Just for Fun Read online

  “How about if I go for a takeaway,” he suggested. “Eat it with you, and we can talk once Zack goes to bed.”

  “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “I guess it’s better to do it now. And I don’t have enough to feed you, too.”

  Zack appeared in the kitchen doorway, dressed in a pair of faded All Black pajamas that drooped over his hands and feet. “You aren’t leaving, are you?” he asked Nic anxiously when he saw him standing. “You said you’d come see my room.”

  “Just going for a takeaway,” Nic assured him. “I’ll see your room afterwards, I promise. Chinese OK?” he asked Emma.

  “Fine,” she answered distractedly. “Not too spicy for Zack, though,” she added as an afterthought. “Chicken and vegetables. Something like that.”

  “See you both in half an hour, then,” he promised.

  He was afraid she wouldn’t open the door to him on his return. He wondered what he was doing, planning on sitting down to dinner with her. He’d been so angry when he’d realized what she’d done, his first impulse had been to go straight to his lawyer. But in the end, he’d decided to talk to her first. Claudia hadn’t seemed too fussed at his being out this evening, luckily. She had to work late as well, she’d told him. He wondered now why he hadn’t told her about Zack. Well, he hadn’t been sure the boy was his, had he?

  Yes, he had, he admitted to himself. The birthday. Those eyes. And most of all, the way he’d moved. He’d known from the moment he’d seen him on the field. Some flash of recognition. But he wanted to learn more before he discussed it with Claudia. She had a way of looking at you, so calm, so sure. He was so unsure himself just now. He wanted it straight in his own mind before he shared the news with her.

  Emma had changed out of her work clothes during his absence, he saw when she opened the door. She was wearing some kind of lacy light blue pullover over a pair of worn, faded jeans that clung to her slim legs. With the makeup washed off, she looked more like the girl he remembered. Softer. Younger. And her feet were bare, narrow, the long toes with their nails painted pink. He felt his pulse give a kick in spite of himself when he saw the silver toe ring.

  She had literally made his own toes curl, he remembered. He had a quick vision of how she’d looked, one afternoon when he’d come back to the bure after a swim. On her back, her head toward the foot of the bed, legs up against the wall, slim ankles crossed as she read a paperback. And that silver toe ring. She’d been wearing a little dress that had fallen down around her hips to reveal her bare legs. But she hadn’t been wearing it for long. And she’d looked so good when he’d pulled it off. Had shivered under his hand.

  He forced his mind back to the present, smiled down at Zack. “Chicken and veggies, as promised. Beef, too. But I brought some potstickers as well. Because they’re my favorites.”

  “Mine too!” Zack said happily. “Potstickers are yum!”

  “You have good taste, it’s clear. Eating in the kitchen?” he asked, got a nod from Emma in return.

  “Water OK?” Emma asked him as they sat down to eat, indicating the glass at his place.

  “You don’t have a beer, I suppose.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You used not to be averse to a beer, as I recall. Or the odd bottle of wine.”

  “Expensive,” she said briefly.

  “OK.” He turned to Zack. “So tell me about your team. Playing Rippa, eh. They didn’t have that when I was a kid.”

  “You tackled?” Zack asked, eyes wide.

  “Yeh.” Nic smiled. “We tackled. Think it’s better now. Nine’s soon enough to start getting bashed in the head.”

  “I guess,” Zack said doubtfully. “I want to tackle, though. And I want to kick,” he added fiercely. “I really want to kick.”

  “Rob said you had a boot,” Nic agreed, spooning out another large serving of beef and vegies. Zack had a good appetite, he saw, but Emma ate as little as ever. Or maybe she was just nervous. She was certainly glancing anxiously between the two of them.

  “I want to get better, though,” Zack told him, oblivious to his mother’s tension. “I want to kick like you. I want to play fullback, too. We only play seven on a side in Rippa, you know. I can’t wait to be nine.”

  “It’ll come soon enough,” Nic said.

  “That’s what everyone says,” Zack sighed.

  “Maybe you’d like to practice some kicking with me,” Nic suggested.

  “Really?” Zack asked, eyes wide. “Would you help me?”

  “Nic,” Emma cautioned. “Wait.”

  “We need to talk about it,” she told her son. “Nic and I. Let’s make sure he really has time to help you before you start getting excited. Finish your dinner. If you want to show Nic your room before bedtime, you need to hustle up.”

  Zack gave her a chastened look, then dropped his eyes back to his plate, began to eat again.

  Nic started to say something, stopped at a warning glance from Emma. He finished the rest of his own meal in a few more bites, looked across at the boy. “Ready, mate?”

  “May I be excused, Mum?” Zack asked.

  “Sure.”

  Zack carried his plate and glass carefully to the sink, stood on a small stepstool to place them inside. He turned back to Nic and said, “You need to clear your place. It’s the rules.”

  “Zack,” Emma protested. “Nic’s a guest. He doesn’t have to clear his place.”

  “No worries.” Nic took his own dishes across and set them with Zack’s. “I like to follow the rules. Let’s go.”

  “Wait.” Emma pulled Zack to her, rolled up his sleeves and pajama legs with a few deft moves. “Or you’re going to trip over yourself.”

  “Got a bit of growing to do before you fit those,” Nic remarked to the boy as they left the kitchen.

  “Mum found them at the Op Shop,” Zack explained. “They’re a bit big, but they’re my favorites. Mum’s a champion Op Shopper. That’s what she says. They were for my birthday. They’re brilliant, aren’t they? They’re real, you know.” He looked up at Nic anxiously. “Mum made me some, before. But these are the real ones. They would’ve been in the regular shop.”

  “That’s important, eh.” Nic tried to push away the thought of his son having to get his pajamas from the Op Shop, concentrating instead on the tiny bedroom Zack was proudly showing him now, a large All Black poster and flag dominating the wall space.

  “This is you,” Zack told him, pointing to Nic’s figure amidst his teammates, all standing with arms folded, the players looking large and menacing against a dark background. The wall to which the poster was pinned was painted a rich, deep orange, a contrast to the blue of the rest of the room. It shouldn’t have worked, but it did, imbuing the little room with personality and warmth.

  “I have a Blues poster, too,” Zack went on. “But it’s behind the door. Because there was no room.” He closed the bedroom door to show off the image. “You’re on that, too. You’re my favorite.” He looked up at Nic beseechingly. “D’you really think you could help me kick? If Mum says yes?”

  “Course I do. And I’ll talk to your Mum about it. As long as she says yes, I’ll help you.”

  “She doesn’t want me to be disappointed,” Zack explained, his face serious. “Because you’re not my dad. Dads mean it when they say things to their own kids. But not to other kids. They get busy, and they forget. And it makes Mum sad.”

  Nic felt a lump form in his throat. “I won’t forget,” he promised. “I’ll talk to her tonight.”

  Zack nodded. “D’you want to see my Legos? I don’t have as many as Graham.” He pulled out a robot from a simple, three-tiered shelving unit consisting of orange-painted boards resting on brackets affixed to the blue wall. In addition to the few carefully assembled Lego figures, the shelves held an assortment of children’s books. The simple assembly was the only furniture in the room other than the bed and a small dresser. No room for a desk anyway.

  “I got money from Grandpa and Grandma
for Christmas and my birthday, and I’m saving up for a big set,” Zack was saying now. “A Lord of the Rings set. That’s my favorite. D’you want to see, in the catalog?”

  “Yeh. I do.” Nic dropped to the floor beside the small, earnest figure, onto a round woven carpet in blue with touches of orange that covered the worn beige carpeting. He watched as Zack pulled a well-thumbed catalog off the shelf, opened it to a marked page.

  “Helm’s Deep, see?” Zack showed him.

  “Have you seen the films, then?” Nic asked.

  “Yeh. At Graham’s. Mum was angry as. She said I was too young. But I wasn’t scared. Well, maybe a bit scared. Of the troll. And the orcs. The orcs are scary. Specially that one, where the man puts his hand on his face? And he has those teeth?”

  “He was very scary,” Nic agreed solemnly. “This is an awesome set, though.”

  “Yeh,” Zack breathed. “I can’t wait till I get it. Graham says he’ll help me put it together. But I want to do it myself. I think I can.”

  “I’m sure you can. And good on ya for saving up. Not easy.”

  “Yeh, nah,” Zack sighed. “It’s not. Because I always want lollies, too. But I’m saving,” he repeated firmly. “Till I have enough. Because I want it more than anything.”

  Emma poked her head in the door. “Bedtime,” she told Zack. “Come brush your teeth and go to the toilet, please. And say goodnight to Nic.”

  Zack got up from the floor obediently. Looked at Nic, shy again now. “Night,” he said softly.

  Nic stood himself, rested a hand briefly on the top of Zack’s head. “Night, mate. And we’ll make a plan once I’m back from Safa for that kicking lesson. I promise.”

  Chapter 3

  Nic was standing in the kitchen when Emma returned from putting Zack to bed. He’d been turning the canisters on the bench to examine them, but turned at the sound of her step. “You did these, eh.”

  “Yeah. That one’s Zack.”

  “Got that.” Each of the porcelain containers was painted as a castle tower, each tiny brick outlined neatly, the whole surrounded by sky and varying landscapes, as if each tower were being viewed from a different perspective. In the smallest, the tea container, a younger Zack seemed to be communing with a tui who sat on the ledge, its white throat feathers clearly visible against the glossy black, head tilted inquiringly, as a lizard crept around a vine on the other side of the window.

  “Painted him in a jersey, I see,” Nic commented.

  Emma had to smile a bit in spite of her tension. Thinking about her son always did that to her. “He insisted. I said it wasn’t very authentic. No All Blacks in medieval Europe, I said. But then, no castles in New Zealand either. So the whole thing’s silly, really.”

  “Who are the others?” he asked.

  “My dad.” Emma touched the flour container, the bespectacled scribe gazing abstractly into the distance, scroll and quill pen in hand. “And my mum.” On the sugar canister and clearly the castle’s chatelaine, wimple framing a stern face, looking out over rolling green fields dotted with cows as if counting them.

  “And my sister and me,” she finished, touching the coffee container with two young girls peering out of their window, arms around each other.

  “No prince,” he remarked. “No maiden in the tower, either.”

  “Yeah. Well. I’ve kind of given up on the prince thing.”

  He looked at her searchingly. “Time for you to tell me about that.”

  “Right.” She pulled the manila folder from where she’d stashed it on top of the fridge and sat down at the table, waved him to a chair, her tension, briefly dispelled, returning in full force. She considered moving to the more comfortable lounge, then dismissed the idea. It was disconcerting enough being in here with him, oddly intimate. She needed to keep this as businesslike as possible.

  “You say you told me. But you didn’t,” he said. “I think you’d better start at the beginning, and explain.” His face was closed again, the brief moment of softness over.

  She rested a palm on the closed folder. Spoke through a throat that tightened as she remembered. “You were going to ring me, if you recall. I waited. And waited. I couldn’t believe it. I thought something had happened. Then I saw a story online, about the team. And I realized that something had happened. And what it was turned out to be pretty simple. You left, and you forgot me.”

  Nic shifted in his seat. “I was going to,” he said lamely. “But there was so much to do, at first. And then time had gone by, and I felt bad, didn’t know what to say. Then . . .” He shrugged helplessly. “I got caught up. And when I did think about it, I told myself you’d moved on, too.”

  Emma laughed, feeling the bitterness rise in her, a familiar tide. “Yeah. I moved on, all right. At least, my body did.”

  “But why didn’t you get in touch?” he asked in exasperation. “Once you knew you were pregnant? And how the hell did it happen, anyway? You told me you were on the Pill, or I’d’ve been more careful.”

  “I forgot a couple,” she admitted, flushing. “I wasn’t too good at that kind of thing back then. And with everything that happened that week . . . I forgot, all right? I thought it wouldn’t matter. Wishful thinking, it turned out.”

  “Anyway. When it did happen, once I knew, I tried to tell you. Over and over.” She opened the folder at last and handed him a small stack of paper. The top sheet, he saw, was a copy of an email, addressed to the Bath team’s publicist, asking the woman to have Nic get in touch with her urgently “on a personal matter.”

  “Please tell him it’s important, or I wouldn’t be contacting him,” he read. “Because of what happened in Fiji.”

  He looked up at her. “She didn’t answer?”

  “Look at the next sheet,” Emma told him.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t help you with this,” he read. “I’m sure you can see that the players have the right to their privacy, and if they choose not to share their personal contact information with others, that is their decision to make.”

  “She never even told me,” Nic protested.

  “So I sent a letter,” Emma went on, ignoring him. She nodded to the stack he held. “You can read it.”

  He shifted the papers, found a covering note to the same woman, asking her to forward the enclosed letter. It was dated, he saw, two months after he’d left for England.

  Nic,

  I’ve figured out that our time together didn’t matter to you after all. I guess you were just talking. But I need you to know that I’m pregnant. And I could really use your help. Please write to me, or email me, or something.

  Emma

  Her contact information was all there, he saw. He looked up at her again. “I never saw this.”

  Emma looked at him searchingly. “I don’t know if that’s true or not,” she said slowly. “I don’t know what to believe. I rang, after that. Several times. Left messages. When I finally got that woman to talk to me, she told me she was sorry, but she couldn’t help me. I asked her if she’d given you the letter, and she just said, sorry. As if she’d told you, and you’d said . . .”

  She took a breath, went on. “I thought she might be sympathetic, being a woman, you know. But I guess not. It sounded like she’d heard it all before.”

  Nic handed back the stack of paper. “Why didn’t you get a lawyer?” he demanded. “Somebody who wouldn’t have given up till he’d bloody well tracked me down?”

  “I asked,” she told him, clearly on the defensive now. “And they told me, if you were working overseas, it wasn’t possible to pursue you for maintenance. There was no point, if you wouldn’t cooperate. The laws don’t . . . don’t extend.”

  “What about when I came back, then?” he asked. “Zack couldn’t even have been two then. And he’s six now. Why didn’t you try again then?”

  “I did,” she said, her voice heavy with remembered defeat and anger. “I did. I didn’t kid myself that you wanted anything to do with him. But I sure could have u
sed some help. So I tried again.”

  “And? I wasn’t overseas then. So what happened?”

  “Same thing,” she shrugged. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Protecting your privacy, they said. One guy even told me, ‘Do you know how many women I hear this from? That a player is their kid’s mystery dad? Sorry, love, can’t help you. Find somebody else to pin this on.’ I’ll never forget that one. He made me feel like a whore.”

  Nic winced. “What about a lawyer, then? Why didn’t you try harder?”

  No softness at all in the blue eyes that looked steadily back at him. “I walked into the lawyer’s office and told him my story. And he said, ‘OK, you’re telling me your baby’s dad is an All Black now? And you want to get him to take a paternity test? Did you ever have an acknowledged relationship with him? Have a flat together? Anyone who knew you were his girlfriend? No? You slept together for a week, overseas? The courts are going to think that’s awfully convenient. No judge in En Zed is going to order a paternity test on the basis of that. It’s going to look like harassment of a sportsman, plain and simple. Not worth my time to pursue, and not worth your money to hire me. Save it for the kid.’”

  “I still remember, you see.” She pulled out a piece of notebook paper, creased where it had been folded again and again. The last item in the folder. “I wrote down what he said. It seemed so final. My last try.”

  He stared down at the yellow lined paper, her neat writing filling the sheet. “I never knew,” he said slowly. “You have to believe me, I never knew. Or I would’ve helped.”

  “It doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s all in the past. But when you say I didn’t try . . . I tried, Nic. Over and over. Do you think I wanted Zack not to have anything?” she asked fiercely, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’ve done the best I can. But it kills me. He knows what we can’t afford. He tries not to ask. But it kills me when he does ask, and I have to say no. And his feet grow, and he grows, and . . .”