A Father in the Making

She stood, and he grabbed her hand. ‘So when do I get to meet her?’ he asked.

Laura stared at their entwined fingers for a few moments before her glittery golden eyes swung to face him, her head cocked to one side.

‘Chloe,’ he clarified. ‘When do I get to meet her properly? I hoped that was what this secret meeting was all about.’

‘Half the town is at this restaurant, Mr Gasper,’ she said. ‘This meeting is hardly a secret.’ He knew then that she was wilfully misunderstanding him. Her obstructiveness was no accident. Behind the pretty eyes, this woman’s mind had not stopped ticking all night.

If he could figure a way through her labyrinthine thinking, maybe he would end up on her side rather than three steps behind. At least now he knew what made the Upper Gum Tree Hotel at six o’clock on a Sunday night so special. She’d figured that if he was going to make demands, she would have half the town as witnesses.

‘Well, obviously my presence here is not a secret. Why else would I have had people lining up to give you glowing testimonials?’

She made to protest, then seemed to realise what Father Grant’s speech had been about. So that at least hadn’t been her doing. A soft blush crept across her cheeks—a pretty blush, seriously becoming, distracting enough for him to forget what he was accusing her of in the first place. ‘That had nothing to with me,’ she said, giving his hand a light tug. ‘Though I have some idea who to blame.’

Realising her hand was still in his, he let go, the feel of smooth skin slipping across his palm momentarily unsettling. Enough! he scolded himself. He stood, determined to get them back on an even footing.

‘It’s a meeting secreted away from the one person for whom the meeting is most important,’ he said, his voice stern and implacable. ‘Make a time. Set a date. Now. Or I may decide not to believe all your promises that you do want me to meet Chloe. How about tomorrow morning?’

She blinked, and he saw the moment her ticking mind switched into overdrive. ‘Tomorrow is Monday. She has school.’

‘What about after school?’

‘Pony club. Then violin practice.’

Violin. Just like Jen. She had known he was an economist. Did she know about Jen, too? Could that have prompted the choice of instrument? The thought warmed him more than he thought sensible. ‘And dinner time?’ he asked, determined not to let her sway the conversation again.

‘She has homework. And her bedtime is eight o’clock.’

She was relentless. He bit back a smile.

‘Soon,’ she promised, obviously realising as much herself. ‘But on my terms. She’s a cluey kid, outrageously bright, and even more sensitive for it. We need to tread carefully.’

He nodded. She could have been describing Will at Chloe’s age. ‘So when?’

The twittering sound of pirate-garbed women grew louder behind him, and when Laura all but melted with relief he knew he was too late. ‘Saved by your merry men,’ he said under his breath, and she had the good grace to blush even more.

‘Laura!’ one of the women called out. ‘If you’re not ready to rehearse we could grab a quick shandy?’

‘No, no, no. I’m done here,’ Laura said, moving into the protective haven of the colourful group.

‘Laura is such a darling,’ one of the ladies said out of the blue. ‘I can’t read so well any more, so she always helps me with my lines.’

Ryan had a feeling she had been helped with her current lines as well. ‘Does she, now?’ he asked, unable to stop the smile tugging at his mouth.

‘I was overseas last spring when my daughter fell ill,’ another said, after getting a nudge in the ribs. ‘And, even though spring is the worst time for Chloe and her asthma, she and Laura made the long trip via my daughter’s house every day to get her little ones to school.’

Ryan could tell Laura wanted to slap a hand across each of their mouths, but she just stood back and let them vent. It reminded him of a passage from one of Will’s e-mails to Sam, which she had shared with him when they were going through Will’s papers:

The people here are amazing, Sam. Kind, generous, selfless, opinionated, and meddlesome! You can’t scratch your nose without somebody knowing about it. And you can be sure that within the day everyone in town will know about it too. I thought it might be infuriating, but it’s not. It means that there are people who care about you. So, no matter how far away we all actually live from one another, we know that we are never really alone.

It seemed that Will had been right on the money. The town knew exactly who he was, and had turned up in force to make sure he knew exactly who Laura was too.

‘Our Laura is an angel,’ the ringleader said.

‘Esme, seriously, that’s enough,’ Laura murmured.

‘From what I have heard tonight,’ Ryan butted in, ‘I would say sainthood is not far away.’

The ladies all grinned back at him, knowing they had all successfully played their parts in the night’s hastily organised small play.

‘Will you be coming to see the musical?’ Esme asked.

‘You never know your luck,’ he responded with a wink, and with that the three grey-haired pirates left in a twitter, and he and Laura were again left alone in the room full of people.

‘So,’ he said.

‘So,’ she returned. ‘I’d better go after them. If I’m not there within a minute they’ll be back for shandies. And their husbands will all be onto me first thing in the morning complaining that the play is just a front for the Country Women’s Drinking Association.’

She reached over and grabbed her cooling apple pies, turned and walked away. It seemed their meeting was over.

‘Isn’t the Pirate King a male part as well as a singing part?’ he called out curiously, not yet wanting the encounter to end.

Laura spun on her knee-high black boots but kept walking away from him. ‘Not so many males in the Country Women’s Association,’ she explained.

‘Isn’t that discriminatory?’

‘So join!’ she said, throwing out her hands. ‘Be my guest. You can even take my part.’ She tore off the bandana and a mass of auburn curls spilled onto her shoulders. She fluttered the bandana towards him, and when he didn’t accept the offer she spun about and walked away.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ Ryan warned.

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she called, as she waved the bandana over her shoulder and headed out of a side door, slamming it behind her.

Ryan stood staring into space. The image of those tight purple pants would take some time to dissolve from his memory. But all he had was time. For the first time in…for ever he had nothing planned: no jobs lined up, no reports to complete, only the final edits on the textbook with the complementary CD to turn in to his editor.

He slid back into the booth and nursed his now warm beer. Chatter and laughter from the other patrons filtered back into his awareness. And he was left…wanting.

The last sentence of Will’s e-mail to Sam came back to him.

…no matter how far away we all actually live from one another, we know that we are never really alone.

Had his brother really felt so alone in the great hustle and bustle of Melbourne? Had he needed his scattered family around him that much? And had living around these people really made all the difference?

Ryan remembered the last time he and Will had spoken, and tried to see if he had missed the signs of Will’s isolation even then…

Ryan’s hotel room phone rang. He was on his way to a black-tie function in the piazza in front of the Pantheon in Rome. He thought about not answering, but a quick glance at his watch showed he had time.

‘Ryan Gasper,’ he answered.

‘This is a collect call from Tandarah, Australia,’ the operator said in English, with a strong Italian accent.