A Little Spark, page 9
Dad stayed in hospital for a couple more weeks. Apparently, he could have been discharged earlier if he’d had someone to look after him at home. There was no one and I didn’t want to ask about the woman in the restaurant. It also occurred to me to ask Mum if he could’ve stayed with us, but I didn’t. I think maybe she would’ve said yes, but was it fair to ask her and Dad to stay in the same house when they were going to be fighting each other in court, presumably trashing each other’s character in the process?
I tried to visit the hospital every day, but that wasn’t possible. Sometimes Mum would take me and wait in the waiting room. Other times I’d get the train and the 59 tram. When Dad did finally get discharged, I knew that my weekend visitations were over. For one thing, Dad wouldn’t be able to look after me. Not that I needed looking after, but thirteen-year-olds are supposed to have competent parental supervision. And that was the second reason. Mum wouldn’t let me because Dad’s supervision, in her opinion, was far from competent. Or maybe it was spite. Or revenge. So I went for short visits to his home – an hour here, a few hours there. He couldn’t drive yet, so it was more train rides when Mum couldn’t drive me or pick me up.
The first time I went to his house, he wanted to talk about the accident. It was a conversation that I guess had to happen sometime.
‘I don’t know how you can ever forgive me, Cate,’ he said. ‘I made you ride in a car without a seatbelt. I could’ve killed you. I nearly did.’
‘I made a choice too, Dad,’ I replied. ‘I could’ve said no.’
He got agitated then – so agitated that I could see the little energy he still had evaporate.
‘That’s not the point. You’re a child; you were in my care and I failed you.’
I sighed. Perhaps we did need to get this out in the open, if only so we could move on.
‘Yeah. Okay. It was stupid, Dad. Stupid for you to suggest it, stupid of me to agree. But we were caught up in the story. In the story it made sense. Perhaps we should go a little easy on ourselves.’
‘No. Doesn’t work.’ I wanted to calm him down. He was so tired and in so much pain, physical as well as emotional. But nothing was going to stop him. ‘Bottom line here, Cate. I had to keep you safe. Not in a story. In the real world. I didn’t. I know your mother will never forgive me. And she’s right because I’ll never forgive myself.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘You win. I’ll never forgive you either. Now can we talk about something else?’
It worked. But only because I think he’d used up all his energy.
Most times I went to visit, Dad was so tired we’d often just sit and watch the television, though I would also make sure he had done his exercises. Once or twice I forced him to walk the two hundred metres to his local shop, so we could pick up stuff like toilet paper and microwave meals. I tried cooking for him. I looked up a simple menu for chilli con carne on my phone and I swear I followed the instructions to the letter. True, I boiled the rice to gloop and we couldn’t eat that, but the chilli should’ve been fine. It wasn’t. I’ve seen cat vomit that looked more appealing.
A couple of times Elise came with me and did some cooking. Don’t get me wrong. El won’t be a contestant on MasterChef anytime soon, but she can do basic stuff, like macaroni cheese. After my efforts, her mac cheese tasted like the food of the gods and she was happy to help us out. My decision to fight to stay in Australia had cheered her up no end. At least I thought it had.
One time, when I was at Dad’s by myself, I saw an envelope on the small table next to his armchair and recognised Mum’s handwriting. It was turned upside down and he had obviously opened it and read it, but he didn’t say anything about what it contained. So I had to wait until he went to the toilet. It always took him an age, so I knew I’d have time to read it and put the letter back exactly the way I found it. Am I proud that I was going to read a private letter to Dad without his permission? Not really, but I didn’t think I had a choice. I know my parents. Shit might be going on between the two of them, yet they would do all they could to keep me out of it. But this was my business as well as theirs. I felt I had a right.
Dear Michael Carson,
Intention to permanently move to the United Kingdom with Caitlyn Rose Carson
As you are aware, it is my intention to emigrate from Australia to London, England, with our daughter, Caitlyn Rose Carson. It is my firm belief that this would be in the best interests of our daughter and provide her with opportunities that would broaden her mind and develop her potential. This letter is a formal request for your agreement in this proposal and would require written consent at your earliest convenience. If this is not something you could immediately furnish and if you wish to discuss this matter further, we could make an appointment with an appropriate Compulsory Family Dispute Resolution practitioner as a way of avoiding court action, which would be distressing to all parties, especially Caitlyn.
I look forward to your response.
Yours sincerely,
Lois Houseman
I put the letter back into the envelope and tried to make sure that it was in the same position I’d found it in. The toilet flushed a few minutes later and Dad hobbled back into his seat.
‘Anything wrong, Cate?’ he said as he sat. He must have done that thing where he was reading my face. How could I stop myself from writing on it?
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘Indigestion, is all. Look, Dad, I have to go. Mum texted and said she’d be picking me up outside in a few minutes.’
‘I’ll see you out.’
‘No need,’ I said, and he looked grateful. Even a short walk to the toilet and back had exhausted him. I left him staring at the television, his brow slightly furrowed with pain. I closed the front door quietly.
I walked a few minutes to the local park, sat on a bench and watched as mums (and a few dads) looked over their kids on the playground swings and roundabouts. I wondered how many of those mothers and fathers would go through what my parents were going through, when passion turned to indifference, when declarations of burning love turned to cold language in formal letters. It wasn’t very chilly outside, but I shivered anyway.
I walked home. It took nearly two hours, but I didn’t care.
Sam kept his word. He sent me messages and videos at least once a day. It was a WhatsApp group that contained just the two of us. I knew he had one with Mum where they could talk of stuff not suitable for my eyes and ears.
Most of the videos were of his trips to tourist sites. Buckingham Palace and the Changing of the Guard – those soldiers in their silly hats – Hyde Park, Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, Westminster Abbey, London markets, big red buses driving down streets. Sam gave a running commentary and they were normally funny, complaining about the weather and the crushes on the Underground and the prices of … almost everything. They were great and I looked forward to receiving them, even when I suspected they were little more than propaganda. Mum must’ve known I was getting them, but she never asked. Maybe she was keeping quiet and hoping they would work their own type of magic.
The days passed. Most of the time I pretended to forget that beneath the deafening silence from my parents there was a war being waged. A war over me.
Then, on the day before I was due to go back to school, I got a phone call from Elise’s mother. El was in hospital. She was fine, but she’d had her stomach pumped, because she’d swallowed as many of her mother’s tablets as she could find in the medicine cabinet in her parents’ ensuite bathroom.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
‘I’m sorry,’ said Elise. She was propped up in her hospital bed and she looked pale and fragile and … empty. I don’t know how else to describe it. Something had sucked the spirit out of my best friend.
‘You have nothing to be sorry about,’ I said. It wasn’t the best response but I couldn’t come up with anything else.
‘It was a crazy thing to do,’ she said, but she couldn’t meet my eyes. ‘A few tablets that wouldn’t have hurt me if I’d taken another hundred. I couldn’t even do that right. I just made myself look stupid.’
A number of replies crossed my mind.
No, you didn’t.
You’re never stupid.
If you think you look stupid, what about me? My best friend needed me and I was nowhere to be found.
I didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say really. So I just held her hand until the nurse told me I had to leave. Then I went to the waiting room, where her parents were sitting, heads bowed.
Here’s what I wanted to say: Your daughter is in more pain than you can understand, mainly because you refuse to see beyond your own.
I didn’t say that, because it applied equally to me. How had I not seen the signs? Oh, they’d been there, now I thought back. The eyes brimming with tears, the twisted smiles. But I’d only paid attention to the jokes. It’s what El and I do. I knew how Dad felt. Sometimes you do or don’t do things that either put people in danger or simply fail to protect them. I’d been blind to what was going on with Elise and I would never forgive myself.
I told her parents what I intended to do. They didn’t argue, which was surprising in one way but not in another. I also told them that my father would take responsibility, if it all became too impractical as the divorce progressed. I hadn’t asked Dad, but I knew he wouldn’t let me down. And it would probably do him good, if push came to shove. Then I went home, hit the internet and struck gold almost immediately. I gave a sharp intake of breath at the price, but then again I hadn’t really known what to do with my winnings from the Premier’s award. They’d just sat there in my bank account, dozing quietly. Time to nudge them awake.
Of course, there was still Liam Cooper to deal with, but I didn’t think that was going to be a big problem. Money can’t buy happiness, apparently, but maybe it can rent some for a time.
Neither Mum nor Dad were forthcoming when I asked what was going on with the court case and what stage we had reached. I brought the subject up over a particularly dismal dinner but Mum absolutely refused to discuss it. At first. I had to admit that maybe she had a point.
‘In many ways, Cate,’ she said, ‘I am going to be up against you in court, rather than your father. My understanding is that he would probably not fight this, but that you are the driving force behind his opposition …’
I tried to interrupt, but she held up her hand.
‘He hasn’t said anything to me, by the way,’ she continued. ‘And my lawyer has advised me not to talk to either you or your father about this. Things … have a habit of turning nasty, apparently. I don’t want that to happen and I’m pretty sure your dad doesn’t either.’ She brushed hair away from her forehead. Was it my imagination or were there more lines there recently? ‘Please think carefully about all this, Cate. I think you will lose in court. I think you will be going to England with me. Do you really want all three of us to go through hell when it won’t change the outcome? How is your father going to feel when he loses and you could’ve avoided all that pain?’
It was then I got angry. I mean, stand up, throw things, smash plates kind of angry.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said. ‘I mean, huge thanks. I didn’t ask for all this. I didn’t ask for you guys to get divorced. I didn’t ask for you to start seeing Sam and I sure as hell didn’t ask that we move to England, taking me away from my father and my best friend … my best friend who needs me …’ I was starting to choke on my words and that just made me angrier. ‘And now I’m responsible? Is that it? I should just do whatever you think is good for me so I can spare people pain. Well, hello, Mum? Daughter in pain here and I will not feel guilty just because you don’t want things to get nasty. Hate to tell you, but they’re already nasty, Mum. My life is turning to shit and you don’t care.’
I didn’t smash anything, but I did go straight to my room. Mum left me to stew, which was good and probably wise. Stewing was exactly what I wanted.
The familiarity of my bedroom calmed me a little. When my heart stopped hammering, I tried to look at the whole thing logically. Did Mum have a point? Who was I to cause so much upset? I’d been critical of Elise’s parents for putting their daughter through unnecessary pain, but wasn’t I doing the same to everyone I cared about? Then I thought again. Good old logical Cate. Caring about everyone, being nice, protecting the feelings of other people and not paying attention to mine or Elise’s. I was done with it. Done with being walked over.
I tried to do some writing, where I had control over one world at least, the one in my head. But then I saw it as another stupid way of avoiding reality. It was just a game, a story like Dad and I would create, and it wouldn’t lead anywhere. I was done with that, too.
I had difficulty sleeping that night and when I did, I had restless and troubled dreams involving suffocating loss.
Dad tried to take the same approach as Mum, keeping me in the dark, which got me angry again. I pointed out that I was the one who wanted to fight and it therefore didn’t make any sense to pretend I wasn’t there. Eventually, Dad agreed. He said his lawyer had asked to meet me anyway.
‘You’ve got a lawyer, Dad?’ I said.
‘Of course,’ he replied. ‘Who did you think I’d be employing, Cate? A plumber? Mind you, there probably wouldn’t be much difference in cost. They both charge like a wounded bull.’
‘How much?’ This was something I hadn’t thought about. Maybe I should’ve put my own savings into the pot. But there was only a hundred or so left, after I’d seen Liam Cooper, and that wasn’t going to get us very far.
‘Enough,’ said Dad.
‘Can you afford it?’
‘I’ve already paid. Well, a large whack of it. There’ll be a final bill, I dare say.’
‘If we pull out, will you get a refund?’
Dad laughed.
‘You’re only thirteen, Cate, so I shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t know how lawyers work. No. I won’t get a refund. Why? Are you having second thoughts?’
‘No. Of course not.’ That wasn’t strictly true (the old reasonable Cate kept trying to make an appearance and sometimes – most times, to be honest – I listened to her), but I couldn’t tell Dad he’d wasted whatever money he’d already spent. Then again, shouldn’t I protect him from spending even more money on something we probably wouldn’t win?
I wished I hated my parents. I wished I was sixteen, could leave home and live with a boyfriend they’d both hate. Someone with tattoos and no source of income.
I had difficulty sleeping that night and when I did, I had restless and troubled dreams involving suffocating feelings of emotional and financial loss.
Mr Lee was very nice and friendly. He wheeled himself from behind his desk and shook me by the hand. Right from the start he didn’t treat me like I was some kind of naive kid, even though I felt like a naive kid.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Caitlyn,’ he said. ‘Your father has told me a lot about you.’
‘Mostly lies, I expect,’ I said.
He laughed dutifully.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ said Dad.
‘I would like a glass of water, please,’ I said. I thought I might as well get something other than legal advice for Dad’s money. Assuming the water was free, of course. Mr Lee pressed something on his desk phone and asked for water to be brought in. Then he inched his wheelchair a little closer and looked straight into my eyes.
‘I believe you would like to know the state of play, Caitlyn,’ he said.
I nodded.
‘At present,’ he said, ‘we are in the stage where we are trying to avoid court.’
‘I thought that was impossible,’ I said. Then I felt bad for interrupting.
‘It probably is,’ he said. ‘Unless your mother changes her mind about going to England or you and your father change your minds about fighting it. From everything I understand, both of these outcomes are unlikely.’
I nodded again.
‘But there are still good reasons why we have to go through certain processes before going straight into a courtroom. The judge in the Federal Circuit Court who hears your case will want to be assured that all parties have tried to settle their disputes before enforcing a legal judgement. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. This means that in the next week or so you will be visited by a mediator from a Family Dispute Resolution organisation. This will almost certainly be Anglicare, who have a contract with the family court. They have considerable experience in these matters. By the way, Caitlyn, jump in with questions whenever you like.’
There was a pause while a young man brought in a jug of water and three glasses. I poured myself a glass as he closed the door softly behind him.
‘Mum isn’t going to change her mind,’ I said. ‘And neither will we. So isn’t that just a waste of time?’
Mr Lee smiled.
‘If you were to refuse mediation on the grounds it was a waste of time, then almost certainly your father would be liable for the legal costs incurred by your mother. I imagine that would be something you’d want to avoid.’ I was beginning to realise just how little I knew about the consequences of what I had set in motion.
‘The court will also want to know about your living arrangements with both parties – the kind of care each can provide – as well as their respective financial situations. Remember, Caitlyn, it is your interest and your interest only that the court will be concerned about. Who can look after you best, both financially and emotionally.’
I glanced at Dad. He was examining his fingernails and seemed calm. These were factors he was obviously familiar with.
‘Will our car accident be brought up in court?’ I asked.
‘Absolutely,’ said Mr Lee. ‘And your mother’s lawyer will argue that this is one reason why your father shouldn’t have permanent custody, that he cannot be trusted with your welfare.’
