it. But you—you’re their brother, and you’re a Kiwi, and you belong there. They’re your responsibility, in the end, aren’t they? My life has always been here. Even more so now, because I’ve got this chance, and I can’t give it up. I can’t.”

  “And you’re not willing to take them at all.” He’d refused to consider this, because he hadn’t thought it was possible. She wouldn’t turn her back on the kids altogether, surely she wouldn’t. She would change her mind. She’d miss them too much, surely, and they’d miss her. “Not even half the time? You could have them some of the time, surely.”

  “Some of the time? What, half their schooling here and half in New Zealand? Or away from their friends for their holidays? There’s no way that works. That’s no life for them. You have to think of what’s best for them.”

  “Yeh, right,” he said, and the cold fury was there now, making his hands shake. That she’d do this to him. That she’d do it to Charlie and Amelia. “Like you are.”

  “Like I’ve done for nearly eighteen months, while you’ve still been able to live your life and have your fun.” She was getting angry too, it was clear. “Now I need to do what’s best for me, what’s best for Henry, too. I deserve that. I deserve some happiness myself.”

  “And what about what’s best for me?” he demanded, hearing his voice rise. “What about when I’m back playing again? I’ve barely been able to manage while I’ve been out of it, while I’ve been home every night. What am I supposed to do then, gone half the time, out of the bloody country as often as not, training the rest, and just about useless with them when I am here?”

  “You’ll cope, that’s what you’ll do. They’ve sounded fine to me so far, and so have you. You hire a nanny to care for them and stay with them while you’re gone, what do you imagine? You’re a grown man, you can figure it out. And once you’ve done it, no doubt you’ll go on exactly the same as when I was there. It’s not like you can’t afford to hire someone, is it? The kids will have their stability, their home and friends and schools. And nobody’s asking you to take on a pair of delinquents. They’re good kids.”

  “They’re great kids,” he said. “They’re fantastic kids. They’re just not my kids, and if you think all they need is a nanny and my job’s done, then I … well, I don’t even know how to answer that. They don’t need a nanny, they need someone who can be a mum to them. Somebody who’s a lot closer to that than what I can be, at least. They need somebody to listen to them and talk to them about their mum and dad and help Amelia figure out about being a teenager. They need a parent, and I can’t be that.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to be,” she said. “Why ever wouldn’t you be able to do it? If I could, you can. They need somebody, of course they do. And they’ve got somebody. They’ve got you. But I need something too. I need a life, and I deserve to have one.”

  “And so do I,” he insisted. “I’m twenty-seven years old. How am I going to have any kind of normal life with two kids who aren’t mine bang in the middle of it? What if I find a woman and want to have my own kids with her? What woman in her twenties is going to want to be a mother to teenagers? It’s too much to ask of any woman. And it’s too much to ask of me, because God knows, I’m not equipped to do it.”

  He’d been pacing faster and faster in his agitation, and now he stopped, took a couple deep breaths, and tried to start over.

  “Look,” he said. “I understand you’re feeling pressed. I understand it’s a lot of responsibility. Believe me, I do. If I never did before, I do now. And I understand if Henry’s got doubts himself, and I’m willing to help with that. I’m willing to help with everything. If the problem’s starting a new business, I can give him a loan, help him with the contacts, help him get set up with a shop here. You say he’s built up a good business, so why can’t he do the same thing here? Devonport could use a good butcher’s, and he’d be able to price as high as he liked. Everyone else does. It’d be a good investment for all of us. And the two of you can keep living in the house, too. That’d save you heaps on rent, or keep you from having
to buy a place, and you know what that house, what that rent would cost you. You wouldn’t need to work yourself, either. How else would you get that kind of deal? That’s even less pressure on the business, on either of you, right from the start. It’s a win for everybody.”

  He racked his brain, tried to think of something else. “And I’d stay around,” he added hurriedly. “I’d stay in Auckland. I’d help, but I need you here. I can’t take this on by myself. I didn’t sign up for this, and it’s not fair to me, and it’s not fair to the kids, either. I can’t do it.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and he could hear the distress, but he could hear the finality in her voice too. “You’re going to have to, because that isn’t going to work. The kids can visit, and I will too. But Henry won’t do it. I’d lose him, and I can’t let that happen, not after all this time. I can’t give up my chance of happiness now I’ve finally found it. I’m not coming back, and that’s that. I’ll ring again tomorrow and tell the kids, or you can. It would probably be best coming from you. But Henry’s been standing here for an age waiting for me to go with him to visit his mum and tell her our news, and I need to leave. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  “And that’s it?” he asked, incredulous. “That’s it?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Try to understand. I have to go.”

  “Wait,” he started to say, but she’d rung off.

  He shoved the phone back into his pocket, barely aware of what he was doing. Shit. Shit. What was he meant to do now? He couldn’t believe it.

  It was bad. And then it got much worse.

  Life Happens

  She’d broken away from Hugh at last, had gone back into the house, even though she’d wanted nothing more than to stay with him. Rodney and Charmaine had been sitting in the lounge, had looked up with a start at the sight of her, and she’d known they’d been talking about her. She’d known she should sit down too, try to mend this fence, but not tonight. And for once, she hadn’t been ready to go to bed, although it was late. So she’d gone straight through the house and into the back garden instead, listened to the cicadas in the bush, and thought about Hugh. And eventually, had wandered around to the front, had lain down on one of the lounge chairs in the dark shadow of the big pohutukawa, wrapped her sweater around her, looked at the stars, and dreamed.

  Until she’d heard his voice. At first she’d decided to wait until he’d finished talking to his aunt, had had some idea of sharing her chair with him, getting some more of what he’d left her aching for. And then she’d forgotten all about that.

  He was silent, finally, and she lay where she was for another long moment. She wanted to stay there and wait for him to go back into the caravan, wanted to go to bed and pull the duvet over her head. But she’d never been one to run away. So instead, she swung around in the chair, put her feet on the ground, and spoke as she rose.

  “That was your aunt.”

  “Josie.” He sounded startled, and no wonder.

  “Yeh, Josie. You’re bloody lucky it was me. What if it had been the kids? What if they’d heard you say all that?”

  “What? Why would they have heard me? They’re in the caravan.” He sounded distracted. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I can’t believe it.”

  “So you didn’t say it in front of them,” she said, and his attention was back on her, because she’d moved close. She needed to see his face, needed to be up in his face for this. “Not now, you didn’t. You really think that helps? You think they won’t know how you feel, when you tell them about this? You think they’re that stupid?”

  “What?” He was staring at her, and the moon, out from behind its cloud, showed him to her in all his distress.

  “Because they aren’t,” she said. “They already know. They’ve always known.”

  “Known what?”

  “You think it’s funny, don’t you,” she demanded, willing her voice not to shake, “how bossy Amelia is? How she’s always telling you what to do, telling you what children need? Telling you what you have to do so she doesn’t fall pregnant, so Charlie doesn’t join a gang?”

  “What are you talking about? I know I’m no good at this. And if you’re saying she knows it too—well, she wouldn’t have to be that clever, would she? That’s my point, don’t you see?”

  “Oh, I see. I see fine. It’s you who doesn’t see. Why do you think she does that? I’ll tell you why. Because she sees you there, one foot out the door, and she’s desperate to keep you somehow, any way she can. But she doesn’t know how to do that, how to ask you to stay, how to make you want to stay. And why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t have a bloody clue. But I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

  “Because she doesn’t have a dad, that’s why. She doesn’t have a man who loves her, a man to tell her she’s beautiful, she’s precious, she’s lovable. She doesn’t know how to get what she needs from you. She can’t be lovable and precious and hold you that way, and she knows it. So instead, she’s trying to tell you. She’s trying to hold onto you any way she can, boss you into doing what you need to do for them both. But it isn’t working, is it? She’s failing, and she knows it. What do you think is going to happen to that girl when she’s fifteen, sixteen? When she’s still desperate for a man to love her, and she’s given up on getting that from you? I can tell you what’s going to happen.”

  “What? She’ll fall pregnant after all?” He was getting more than angry, she could tell, and she didn’t care. “And that’s going to be my fault, somehow?”

  “Maybe she won’t,” she said, wishing she could slap it into him. “Maybe she’ll just get her heart broken, over and over, because she’ll keep giving it—and her body, too—to a boy, to any boy, in hopes that he’ll be the one who’ll make her feel special. But that won’t matter to you, will it? Because she’s not yours. Because you didn’t sign up for this.”

  The words were tumbling out, and she couldn’t have stopped them if she’d tried. “And Charlie. What about him? He’s so afraid to do something you won’t like, to be something you won’t want, how’s he ever going to have the courage to be himself? How long’s it going to take that sweet boy to give up on you? How long’s it going to take before he looks for some other way to make the pain stop?”

  “And that’ll be my fault too?” he demanded. “That’s what you’re saying? I know I’m not what they need. That’s what I’ve just been saying. That’s the point.”

  “No,” she told him. “It won’t be your fault. It’ll be your missed opportunity. It’ll be the chance you’ve lost. Don’t you see, Hugh? Can’t you see? Those kids aren’t your burden. They’re not some millstone around your neck. They’re your blessing. They’re your gift.”

  “My gift,” he said, and he actually sounded stunned.

  “That’s right. Your gift. You say they’re not yours. Who else’s do you imagine they are? Kids don’t become yours because you give birth to them, or because you father them. They become yours when you care for them. They become yours when you love them.”

  “Maybe you think you’d have done better, if they’d been dropped on you?” he asked, his own voice rising now. “Maybe you’d say, ‘Thank you so much for this opportunity? Thank you for the unexpected gift? I guess I don’t need to worry about having my own kids now, because I’ve got these?’”

  “Yeh,” she said, the anger so strong now she could barely speak to tell him. “I would. I can tell you right now that I would. If I got two like Charlie and Amelia, I’d know God had answered my prayers. But then—” She laughed, and heard the bitterness, because the old pain was there, and the new one, too. That Hugh really didn’t see. That he really couldn’t do this, couldn’t be the man she’d thought he was. “But then, that’s me. Because I know that’s the only way I can have kids. Because I’ll only ever have them if somebody gives me the gift of them.”

  “What?”

  “That’s right. I can’t hav
e children,” she told him. “I can’t have—what you call mine. You know. Real kids. But luckily for me, I know that’s not the only way to be a parent. And if I get an opportunity like you have, I won’t waste it. I won’t hurt those kids by not wanting them, by whingeing about them. I won’t try to push them off on somebody else, somebody who doesn’t want them enough to sacrifice for them. Somebody who can’t wait to get away from them and give them up. I’ll love them. If I get the chance, I’ll love them. But like you say,” she told him, feeling all the desolation of it, “that’s me.”

  “Josie,” he said. “Josie, wait. Hang on. I didn’t know.”

  “No,” she said, the tears threatening, “of course you didn’t. I don’t go around advertising it. It doesn’t exactly add to my appeal.”

  “I’m … I’m sorry.”

  “Yeh,” she said, and wiped her face with the back of her hand. She’d done more crying in the past two days than she ever allowed herself, and this time, there were no strong arms to hold her, no deep voice to tell her it would be all right. Because it wouldn’t be. Because she’d been wrong. “I’m sorry too.”

  “I’ve got …” he said, and she heard the sigh, saw his hand running over his jaw, saw the helplessness, the fatigue. And despite everything, she ached for him, that he couldn’t do this. And for herself, too, because she loved him, and she’d fooled herself into expecting too much from him, had wanted so badly for him to be the man those kids needed. The man she needed.

  “I’ve got too much here,” he said helplessly. “I can’t sort it out. Too many things. I need to … I need to think about it. Can you give me a chance to think?”

  “I don’t know if I can,” she said, the sorrow a black shadow, smothering her, weighing her down. “I don’t know.”

  But, she thought bleakly as she left him there and walked into the house, walked straight past Rodney and Charmaine without a word, she was afraid she did know. She was afraid she already knew what would happen when he’d thought. She was afraid the answer was no.