I had four missed calls from Elise and about sixteen text messages. Most of those were pictures and videos of the puppy doing puppy things. It was too early to call her back – five thirty in the morning – but I messaged her with most of what had been going on in my miserable life. She knew I was returning to court today – I’d sent a quick text when I was in the car with Mum on the way back the previous day – but I promised I would ring as soon as there was a judgement.
I took a chair into the backyard and watched as dawn slowly blushed the sky. I hadn’t realised there was so much bird noise in our suburb, though at a quarter to six traffic was already building up and drowning out their songs. I couldn’t remember the full extent of my anger from the previous night. I couldn’t even fully understand it. If Dad won, then I would have both my parents with me. In a sense, nothing would have changed. What had I said in my statement? My place is here in Australia, with both my parents, if possible. Now that was possible. So why was I angry? I knew some of the reasons, but the full explanation was just out of my grasp.
Of course, if Mum won, then I’d be losing Dad. Another reason why the judgement today was going to be life-changing, in one way or another.
Mum was up by six thirty and she made me a breakfast of scrambled eggs. We didn’t talk much, but what we said was polite, even affectionate. Then we got dressed in our best clothes and headed off to the courthouse. We were super early. The judge had said nine thirty but we were outside the court building just before eight thirty. We couldn’t even get in, so we just hung around in front like confused tourists. Mum’s lawyer arrived with Mr Lee at nine and we trooped into the building and up to level 6.
I checked the time on my phone. Nine fifteen and no sign of Dad. I tried ringing him but it went straight to messages. Nine twenty and the court official, looking even grimmer than yesterday, called us into the courtroom. No Dad but also no judge. We sat in our respective seats and waited. Nine twenty-five.
At nine twenty-eight, the door opened and I felt a wave of relief. I turned in my chair, but it was a stranger in the doorway. She looked around, apologised and left. The court official stood.
‘All rise. This court is now in session, Judge Hood presiding.’
The judge entered from the door to the left of the front bench, sat beneath the coat of arms and opened up a folder. I took the opportunity to whisper to Mr Lee.
‘Did Dad say he was going to be late?’
Mr Lee shook his head. ‘I’ve not heard from him, Caitlyn, since he said he’d make his own way here. Have you tried calling?’
Even though we weren’t supposed to use our phones in court, I put mine on my lap and tried calling Dad again. The phone was on mute, but I’d obviously be able to tell if he answered. He didn’t. There were no text messages either. I put the phone away, just as the judge looked up at us. I felt like a naughty kid in school.
‘Good morning,’ said Judge Hood.
‘Good morning, Your Honour,’ said Mr Lee. ‘Unfortunately, the Respondent, Mr Carson, appears to be delayed. I apologise on his behalf and crave your indulgence for a few moments.’
For the first time, the judge seemed to be annoyed.
‘We all managed to get here on time, Mr Lee,’ she said. ‘I’m not best pleased that your client didn’t. I am prepared …’
But she didn’t get a chance to finish. The door burst open and Dad came in, flushed and sweaty. He stopped immediately inside and bowed his head to the judge.
‘My apologies, Your Honour,’ he said.
The judge was still a bit pissy.
‘Accepted, Mr Carson. Now please sit. My schedule is very busy today.’
But Dad didn’t sit. He grabbed Mr Lee by the arm and whispered in his ear. Something was wrong. I’d never seen Dad so agitated. I mean, okay, he was late and that had probably stressed him out, but this was next level. Mr Lee turned to the judge.
‘Begging your pardon, Your Honour, but my client wishes to have a quick word with me. Outside, Your Honour.’
‘Very well.’ Judge Hood’s tone was icy. ‘But a couple of minutes only, Mr Lee. And you should know that I am not best pleased by these delays.’
I stood to go outside as well. I had no idea what was going on, but I wasn’t going to wait to find out. Dad stopped me.
‘Stay here, Cate.’
‘What? No.’
‘Stay here!’
And then they were gone. Mr Lee stopped at the door, turned his chair around and bowed his head to the judge, but Dad was already outside. He sure wasn’t doing himself any favours with the court today. I looked at Mum, who spread her hands in a What? gesture. I shrugged.
They were gone for a couple of minutes. When they came back in, neither met my eyes. Dad sat, but Mr Lee moved to the front of the court.
‘Your Honour,’ he said. ‘My client informs me that he is withdrawing his objections to the Applicant’s case. He apologises to the court and all parties for wasting their time. He will sign, without delay, the relevant documentation for his daughter’s emigration to the United Kingdom and he will pay the legal costs for the Applicant.’
There was a stunned silence. Everyone’s eyes went to my father. He simply looked at his fingers interlocked on his lap. It was the judge who broke the silence.
‘Mr Carson,’ she said. Dad looked up. ‘I wish to hear this from your own lips. You are withdrawing your objection to your daughter leaving the country to live in England. Is this correct?’
Dad stood.
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
‘And this is your final decision?’
‘Yes, Your Honour.’
The judge sighed. ‘Very well …’
Then I found myself standing.
‘No,’ I yelled. ‘This can’t be happening. What about me? What about my wishes?’ I turned to Dad. ‘What’s going on, Dad?’
The judge was altogether gentler with me.
‘Please sit, Caitlyn,’ she said. ‘I understand you’re upset, but please sit.’ I did. ‘I’m afraid that now your parents are in agreement, your wishes are no longer important. From a legal point of view.’ She directed a stern glance towards Mum and then Dad. ‘Though I am sure your parents in the future will make every effort to take your feelings into account. But you are a minor, Caitlyn, and therefore not yet in a position to make these kinds of decisions on your own behalf. I’m sorry.’
I tried to stand, but Dad put a hand on my arm.
‘All rise.’ The court official again. I remained seated. If I was a minor, a child, then I was going to behave as one. If I couldn’t stand when I wanted to then I wasn’t going to stand when they told me to. But it didn’t help. That burning ember of anger inside was flaring. As soon as the judge had left the courtroom, I was in Dad’s face.
‘What the hell, Dad? Why? Tell me why. I don’t understand.’
‘I’ve had time to think, Cate,’ said Dad. ‘I’m sorry, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it is in your best interests to be with your mother.’
‘Dad, this is crazy. You’ve had time to think? You hadn’t been thinking for the last couple of months, then? Just last night. This doesn’t make sense. I want to know what’s going on.’
‘Nothing is going on, Cate. I just think your mother is right, that’s all.’
‘You told me you would fight for me. You said that if I wanted to stay in Australia you would fight for me. What happened to that?’
‘I changed my mind, Cate. I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry? That’s not good enough.’
‘It will have to be, Cate. I’ve made up my mind.’
A courtroom is a solemn place. All that wood panelling, the coat of arms, the judge’s bench and the witness box and bar tables. The atmosphere. The sense that important decisions are made, outcomes weighed and judged. The learning. The wisdom. None of it was a match for that burning anger. It was no longer an ember. It was a blaze.
‘Well, screw you, Dad,’ I yelled. I ran to the door, turned and yelled again. ‘SCREW YOU.’
I have no idea if anyone tried to follow me as I ran down the stairs and out into William Street. Even if they had, I don’t think anyone would have caught me. I had at least thirty years on all of them. I think I went down Little Bourke Street, maybe Elizabeth Street. Cafes, shops, people everywhere and me running, running as if chased by something evil. When I stopped I was in front of the State Library. People lounged on the grass or sat on the steps and benches in front of the array of pillars. I found a spot behind a group of what I guessed were Japanese tourists. My phone, still on silent, buzzed in my hand. I glanced at the screen. Mum. I didn’t answer.
Pigeons strutted around me, people chatted or just soaked up the sunshine or took pictures with their phones. No one paid me any attention. So I sat and I sat and people came and people went and pigeons strutted and then strutted some more. I sat and waited until my anger had died down a little. It wasn’t a blaze but it wasn’t an ember either.
No crying, I reminded myself.
I stayed there for probably three or four hours. When I stood my legs and back ached from being in one position for so long. I didn’t care. I hopped on a tram to Flinders Street station. I couldn’t stay away forever. It was time to go home. I texted Mum to let her know I was on my way. There were a couple of missed calls from Dad and a couple of texts.
I deleted them.
I really didn’t want to go to school, but I also knew my time there was running out. And it stopped me thinking. Anything that stopped me thinking was good.
Elise was someone teetering on the brink of despair, but she kept her balance – for my sake, I think. We tried to talk normally – the dog, the looming divorce at her place, the various rumours and scandals and gossip that were hot topics in the school classrooms and corridors. What we didn’t talk about was my imminent departure, a dark presence we thought might just go away if we didn’t acknowledge it.
It didn’t go away.
I thought of all the things I’d be leaving. Not just people, though they were obviously the most important. But all the other stuff. The Melbourne Cricket Ground (though I’d never been inside, it was still … there), that stupid grinning face at Luna Park, the way the wind could make you feel like you were in a fan oven, the four seasons in a day, the people from every corner of the world milling around Elizabeth Street, the weirdos who bailed you up on the train, the smells on Little Bourke Street, the Vic Market with all its food stalls. The trams. Oh God, the trams. I’d never known anything else. All these things were woven into me. I didn’t know who I’d be without them. I didn’t want to know.
On the Friday afternoon after the court case, Mo Axon from Blake McDonald Publishers came to my house. Mum had argued strongly that my father should be there for the meeting, but I refused. Mum said I was being childish. I said I didn’t care. The way I looked at it, the whole thing was a complete waste of time. Mum wouldn’t let me cancel. She said I was spitting the dummy. I said I didn’t care.
Mo Axon explained why Unicorn Girl was not suitable for publication and why even rewriting and editing wouldn’t get it to that place. I just nodded. She also said that she wanted to see whatever I was writing next. I told her I wasn’t writing and anyway I would be moving to England in a matter of weeks.
She said that writing from England wasn’t a total barrier for an Australian publishing house, but that they published stories with an Australian feel and if I continued writing I should understand that. If London was going to be where my future lay, then English publishers might be the way to go.
‘There is a Blake McDonald branch in London,’ she said. ‘One of the publishers there is a close friend. I will get in touch and let her know you are someone worth nurturing. And please keep on writing, Caitlyn. You have been given a wonderful gift and it would be a tragedy if you didn’t use it.’
I nodded. I thanked her. I didn’t tell her there were no more stories in me. I just wanted her to go.
The weeks passed all too quickly. My father tried ringing most days, but I wouldn’t answer. He texted, but I deleted them without reading. After a couple of weeks the frequency of calls started to dwindle. I think Mum told him I wasn’t reading his texts because one day I got an old-fashioned letter. I recognised his handwriting and didn’t open it. Mum did everything she could to change my mind. She pleaded. She bullied. She got angry. It didn’t matter.
‘It’s unlike you to be so childish, Cate,’ she said.
‘I am a child,’ I said. ‘That’s why I have no control over my life.’
I put the unopened letter in the bin. I stopped replying to Sam’s messages on WhatsApp, even though I knew that none of this was his fault. I became detached from almost everything apart from Elise. I didn’t complete any school assignments. What was the point? On my last day of school – a week before the flight to London – my English teacher, Mr Carlisle, organised a party for me. He bought cake and we just messed around and it was desperately sad, but I couldn’t find a tear anywhere. Elise tried to get me excited about London, but we both knew she was overcompensating. Her father had moved out and home was better for it, simply because there was no atmosphere of thinly veiled distaste. Her puppy was growing so fast that if you stared at her you could almost see it.
She told me about a conversation she’d had with her mum.
‘Don’t you think a Saint Bernard is just … well, just too big?’ her mum had asked.
‘No,’ said El.
‘It’s just that I’m a single parent now and the house isn’t that big and we live in the suburbs and the dog’s destroying the garden and …’
‘What’s your point?’
Her mum apparently waved her hands around in a vague manner.
‘Saint Bernards grow to be so huge. They drool, mope around and, to be honest, they break wind in a disgusting fashion all the time.’
‘Dad’s huge,’ El pointed out. ‘He drooled, moped around and could fart for Australia. Still can. It’s like we just swapped things over.’
‘Exactly,’ said her mum. ‘You see what I’m getting at. How about we sell her and get a Saint Bernard crossed with something like a cocker spaniel? Still cute, but not so … huge.’
‘How about we don’t?’
El knew that her mum couldn’t force her. They’d agreed that day in the hospital. Guilt is a powerful thing. From that point on, the subject was closed.
Anyway, the puppy was allowed to stay in her room at night now because El had spent so much time and patience toilet training her. Two days before the flight I slept over at her place. I say slept but really we stayed awake all night and talked. Most of the talk was just a way of avoiding proper talk. We agreed that Elise wouldn’t come to the airport to see me off. We understood that some things are just too painful. When Mum came to pick me up in the morning, I got into the car and didn’t look back. El had closed her front door as soon as I had gone through it.
We tried for coping mechanisms but, to be honest, none of them worked.
Mum told me that Dad was coming to the airport to see us off. I told her that an airport was a public place and I couldn’t stop anyone from rocking up.
‘I know you’re angry, Cate,’ said Mum. ‘But he is your father. Nothing can alter that. Don’t burn bridges that may never be rebuilt.’
I nodded. I knew she was right. I was being stubborn and stupid and none of that could change the outcome. I’d be on that flight whether I hugged Dad or spat in his face. I couldn’t see myself doing either.
In the end it was Mum who hugged Dad at the departure gate, for much longer than I would have thought possible. When they finally broke away, Mum was sobbing and Dad wiped a tear from his eye. They’d always been polite in their dealings with each other. Now they parted like lovers, ripped apart by fate and miserable about it.
Then Dad hugged me. I hadn’t made any resolutions – though I imagined I’d be cool and distant when the time came to say goodbye – but I reacted without thinking. I hugged him back. I hadn’t forgiven him. But I hadn’t stopped loving him either. I hadn’t realised until that moment.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘Me too,’ I replied.
Love. It has a lot to answer for. Mostly, it is bewildering.
Then Mum and I got on a plane and flew to another world.