CHAPTER 7
7
W E BOTH SLEEP THROUGH the last few hours of the Dubai flight and emerge, slightly groggy, into the airport, where we shuffle towards our next gate for the short layover. Slumped in our seats, I’m scrolling through my phone, while Emmet is staring into the distance, lost in thought. His hair is a mess and he’s compulsively running his fingers through it, giving off a definite air of anxiety.
Without a word, he wanders off to the bathroom, leaving his bag and phone on the seat next to me, and, a minute or so later, when it buzzes, I glance towards it, where a message from Damian has popped up. U made ur mind up yet? it says, and I frown but don’t touch it. If I did, Emmet would surely reappear just as I’m looking at it. Still, I can’t help but wonder what he’s referring to. It doesn’t take long for me to find out, however, for when my son returns, he has a rather determined expression on his face. He sits down, looks at the phone for a moment, reads the message, taps a quick reply, then puts it in his pocket before clearing his throat. When he speaks, his tone suggests that he’s been thinking about what he’s about to say for some time and is fully prepared for an argument.
‘Dad,’ he says.
‘What’s up?’
‘There’s something I need to tell you.’
‘OK.’
‘Only you can’t be angry with me.’
Perhaps he wants to talk about the pictures on his phone. It’s not the ideal time to discuss them, but it would certainly be a lot easier if he brought the topic up rather than me having to introduce it. I’ve spent more than a year counselling a boy only slightly older than him who gave in to a sextortion scam on Snapchat, clearing almost three thousand dollars from his parents’ bank account before they discovered what was going on and reported the incident to the police. Although, thankfully, the pictures and videos he sent to his blackmailer never made it into the public domain or to his list of contacts, as had been threatened, he remains utterly traumatized by the incident, which went on for months, and a chill spreads through me as I wonder whether Emmet has found himself in a similar situation.
‘Go on,’ I say.
‘No, you have to promise.’
‘Just tell me.’
He takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly.
‘I’m not getting on this plane.’
Of everything I might have anticipated, this never occurred to me. But at least it’s not as bad as what it might have been.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I said I’m not getting on this plane. I’m not going any further. I’m staying here.’
I turn to look at him, to see whether he’s serious. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years from my patients, it’s the importance of remaining calm when someone says something that is clearly designed for a reaction.
‘Emmet,’ I say, glancing at my watch, ‘boarding is due to start in about fifteen minutes, so you don’t really have much choice. We’ve done the long part of the flight already. This is the shorter one. We’ll be there before you know it.’
‘It’s not about the length of the journey,’ he tells me. ‘I’m just not going, it’s as simple as that. You go if you want to. But I’m staying here.’
‘What, here in the airport? For the next five nights?’
‘You can book me a hotel room,’ he says. ‘It’s Dubai. There’s thousands of them.’
‘And five nights in one of them would cost more than this entire trip.’
‘Oh, please,’ he says, rolling his eyes. ‘You’re loaded.’
‘I’m not loaded,’ I say. ‘But that’s hardly the point. I’m not leaving you on your own in a strange city. We agreed to make this trip together, remember, you and me? We have to be there for her.’
‘Why?’ he asks.
‘Why what?’
‘Why do we have to be there for her?’
It takes me a moment to come up with what I realize is an unsatisfactory, and possibly dishonest, answer.
‘Because if things were the other way around, she’d be there for you.’
‘Like she’s been in the past, you mean?’
He throws his head far back over the seat, staring up at the ceiling, remaining silent for a moment, as if he can’t quite comprehend the duplicity of adults. I know he’s telling himself that he’ll never be the same when he’s older. But he will. We all are.
‘You see your mother regularly,’ I tell him, and he laughs bitterly.
‘I see her once or twice a year at most,’ he replies. ‘It’s not like she goes out of her way to spend time with me.’
‘You spend a month with her.’
‘Wrong. I come here for a month, but I spend most of it sitting on my own in her apartment, reading books, watching movies, or down in the pool, while she’s flying around somewhere. When she does bother to show up, she’s either too tired to hang out with me or can’t think of anything for us to do. Last time, she came back from Singapore after three days away and seemed to forget that I was even staying there. I literally came out of my bedroom to say hello and she screamed like I was a burglar. I swear, it took her a minute even to recognize me.’
‘She was probably jetlagged, that’s all.’
‘Pilots don’t get jetlagged,’ he replies with utter certainty, and I have no idea whether this is true or just something he’s read online.
‘She’s your mother,’ I say.
‘No. She’s your ex-wife. There’s a difference.’
I can only imagine how deeply it would hurt Rebecca if she heard this remark – it reminds me of how she always referred to Brendan as Vanessa’s ex-husband – and there’s a part of me that wishes she had. Because as fortunate as I’ve felt at being my son’s primary guardian, it’s shocked me how small a part Rebecca has played in his upbringing.
Emmet was only four years old when the whole mess with Furia led to the end of our marriage. When it became clear that the infidelity would prove to be the closing act of our relationship, the plan had been that Rebecca would remain in Sydney and he would divide his time between us. I had grown to love Australia, my practice was there, and I had neither reason nor inclination to return to the northern hemisphere. And for the first twelve months, this arrangement worked reasonably well. But when the airline reorganized its pilot schedule, it made more sense for her to relocate to their hub in Dubai, and I was worried that she’d want to take Emmet with her. He was settled in school, had his circle of close friends, was thriving at Bondi’s Nippers Club, and I felt it would be cruel to remove him from that. The pain of the betrayal had left things raw between us, however, and I was uncertain how Rebecca would respond to my suggestion that Emmet remain in my custody full-time, assuming she’d refuse, but to my surprise, she agreed, even expressing a sense of relief that she was free to live her own life. While her selfishness troubled me, I had no intention of challenging her on it. After all, had she insisted on taking him, and had the courts permitted her to do so, I would have had no choice but to follow her. But no, she just left him.
Last year was the first time Emmet asked whether he could cancel his visit – he was distraught at the idea of being torn away from his beloved beach over Christmas – and I used my dwindling authority to insist that he go, because I wanted him to maintain a relationship with his mother. I’d already anticipated that he would put up more of a fight this coming year, and that, at fifteen, he might even win, but because of the circumstances that have brought us to this airport now, I assume that visit won’t be happening anyway.
Ahead, I notice an airline employee preparing the desk and another relocating the stanchions that separate the queues for First, Business and Economy passengers. There’s simply no way that I’m leaving him here alone.
‘Emmet—’ I begin, but he raises a hand and cuts me off.
‘I mean it,’ he says. ‘Honestly, Dad, this isn’t a sudden decision. I’ve been thinking about it ever since we boarded in Sydney.’
‘Oh, that long? Wow. A whole thirteen hours.’
‘And I don’t want to go any further. Look, I know Dubai pretty well and I’m not a little kid any more. All you need to do is book someplace on your phone. You can do it right now; there’s free Wi-Fi. It doesn’t have to be any place fancy.’ He smiles a little, hoping to charm me. ‘I mean, not a dive though. A pool would be nice.’
‘A pool would be lovely,’ I agree. ‘As would a penthouse suite, a gym, a sauna, a massage and twenty-four-hour room service. But none of those things are going to happen.’
‘Not for you, maybe.’
‘Not for you either.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ he says, looking me directly in the eye. ‘I’m fourteen.’
‘When you say I’m fourteen ,’ I tell him, ‘my response is you’re only fourteen . The preposition matters.’
‘“Only” isn’t a preposition,’ he says. ‘It’s an adverb.’
He’s probably right. He’s the reader, after all, not me. Around us, I can tell that the other passengers are sensing the impending boarding announcement as they’re starting to gather their things, preparing to rush the gate like a pack of feral dogs the moment someone so much as taps the microphone.
‘Can I be really honest with you about something?’ says Emmet, and I nod.
‘Of course.’
‘And you’ll hear me out?’
‘I’ll hear you out.’
He takes a deep breath and points towards the gate. ‘There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that will make me get on that plane,’ he says. ‘Nothing you can say, nothing you can do. If you cause a fuss, I’ll throw some sort of fit and Security will have us both removed. So it’s this simple: you can organize a hotel room for me and go on to Ireland alone, or we can both return to Sydney right now, together. It’s your choice. I’m sorry. I had planned on seeing it through. Honestly, I had. And I feel bad about leaving you to do this without me. This isn’t something I planned and I’m not trying to let you down. Especially today. On your birthday. If it’s still your birthday.’ He pauses for a moment and frowns. ‘Is it still your birthday?’ he asks. ‘I mean, with the time difference, is it still today? Or yesterday? Or—’
‘Emmet!’ I snap. Global time zones are the last thing on my mind right now.
‘Sorry. OK. Anyway, my point is I don’t see why I should give her this when she’s given me nothing.’
‘Other than life, you mean.’
He crosses his arms defensively and shakes his head. I’ve dealt with a lot of children and teenagers throughout my career, and they can be difficult in any one of a thousand ways. Another parent might panic at a declaration like this and, I will admit, I’m starting to grow unnerved as we’re under severe time pressure. But I have to remain calm.
‘You must want a better relationship with her,’ I say.
‘I used to. I don’t really care any more.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Look, she’s a complicated woman. You don’t know what she’s been through.’
He laughs. ‘What?’ he asks sarcastically. ‘What has she been through? As far as I can see, she’s done everything her way, always. Made her own decisions. Let us both down.’
I remain silent. Of course, he knows nothing about the realities of Rebecca’s past. We’ve both kept that from him.
‘She doesn’t love me, Dad,’ he continues, and I can see tears forming in his eyes. ‘Not like you love me.’
‘She does,’ I insist. ‘She just doesn’t know how to express it, that’s all. She’s damaged. We’re both damaged.’
‘You’re not.’
‘I am, Emmet.’
‘How?’ he asks, sounding intrigued now, perhaps hearing something in my tone that tells him that he might not know me quite as well as he thinks he does, but I shake my head.
‘That’s a conversation for another time,’ I say. ‘Right now, we have bigger things to worry about. We have to go. We have to.’
‘Why?’
‘Because – Jesus! – I loved her once, Emmet, that’s why. Very much. Very deeply. We got married. We planned a life together. And we created you.’
‘So you go, then. You be there for her if it’s so important to you.’
‘Not without you. No. I know you’re angry with her but—’
‘I have no feelings about her one way or the other,’ he says, the crack in his voice showing that he’s almost overwhelmed by the complexity of his emotions and his inability to negotiate them. The jetlag is probably only adding to his stress.
‘And you have every reason to feel that way,’ I continue calmly. ‘But trust me, now is not the time to act upon those feelings. This is a moment in life when your mother needs you. She needs both of us, whether she realizes it or not. And she will be glad that we’re there.’
He stares at me. I sense a chink in his armour. I’ve found myself in moments like this before, in professional settings, and know that I just need to prise it open. Very carefully.
‘The loss of a parent can cause people to think differently about their lives,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve seen it many times in my work.’
‘You work with children.’
‘And sometimes children lose their parents. Jacob lost Jackie, remember?’
He looks away and swallows, considering this. Jacob is one of his closest friends, part of the gang he hangs around with at the beach, a boy who’s spent countless nights sleeping in the top bunk in Emmet’s bedroom since they were kids. His mother passed away from cancer just over a year ago and Jacob has handled his grief admirably.
‘I remember,’ he says.
‘And you were there for him. You and Damian. And Shane and Maxie. I’ve watched you all. I’ve seen how much you’ve helped him.’
‘Cos he’s our friend.’
‘And Rebecca’s your mum. She’ll be thinking about you now, I know she will.’
He turns to look at me. He wants reassurance.
‘How do you know that?’ he asks.
‘Because I understand people. I’m trained to understand them. It’s the one thing I know I can do well.’
What feels like an endless silence lingers between us and, when he speaks again, his determination seems to have diminished a little.
‘If she’d wanted us to come,’ he says, ‘wouldn’t she have said so?’
‘That’s not her way. You don’t know her like I do.’
‘Of course I don’t,’ he says, bursting into a bitter laugh. ‘I barely know her at all. That’s the problem.’
‘And this is an opportunity to start rectifying that.’
‘That’s on her, not me.’
‘You’re right. You are absolutely right. And one day, I have no doubt that you and she will sit down and discuss your relationship. When that day comes, you’ll be able to tell her that you flew halfway across the world at this crucial moment because you wanted to support her. I’m not trying to pit you against each other, you know I’ve never done that, but trust me, that is a card you’ll be able to pull out of your deck when the moment arrives.’
‘I shouldn’t need a fucking card,’ he whispers, wiping tears away now. He’s an emotional boy, he always has been, but he hasn’t cried in front of me in a long time. When something upsets him, he tends to take to his room.
‘No, you shouldn’t,’ I agree, knowing that I can’t put an arm around him, even though I want to. To pull him close would be to push him away. ‘But you have one.’
‘She didn’t even speak to me on the phone,’ he says, his tone softening.
‘Perhaps she was worried that you’d say no to coming.’
‘I would have said yes.’
‘And you did say yes. You said yes when I told you what had happened. When I suggested we go over. You said yes then.’
‘Only because I knew you wouldn’t have let me stay home alone. Even though I’m fourteen.’
‘ Only fourteen,’ I repeat. ‘The preposition—’
‘Adverb!’
‘Jesus, fine! The adverb! The point is, you did agree, Emmet. You agreed instantly. You want to go; I know you do. Even if you’re nervous about what awaits us at the other end. You want to be there for her.’
The announcement comes. First-class passengers can board now. We still have a few minutes until Business is called.
‘No,’ he says, looking down at the floor.
In front of us, I notice another family, a husband, wife and a boy about my son’s age, stand up and gather their hand luggage. They look so full of energy and excitement that I assume they’re travelling directly from Dubai and haven’t endured a thirteen-hour flight already. As they leave their seats, the mother throws an arm around her son’s shoulder, kisses him on the cheek, and they walk on together in perfect contentment. The boy turns to her to say something, and she bursts out laughing. I see Emmet watching them too and he looks desolate.
Once again, he points at the gate.
‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I really am. I promise, I’m not doing this to hurt you. Or to hurt her. But there is absolutely no way that I’m getting on that plane to Dublin. None. You either book me a hotel here, a flight home, or I just sleep in this airport for the next five nights. It’s up to you.’