Of course Brad didn’t get away with things as easily as that. He’d known he wouldn’t. Michael invited himself round for a drink a few evenings later and tried very earnestly to persuade him not to sell the house until he returned from his trip.
‘Prices are rising fast, Dad. If you wait a few months you could get a lot more money, I’m sure.’
Brad listened for a while then laid a hand on his son’s shoulder, not in the least moved by this careful persuasion. ‘I need to sell this house before I can move on. Nothing you say or do will make me change my mind.’
‘We’ll miss you, the kids especially.’
‘I’ll miss you all, too. But I have to meet Rosie and make sure she’s all right.’
‘I always thought you’d do some more writing when you retired.’
‘I had a couple of human resource training books published. I haven’t written anything for several years. And now that I’m retiring, I’m not exactly going to be staying up to date. So what would I write?’
‘You could try short stories or poetry. There’s a writers’ group that meets in our local library.’
Brad closed his eyes and prayed for patience as he repeated slowly and emphatically, ‘I want to travel. After I’ve seen Rosie, I’m trotting off round Europe and maybe America. Now, you get this house on the market and find me a flat somewhere nice, or I’ll find someone else to do it.’
Michael produced the papers for him to sign, but was still radiating disapproval when he left.
Brad knew that would fade. Michael never stayed angry with anyone for long.
As for him, he had another daughter to see in England. If nothing else came of her making this tentative contact with him, he had to make sure she was all right, for his own peace of mind. Oh, hell, who was he kidding? He wanted to see her, love her, be her father properly. Michael and Joanna were off his hands now. This Rosie was younger than them, she would be at a more vulnerable time of life.
What did her mother think about it all? Jane had been a strong, confident woman, which was what had attracted him at a stage where Helen seemed to be settling all too early into middle age and stodginess. He was surprised that she’d pretended her husband was Rosie’s father, though. Why would they need to do that? There wasn’t the stigma about children born or conceived outside marriage nowadays.
And what was the man like who’d raised his daughter? What would he feel if the biological father turned up? That might be difficult for him
Brad didn’t want to upset their family, but he had to meet Rosie, just had to.
Mel woke feeling so nauseous she could hardly make it to the bathroom in time to throw up. When she stared at herself in the mirror, she was shocked at how ill she looked. She saw Simon’s reflection behind hers and looked at him accusingly. ‘I can’t go through this again.’ She couldn’t stop her voice wobbling.
He came to put his arms round her and she leaned against him – sagged, really.
‘Let’s get you back to bed, darling. I’ll bring up a cup of tea and a piece of dry toast. That used to help a bit last time.’
She threw his arm off and stumbled across to the bed. ‘Nothing helped, as you well know. I was sick for the whole nine months – morning, noon and night. I can’t face it again, I just can’t!’
‘I’m not murdering our child. I’ll have a vasectomy after this one’s born and—’
‘No need! I’ll be having my tubes tied. I’m not relying on you any more.’ She burst into tears and turned away from him, burying her face in the pillow. When she heard him go out, she let herself cry for a while, then lay there feeling exhausted. Maybe she’d take today off work, give herself a good rest.
When she heard footsteps coming back up the stairs, she scrubbed her eyes on a corner of the sheet and scowled at him as he set the tray down beside the bed.
‘Hot water with ginger and lemon in it. I read somewhere that it can help and—’
But the nausea was rising again and she shoved him out of the way as she bolted for the bathroom.
‘Was it really this bad last time?’ He frowned at her as she stood up from where she’d been kneeling. ‘I don’t remember you looking so ill.’
She leaned over the wash basin, rinsing her mouth out and splashing her face with cold water. ‘Yes. For the first three months. You may not remember, but I do. I had to carry a bucket with me everywhere because there were days when I couldn’t even make it to the bathroom in time to be sick. And I had to stop work. But I’m not doing that this time!’
‘I’m sorry. If I could do it for you—’
‘If men had babies, if they had to go through this, there would be fewer children born.’
It was an old quarrel between them.
‘Sexist claptrap,’ he said absently as he put his arm round her and guided her back to the bed. He put a glass into her hand. ‘Try it anyway. Just have a sip or two.’
She sighed and did as he asked. It wouldn’t help. Nausea was still roiling round inside her. But the warmth of the glass was comforting and she put both hands round it. ‘I’m not going to work today.’
‘Good.’
‘Just today. Giving myself a bit of a boost, so that I can cope.’
‘We shouldn’t have gone out last week.’
‘It was an important function. I was trying mind over matter… only it didn’t work. I don’t think anyone noticed when we slipped away, though.’
‘You should stop work completely, Mel. Or at least take sick leave. You are definitely sick. If we downsized, you could stop work completely and we could manage perfectly well on my salary.’
She didn’t answer, just stared down at the glass of steaming liquid because the nausea was still heaving around in her stomach, pressing for release. When Simon stayed beside the bed staring down at her, she snapped, ‘Go away. I prefer to do my throwing up in private. If you want to help me, get Emma off to school and yourself to work.’
But when he’d left the house she was sorry she’d snapped at him, wanted him back, wanted his arm round her shoulders. Most of all she wanted to be rid of this sickness. There were seven more months of this to endure.
She buried her face in the pillow and began to weep – loud, ragged sobs and scalding tears.
Gina opened the door, took the business card the real estate agent offered and showed him round her father’s house. It was looking as well as it could without her redecorating or spending money. She’d got rid of the clutter and placed a couple of pot plants strategically to hide stains in the carpet.
‘I’m glad to see you haven’t done much to tart it up,’ he began, saw her frown and added hastily, ‘not that it isn’t clean and tidy. In fact, it’s well presented, for a house of this era.’
She cut in ruthlessly because selling her childhood home was proving to be more painful than she’d expected and she wanted to get these interviews over with quickly. ‘Let’s get straight to the reason you’re here. How much is the house worth?’
He named a figure that shocked her, it was so much more than she’d expected. ‘You can’t be serious!’
‘It’s a very good neighbourhood, close to the city. Gentrification has started – look at the improvements in the next street. This place will be snapped up by developers, who’ll probably knock it down and put three units on the block.’
She’d guessed that. ‘I see. Is that a realistic price or are you exaggerating?’
He cocked one eyebrow, studied her through narrowed eyes and reduced his price by ten thousand dollars. ‘I think that’s what you’ll actually get, but we’ll ask what I originally said to give us some leeway for bargaining. I sold one near here six months ago for considerably less. Real estate is booming in Western Australia, you know.’
The next two agents told the same tale, give or take a few thousand dollars, though the female agent seemed more knowledgeable.
That evening Gina was sitting wondering who would be the best person to sell the house when the phone rang.
‘Marla here. I came to value your father’s house today. Look, Mrs Porter, I’ve got an offer for it, quite a good one, too. Are you interested?’
Gina gasped. ‘How much?’
The figure named was ten thousand dollars over the highest estimate given her.
‘Why on earth is he offering more?’
‘Because he wants your answer within twenty-four hours,’ Marla said. ‘There’s no negotiation on that or the price. Quick decision or he looks elsewhere.’
‘I’ll – um – consult the other beneficiaries and get back to you in the morning.’
‘I’m here till ten o’clock tonight if you come to any decision.’
Gina rang her daughters. ‘If someone wants to pay that much so quickly, we could probably get more for it,’ she cautioned them. ‘Though you can never tell.’
Both her daughters recommended selling immediately.
‘It’s worth it to avoid any hassles,’ Lexie said.
‘I’ve not got the energy to do anything about it,’ Mel said. ‘But the money will be a big help, the way things are.’
‘Still feeling sick?’ Gina asked.
‘Yeah. Even worse than last time.’
‘I’m so sorry, love. Maybe you could stop work and—’
‘I’m not giving up work. We’d have to sell this house if I did that.’
Gina bit back a sharp response. Mel was totally unreasonable about that home of hers. It sometimes seemed that she cared more for it than she did for her husband and child. But neither of her daughters was prone to listen to advice, so Gina had stopped offering it.
She rang the agent and agreed to meet at eight o’clock the following morning to sign the contract, which would make the sale binding.
It felt strange. It would leave a big gap in her life. For the past few months she’d done a lot of to-ing and fro-ing, first to help her father and then to clear up after him. Now, all of a sudden, it was over.
I have the time and money to do something for myself now, she thought. And she hadn’t changed her mind about what she intended to do.
That afternoon she went and had her hair re-styled and was delighted with her new look, though she refused to have it coloured. Why should she? She liked her own colour and a few grey hairs didn’t worry her.
The day after she bought some new clothes, casual but smart, suitable for travelling.
She was going to do it, she definitely was!
Gina phoned her daughters to arrange a meeting and tell them what she was planning. During their conversation, Mel had to rush away to be sick and Simon took over the phone.
‘She sounds really bad,’ Gina said, worried.
‘She is. But she’s still dragging herself into work and won’t listen to sense. You’ll be shocked when you see her. She’s lost so much weight. Try to talk a bit of sense into her, will you?’
‘When could anyone make Mel change her mind once she’d decided on something?’
He sighed. ‘She’s certainly got her full quota of stubborn genes.’ There was a moment’s silence, then he said in a strangled voice, ‘I can’t take much more of this, Ma watching her run herself into the ground and… Ah, there you are, Mel.’
‘You all right, love?’ Gina asked when her daughter came back on the phone.
‘Obviously not. But I’ll survive. A pregnancy doesn’t go on for ever. Now, you wanted to see me and Lexie. What was it about?’
‘I’ll tell you when we meet. It’s quite important. In the circumstances, I think it’d be best if we came to your place. How about tomorrow evening? Are you going into work? All right then, I’ll bring a casserole for tea, with enough for us all, Simon and the children too. You’ll only have to come home in the evening and take it easy. Tell the after-school sitter that Emma can come straight home tomorrow. I’ll be there.’
Mel’s voice softened. ‘Thanks, Mum. That’ll be a big help.’
Gina phoned Lexie about the meeting then tried to watch TV, but she couldn’t concentrate for worrying about poor Mel.
After his talk with his children, life speeded up so much that Brad started to wonder if he was going crazy.
He looked at several flats and chose one which had views of the city. The lights at night should be pretty. It had three bedrooms and a spacious living room and kitchen combined, two bathrooms, plus a balcony big enough to entertain a few friends.
To his dismay, he had grossly underestimated the time it would take him to clear out the house, and in the end, he had to call in Joanna and Michael to help so that he could be out by settlement date. He hadn’t realized how many of Helen’s things were still packed away in various cupboards, not to mention stacked in the roof, and deciding what to throw away gave him a few wakeful nights.
When removal day came at last, he stood around feeling useless, watching the men carry his life out of the front door, piece by piece. The boxes looked so anonymous and the furniture scratched. It was cruelly revealing, that sunlight. He’d buy some new furniture when he came back from his travels.
After the removal men had gone, he took a last stroll round the empty, echoing house, dashing the tears from his eyes and muttering, ‘Bloody fool!’
Then he went outside, locked up carefully and got into his car. No regrets, he told himself fiercely as emotion still threatened to overcome him.
A couple of weeks later, when Michael popped in to see him, Brad invited him and the whole family out for a farewell meal.
‘Come and have dinner at our place on Friday, instead,’ Michael said. ‘You can stay over and I’ll drive you to the airport early on Saturday morning.’
‘Thanks. And Michael… I just wondered if things are all right at home? You and Sheila seemed to be very distant with one another last time I was round.’
Michael looked at him and grimaced. ‘You don’t miss a thing, do you?’ He took a deep breath. ‘Sheila and I aren’t getting on all that well at the moment. She’s met someone else.’
‘Oh, no!’
‘It’s a bit… um, difficult.’
‘Are you sure you want me to stay the night?’
‘Yes. Sheila’s very good a putting a normal face on things for the kids’ sake. She should have been a damned actress! The kids will want to say a proper goodbye to you and we’ll invite Jo’s lot over too.’ He gave his father a wry smile. ‘I take after you. I love having kids. If Sheila tries to take them away from me when she leaves, she’s in for a big battle.’
‘Family is what matters most,’ Brad agreed quietly. ‘And thanks for all your help with the house and flat, son. I really appreciate it.’
‘It was my pleasure. Got to go now.’ Michael drained his glass, then as they both stood up, gave his father a big hug. ‘I’m going to miss you like hell.’
‘I’ll miss you, too.’ He hesitated. ‘Do you want me to postpone things?’
‘No. There’s nothing you can do to help my marriage. You go and sort out our baby sister.’