A Child in Need (7 page)

He might as well think about Shanni.

Which was really, really stupid.

He'd go up to town this weekend, he decided. If he left by five tomorrow night he could be back in his inner-city apartment by nine. Maybe ring a couple of friends, catch a late show, see the latest Enrico exhibition on Saturday…

‘Four hundred dollars or ten days in custody,' he said, and discovered the whole courtroom was looking at him.

‘But…' It was Mary, and she bit her lip almost as soon as she said it.

‘What?'

‘Fifty bucks or overnight,' the defendant explained for her, in a voice that sounded like gravel. The old man was an alcoholic. He stank. The smell of him reached every corner of the court.

‘Overnight gives us time to see he's fed and washed,' Rob explained.

‘So ten days gives you longer. Next case…'

And he closed his file and glared at them all. And they glared right back. Every single one of them.

 

And Shanni was waiting for him when court was finished for the day. Her anger was still sky-high. He came out of court, tossed his gown aside and turned to find Shanni watching him from the corridor.

‘I suppose you know what you've done,' she said bluntly.

Nick sighed. Now what?

‘Let's see,' he said wearily. ‘According to town gossip, so far today I've ravished you over fish and chips, I've had my wicked way in the sand-hills, I've broken your engagement to your knight in shining armour, and I've smashed the unwritten dress code for Bay Beach court. What else is there left?'

‘You've made Emma feed Bart for ten days!'

‘Emma?'

‘Rob's wife. She does the meals for the custody cells. And Bart'll dry out. We'll have him screaming the place down.'

‘Then maybe he needs to be dried out.' This was none of her business.

‘I thought Mary warned you. Bart's dried out at least fifty times in living memory, all of them in the police cells, all of them with Rob and Emma not getting sleep for days and all of them totally useless as he hits the bottle the minute he's back on the town. But go ahead. Jail him.'

‘I already have.'

‘I know.' She gritted her teeth. ‘Smart city lawyers…'

‘I
am
the magistrate,' he said mildly, and she ground her teeth some more.

‘Yeah. Well, stop filling police cells and go do something useful.'

Something useful… For heaven's sake, hadn't these people heard of a little respect?
He was the magistrate!

But respect wasn't in Shanni's vocabulary.

‘The psychologist is coming to the children's home tomorrow to assess Harry,' she continued. ‘That's why I'm here. Don't get any funny ideas that I might want to see you or anything. I don't. But Wendy needs a statement saying that you've been able to make contact.'

‘Make contact?' Nick stared, bemused. She was still furious and she looked really something when she was angry. As if there were sparks inside as well as out.

‘Yes. That you've been able to communicate with him and he's showed signs of affection. Otherwise he risks being classified as autistic and we'll get nowhere. He'll be taken away from Wendy, and there's no chance he'll be considered for adoption with a label like that.'

‘Shanni, it's…'

‘None of your business,' she snapped, eyes flashing. ‘Like Bart isn't my business. This is a small community here, Nick Daniels, and everyone cares for everybody. And even if it wasn't a small community… Haven't you ever heard the line “Any man's
death
diminishes
me
…”'

That floored him. For heaven's sake… John Donne's poetry being flung at him by angry kindergarten teachers…

‘Any man's
death
diminishes
me
, because I am involved in
Mankind
…'

But Nick wasn't, he thought blankly. No way. He'd tried as hard as he could, for all of his life, to be exactly the opposite. As uninvolved in mankind as possible.

‘How can you not care?' Shanni said hotly. ‘Nick, you're the only hope he has.'

‘I…'

‘You don't care for anyone. Of course you don't. I can see that.' She shook her blonde curls in fury. ‘So don't do
anything about it. See him locked in a psychiatric institution…'

‘Hey…'

‘If you care, then go and talk to Wendy.'

‘Wendy?'

‘Wendy,' she said kindly, as if he was a sandwich short of a picnic. ‘The head of the children's home he's in. Bay Beach orphanage is split into five homes and Wendy's in charge of Harry's.' She glared again. ‘So help her. If you have one ounce of decency in your body then it's the least you can do.'

‘But you…'

‘And you needn't worry. You won't meet me there, so your reputation will remain untarnished. I'm going to a movie with my mother. Something about a runaway bride.' She glowered. ‘Which will suit me down to the ground. Runaway bride? Ha! If all the men around her are as appalling as you and John, I can't say I blame her for her choice.'

G
REAT
!

He seemed to have sand everywhere. Nick took himself back up to his apartment, emptied his shoes, washed his face and poured himself a glass of wine. It didn't work. He still felt gritty and unsettled.

And like a king-sized rat.

He made himself steak and salad, sat down to watch the news on TV and he still felt rat-like. Which was stupidly unfair.

Finally he showered and changed every piece of his sand-impregnated clothing, donning casual trousers and an open-necked shirt. Then he stared at himself in the mirror. See? he demanded of no one in particular—or the absent Shanni. He could be casual if he wanted to be.

The thought was so pathetic and inane he made himself grin.

His hair needed attention. He'd washed the sand out, and it was drying as its usual mop of unruly black curls. This wasn't a judge-look at all. He grimaced, started to comb it flat and smooth—and then he stopped.

This was stupid, he conceded. Slick hairstyles for casual was stupid. He wasn't dressing for anyone. He'd leave it be—just run a comb loosely through it and leave it. Just for tonight.

After all, he was only reading legal briefs tonight—wasn't he? Hardly worth donning his city lawyer image for.

He read one legal brief and paused.

Harry… Psychiatric assessment tomorrow.

Harry…

It was nothing to do with him, he thought savagely—desperately. He couldn't help.

But in his heart, maybe he knew he could.

He'd heard court cases before, submissions of social workers on why a child should be sent home to his parents or fostered or sent to a remand home.
This child is incapable of attachment. Borderline autism. There's no point in attempting foster care. We believe institutional care is the only option.

Harry was only three years old and, if Shanni was right…if he
could
help…

Nick was in a position to guess that attachment was possible if they found a home where there was a decent male parent. Harry just needed his dad, Nick thought.

As he had.

That had nothing to do with it, he thought savagely. His own background was irrelevant. Think of practicalities. He shook off the feeling of wanting to stay right out of this and let himself remember how Harry had felt holding him close. He'd hugged him all that long night of the hostage drama, and it hadn't just been Harry who'd received comfort.

This was ridiculous!

Yes, but just talking to Wendy couldn't hurt—telling Wendy if she wanted a statement then he was prepared to make it. It couldn't hurt to do that much—and then steer clear. And…Shanni was at the movies.

It was only nine. Not too late. Decision made, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.

With his hair still tousled.

 

‘If it'll help then I'll put that all in writing.'

‘It will.' Wendy stared across the table at her visitor, her eyes troubled. ‘The only problem is…'

‘Mmm?'

‘You're saying he shouldn't be institutionalised because he's capable of attachment. But you're not willing to allow that attachment.'

‘I…no.'

‘Do you know about our big brother scheme?'

‘Shanni…Miss McDonald told me about it, yes.'

‘And you're not willing to be a part of it?'

‘No.'

‘Hmm.' She paused and regarded him across the table with knowing eyes. In silence.

Which Nick found vaguely unsettling. The woman was still relatively young, close to thirty, maybe, but Nick knew instinctively that she'd make a great house mother for troubled kids. She was sort of…comfortable. She had kindly eyes that crinkled from too much smiling—eyes that said she accepted all comers as she found them.

And she knew what she was seeing now. ‘You've had a tough time yourself,' she said softly, and Nick stared.

‘How…?'

‘How do I know?' She spread her hands. ‘You get to know the look. And Shanni told me.

‘What on earth does Shanni know?'

‘She sees as much as I do.' Wendy smiled and pushed her fingers through her mass of dark curls. She'd tied them back into a knot but they were breaking free everywhere. ‘She's quite a girl. If that's all, then…'

‘Is Harry asleep?' Now, why had he asked that?

‘I doubt it.' She hesitated. ‘It's hard to get him to sleep. He lies there for hours, just staring into the dark. But if you're not willing to take this further then maybe it's not such a good idea to prolong the agony.'

‘The agony?'

‘Harry wants you,' she said simply. ‘He cries to go to you. That's why Shanni took him to lunch with you today.' And then she paused as she heard a car pull up outside.
There was a click of the gate, and then a low laugh as someone greeted one of the older children. ‘Speaking of which…here she is.'

 

The first thing she saw was his hair.

Shanni burst in the door and stopped dead. She'd never expected that Nick would come. She'd been expecting Wendy, and Wendy was there, but so was Nick and this was a very different Nick. So far she'd seen him groomed and immaculate and slick and smooth. Now…he was in casual trousers, a short-sleeved, open-necked shirt and his hair was tousled and thick and unruly.

She could see why he combed it down. Smoothed, it looked like the hairstyle of a barrister of the highest standing. Now it was a tousled mop, and he looked years younger. He didn't look like a magistrate, she thought. He looked…nice.

Nick wasn't nice, she told herself, strangely off-balance. He was a toad. All men were toads. John was toad number one but Nick was running a close second.

‘How was the movie?' he asked mildly, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste.

‘Lousy.'

‘How come?' Wendy smiled and rose to fetch more coffee. ‘Weren't you seeing the one about the runaway bride?'

‘Yes—but it had a stupid ending. She didn't keep running.'

Wendy choked on laughter, then crossed to give her friend a hug. They were obviously very close. ‘Hey, it's okay. Maybe you and John can sort it out.'

‘No, we can't,' Shanni said darkly, hugging back. ‘He wants a den.'

‘What's wrong with a man wanting a den?' Nick asked, startled, and got a glower for his pains.

‘We did house plans last night,' she explained—as if he
was a simpleton. ‘John has it all worked out. Three bedrooms, living room, kitchen for me and a den for him. Isn't that cosy?'

‘A man needs a den,' Nick said, and found he now had two women glaring at him. Oh, help…

‘I have a den,' said Wendy.

‘Why can't I have a den?' demanded Shanni. ‘Chauvinist twit. But when I said that, John just laughed—like I was being cute because what would the little woman want a den for? And then he told me to go and choose bathroom tiles. And then today…'

‘I know what happened today,' Wendy said, and both of them stared at her.

‘Well, if you will have your domestics in full view of the pier… Half the retired folk of the town listened in.'

‘Oh, great.' Nick groaned.

‘I don't know why you're complaining,' Shanni said crossly. ‘You get to play magistrate for two years and then leave this place. I'm stuck here for ever.' She helped herself from the coffee pot Wendy produced, sat down and stuck a thumb in the direction of Nick. ‘What's he doing here?'

‘Refusing to play big brother.'

‘Hey, I'm signing an affidavit like Shanni wanted me to,' Nick said, stung. ‘What else do you want?'

‘You to go in and hug Harry goodnight—and promise you'll do the same tomorrow,' Wendy said promptly.

Silence.

‘See,' Shanni said morosely into her coffee. ‘They're all useless.'

‘There's reasons he's like this,' Wendy said kindly. ‘He's got a past.'

‘Yeah, but if he had real courage…'

‘Are we talking about me, here,' Nick said carefully. ‘If we are, then would you mind including me?'

‘You don't include anyone else,' Shanni retorted. ‘You
go on being solitary and we'll go on not communicating. That's the way you like it.'

‘Shanni…'

‘If I communicate with him he accuses me of setting my cap at him,' she told Wendy, ignoring him nicely. ‘As if I would. The heroine in my movie had the right idea—but to give in at the end and marry one of the species… No!'

‘I reckon you ought to try, though,' Wendy said thoughtfully. ‘Communicating, I mean. Now he's abandoned his smooth look he seems sort of cute.'

This was way out of hand. He was getting out of here—fast.

‘He is cute,' Shanni admitted. ‘But ego…lawyer and judge and good looks combined. Phew!'

‘And aloof,' Wendy said sadly. ‘Puts himself above everyone in this place. Bet he thinks he's the greatest intellectual in town.'

‘Hey…'

‘Bet he never ever stays for weekends,' Wendy said. ‘What's the bet he's getting in his cute little car tomorrow and heading back to Melbourne for the weekend just as fast as he can drive? Because this place threatens him.'

‘Mmm.' Shanni nodded. ‘I can't say I blame him.'

‘Shanni!' Wendy stared. ‘Hey, keep your end of the conversation going here, girl. I can't keep lawyer-bashing on my own.'

‘But it does get a bit claustrophobic.' Shanni was no longer looking at Nick. She was staring into the dregs of her coffee, her mind on her own problems. ‘We're having a family beach picnic on Sunday,' she explained morosely. ‘Grandpa's seventieth birthday. They'll be so sympathetic—or secretly pleased, which is worse.'

‘Because of you and John.'

‘The whole town thought we were getting married. Including John.'

‘Including you?' Wendy prodded, and Shanni shrugged.

‘Yeah, I guess…'

‘So take your new fella.'

‘I don't have a new fella.' Shanni thumped her mug on the table. ‘Wendy, will you stop it? Everyone thinks Nick and I ran straight into each other's arms, and the last thing I need is yet another man.'

‘What about you?' Wendy said, wheeling to Nick and honing in like an arrow. ‘Interested?'

‘No!'

‘There you go, then,' she said, and sat back smugly, arms folded. ‘So neither of you are interested in any sort of relationship, but both of you are interested in saving Harry. So therefore…'

‘Therefore…' Nick was being swept away here. This woman was too much for him. He was glad she didn't have a legal degree, he thought. She'd wipe the floor with him at the bar.

‘So therefore I can tell the assessor tomorrow that Harry's developing relationships all over the place, and I can tell Harry that the two of you are taking him out on Sunday to Shanni's family picnic.'

‘No!' they said in unison, and Wendy grinned at the twin sound of revulsion in their voices.

‘Why not? It means I have a promise I can use to put Harry to sleep at night. It'll give me breathing space. If I can use the two of you 'til he relaxes with me…'

‘Wendy…'

‘Look!' She was all earnestness now, fighting for one of her kids, and Nick knew his first assessment of her had been right. She'd give her all to make sure the kids she cared for had a chance. ‘I can't cope with Harry, now,' she admitted. ‘He screams and he won't let me near. I beg, cajole, hug, threaten, but nothing I say makes any difference. But if I say, “You go to bed on time and you eat
your dinner and you don't scream the place down, then Shanni and Nick will take you out on a picnic on Sunday…”'

‘I'm going back to Melbourne,' Nick said faintly.

‘So what's more important?' Wendy was fighting every way she knew how. ‘Your weekend in Melbourne? Or a little boy's future? If I can settle him here, make the psychologist see that there's a chance he might settle…'

‘Wendy, we're not promising anything long-term,' Shanni said uneasily. ‘I mean, if he grows too attached…'

‘You tried to talk Nick into being big brother to him,' Wendy said sternly. ‘Anyone can see Nick won't buy that sort of responsibility on his own—he's running scared—so maybe you can convince him to share. Instead of a big brother—why not brother and sister? What could be simpler than that?'

‘Maybe…' Shanni was dubious.

‘And it's even neutral,' Wendy said triumphantly. ‘No sex at all.'

‘Or not in front of the children.' Shanni's irrepressible twinkle peeped out, and Nick groaned. Heck, this was his weekend they were talking about. This was stupid. There was no chance he was staying.

And then the door opened and a small face appeared, peering around as if he expected to be knocked back again. Harry was wearing pyjamas a couple of sizes too big for him, his fibreglass cast made them look ungainly and awkward, and his eyes were way too big for his face.

‘My Nick's here,' he whispered, unbelieving, and Nick's heart jerked with pain.

‘You should be in bed, young man,' Wendy said, crossing to scoop him up in her arms. He held himself rigid, arching back in a pose of rejection that Nick was starting to know.

‘Why is Nick here?' he whispered.

‘He came to invite you to lunch on Sunday. Would you like to go?'

Harry's eyes swung to Nick's. His face said he didn't believe a word.

‘It's true,' Nick said weakly, because there was nothing else to say. ‘Sunday picnic. With Miss McDonald for her grandpa's birthday.'

‘Shanni,' said Shanni. ‘You can call me Shanni when we're not at kindergarten. Would you like to come to the beach with us again, Harry?'

‘Yes.' It was one simple word—but it was almost like a sigh of relief.

‘Then you have to promise to go straight to sleep, Harry, lad,' Wendy said sternly. ‘Three more sleeps until Sunday and no protests.'