Chapter Thirty
Juliette
Our first week together isn’t quite the blissfully happy time I’d hoped for.
I wish I could say that the two of us sailed off into the sunset with no other problems. But I swing between ecstasy and… well, not despair, but some kind of misery that takes the shine off my happiness with Henry. It makes me angry and resentful, but Henry remains calm and cheerful, insisting it’s not a problem. He has me, he says, and that’s all that matters. Everything else we can deal with.
I’m not so sure. I don’t know whether it’s the new baby hormones raging through my system, or my incredibly strong sense of duty that I’m starting to hate, but I feel wracked with guilt, and I’m conscious it’s like acid, eating away into my new life.
The source of my heartache is, of course, my ex. Because that’s what Cam is now, despite his unwillingness to accept the title. He said that he told his parents we’d broken up, but he seems to think it’s a temporary state of affairs. He calls me every day and texts me frequently, telling me how Alan and his wife are struggling, how his mother is descending into the deepest depression he’s seen, how his father is on the verge of walking out, and how he himself misses me. I tell him he doesn’t love me, and he only wants me because I’d sort out a lot of his problems for him, but he insists that isn’t the case, even though his behavior isn’t loving by any means.
Henry is surprisingly patient with him. “He had you and he lost you,” he tells me. “Of course the guy’s unhappy.” Worried that he’s thinks Cam’s going to influence me, I always put him on speaker and stay in the room so Henry can listen to the conversation, but he remains quiet and lets me deal with Cam as best as I can.
Things come to a head when, on Thursday evening, Cam calls me while we’re having dinner.
After a stressful week, I don’t want to talk to him. Henry surveys me, though, and to my surprise he says, “Go on, talk to him.”
I answer it and put it on speaker. Cam starts speaking immediately, hysterical and upset as he tells me that Kathy is out of control, that his father has walked out, that he doesn’t know what to do, and that I have to help. I start crying, and for the first time, Henry intervenes.
He picks up the phone, takes it off speaker, puts it to his ear, and walks out of the living room and onto the deck.
“Cam,” he says, “you’ve got to stop. She’s pregnant and you’re upsetting her, and I won’t have it.”
I press my fingers to my lips. I suppose I should be insulted that he’s taken it upon himself to sort my life out for me, but I’m not. I’m relieved and thankful. He’s been so good to me this week. At work, he comes to see me during the day, delivering his usual treats, but also checking that I feel okay, and asking if there’s anything he can do for me. He comes with me to see my parents, and he calls my dad ‘sir’, and tells him he’s going to look after me, and I can see he’s won my father over.
At home, he treats me the way he promised he would—like a queen. He fetches me cushions and drinks and snacks and anything else I want. He listens to me talk, holds me when I cry, and tells me not to worry when I apologize. And he makes love to me for hours, trying to prove with his body how much he loves me, as well as lavishing me with endearments in English and Māori.
I watch him on the phone to my ex, listening to him being firm but patient and kind, and I wipe my cheeks as the tears refuse to be held back. “I know,” he says to Cam, “I understand why you’re upset. Of course. She knows that. Yeah. No, that’s not going to happen. Bro, listen to me. She’s a lovely girl, and she’ll help anyone in need, but I’m not going to let her do that. Yeah, yeah, I don’t care, blame me all you like, she needs taking care of now, and I’m the one she’s with, and you have to let her go.”
He listens for a bit, and I think about the way Cam must be pleading with him, trying all the tricks he knew might work on me, using emotional blackmail to try to twist my feelings for him into making me help him. But they’re not going to work with Henry.
“Cam,” he says eventually, his voice turning harder, “I’m going to make things very clear for you. You and she are over, and I don’t want you to call her again about anything to do with your family or your personal situation. If you need to talk to anyone, you can talk to me. You’re the father of her child, and that gives you rights where the baby’s concerned, but not with Juliette. Do you understand?”
He pauses, listening. He has one hand on his hip, and he’s looking out over the ocean. He looks so big and strong, like a statue overlooking and guarding entry to the harbor. He’s like Tangaroa, the Māori atua or god of the ocean, the son of Ranginui and Papatūānuku, Sky and Earth, the magnificent painting of whom hangs in Kia Kaha. Tangaroa made laws to protect the ocean and all the sea creatures that lived within: Tiaki mai i ahau, maku ano koe e tiaki. If you look after me, then I will look after you. Just like Henry.
“How is she now?” he asks in a gentler voice, and I realize they’re talking about Kathy. “Yeah, I understand. It’s tough when someone you love is suffering like that. It’s a lot on your shoulders, especially if your father’s had enough. Look, I’m going to make a suggestion. I know a private treatment facility that deals with people who are suffering with problems like this. They provide home care and support for family members, and they also take people in for days or weeks to give their family a break. Will you let me call them and send someone around to you?”
He listens for a bit. I can imagine Cam stressing about paying for it. He’s an accountant, so he’s always earned relatively well, but the rent on our apartment is high and he knows he’s going to have to take it over now I’ve left. Add to that the fact that he’s left his job, and I know he’s going to be anxious about paying for private treatment.
To my shock, Henry tells him, “Bro, I’m saying I’ll pay for it.” Cam obviously then asks him why he’d do that, as Henry answers, “Because I love Juliette, and she cares for Kathy, and I don’t want her to worry. No, you don’t have to pay me back. Cam—we’re not enemies. We’re going to have to learn to get on for the baby’s sake, aren’t we? I work in the health industry, trying to improve people’s lives. It’s what I do. I want to help.”
He pauses again. Then he says, “Fair enough. If you’d rather, you can wait until tomorrow and sort something yourself through the public system, it’s up to you.” He glances over his shoulder, sees me watching, and winks at me. “Yeah,” he says, looking back out to sea. “They’ll come around and assess how she is. I can ask them to take her in for a few nights to sort out her meds and give you and your dad a break. Then you can come up with some kind of plan. Actually I know a good therapist who might be able to help. Yeah, she’s an expert with depression, especially with women.”
He chats away to Cam, reassuring him he’ll take care of it. At the end of the call, he says, “Remember, call me, not Juliette, please. I’m going to tell her not to answer if you ring over the next few days. If you persist, I’ll tell her to block you. She needs rest, so I’m going to take her away for the weekend. Yep, I’ll call them now. Okay, bye.”
He hangs up, but stays on the deck, and I watch him pull up a contact and call them. He asks to speak to a Dr. Crest, but says, “Hi Rob,” when the guy answers, so he obviously knows him well. He explains the situation—that a friend’s mother is unwell and needs assessment, and then asks if they have any space at the moment to take her in for a few days. “The guy’s at his wits’ end,” he says, “and his father’s walked out. The two of them need a break so they can decide what they’re going to do. You can bill me for it all, whatever you end up doing for her, for the next few weeks, anyway. Yeah, yeah. He’s my girlfriend’s ex, and she’s upset about it all, and I want to put her mind at ease. Thanks, Rob.” He gives him Cam’s number, then hangs up and comes back in.
“Hopefully that’ll help,” he says, sitting back at the dining table.
“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper. “You’re such a good man.”
“No I’m not. I couldn’t give a fuck about him,” he mumbles. “You’re the only one I’m worried about.”
But I know he’s lying. He doesn’t like hearing about other men suffering, or about someone else being in pain, physically or mentally.
“Life’s hard enough,” he says, picking up his fork. “Everyone needs a helping hand every now and again.”
I get up and bend over him from behind, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I love you,” I whisper.
He laughs, turns in his chair, and pulls me onto his lap. Then he kisses me, long and lingering, and for the first time, I really feel as if maybe I can begin to heal.
“So, we’re going away?” I say when I eventually lift my head.
“Thought it might be fun,” he replies. “We deserve a break. It’s been a hellish few weeks.”
I smile. “What did you have in mind?”
“Just a few nights away. I know you’re feeling sick a lot of the time, so nothing stressful. I thought maybe we could fly to Wellington and call in and see Saxon and Catie—he said she’s got some pregnancy books for us. Then afterward, we could hire a car and take a drive up the coast. I found a great place to stay online, a lighthouse miles from anywhere. There’s a viewing room upstairs, and I thought we could sit there and watch the sun go down.”
“It sounds amazing,” I say, sniffing.
“I’ll organize it, then.” He kisses me. Then he strokes my cheek. “Everything’s going to be okay, taku aroha. You’ll see.”
And for the first time, I think it actually might.
*
On Saturday morning, we take Kia Kaha’s private plane, The Orion, to Wellington, hire ourselves a car, and then drive to Island Bay to see Saxon and Catie.
I know Saxon pretty well, as I’ve seen him many times since I first met Damon at university. I don’t know Catie quite as well, but Damon told us about her story—that after her parents died, she was abused by her stepmother and stepsisters, and she came to Wellington virtually penniless, hoping to start a new life. She’d met Saxon back in Auckland, though, and fell pregnant after a one-night stand, only to discover he was the boss of the company she was temping for in Wellington.
Damon explained that when she first met Saxon she was completely clueless about pregnancy, so I’m somewhat surprised to discover that she has a huge pile of books for me.
“Saxon bought them for me,” she explains when I go with her into what she calls her library in their house. It’s a large room with two walls filled with books, and there’s also an office desk on one side that’s filled with papers, more books, and a laptop. “He knew a lot about fertility and conception,” she continues, “but not so much about what happens during pregnancy, so we learned together.”
I know that Saxon is a computer engineer who’s been developing an IVF program using Artificial Intelligence to try to predict which embryos will lead to live births.
“I guess he knows a lot about the technical side,” I say.
“Yeah, but not so much about the practical.” She smiles as she stacks half a dozen books into a pile. “These are the best ones. Take whatever you want.”
“Thank you.” I glance at the papers and notes on the desk, which are covered with neat handwriting that’s obviously computer code and diagrams. “I’m guessing this is Saxon’s?”
“Actually, no. It’s mine.”
“Oh, of course, I forgot you were a computer programmer.”
“Yeah, I’m taking a degree now. But in my spare time I’ve been working on a pregnancy app.”
My eyebrows rise. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. Saxon knows so much about conception and fertility, and he was happy to explain a lot of the terminology, and once I started reading about it, I found it fascinating. He’s always trying to gather more information, and I had this idea of an app that pregnant women could use. They input things like the date of their last period and the length of their cycle, and it predicts when they’re going to ovulate, which, along with monitoring basal body temperature, can help them when trying to get pregnant. And then it predicts the due date. The idea is that, if they agree, this data would be shared with Saxon’s company to help him improve his work with IVF.”
“That’s amazing,” I say, genuinely impressed. “How on earth do you get time to do all this with twins?!” Her twin boys, who are about ten months old, are currently in the living room, being entertained by Saxon and Henry.
“It’s a struggle,” she says, laughing. Then she says, a twinkle in her eye, “and it’s not going to get any easier now I’m pregnant again.”
“Oh!” I laugh too and we exchange a big hug. “I’m so pleased for you,” I tell her. “How far along are you?”
“Actually only nine weeks. We haven’t announced it yet, they tell you not to before you’re three months, but I figured that we can compare notes and it’ll make it more fun.”
I get the feeling that’s a polite way of her saying she wants to help, because I’m sure that Henry has told Saxon how I’m anxious because I know so little.
“That’ll be great,” I tell her, genuinely thrilled. “Have you had a scan yet? Is it twins again?”
“God, I hope not!” But she laughs. “No, you get your first scan between eleven and fourteen weeks.”
“Oh. See, I didn’t even know that!”
“Well, we’re not born knowing. If you’re anything like me, and you didn’t know anybody who was pregnant, there’s no need to read about it until it happens.” She tips her head at me. “How far gone are you, exactly?”
“Exactly? Um… about eight weeks, I think, although I’m not a hundred percent sure.”
She brightens. “Maybe we should try out the app on you!”
I smile. “Sure.”
“All right.” She pulls up a couple of chairs, and we take out our phones. “First of all, download the app,” she says, and she shows me where to get it. I wait for it to download, then bring it up. There’s a picture of a stork on the opening page, and it’s all in bright colors.
“Okay.” She opens the app on her phone. “We’ll go through it together, and that way we can compare notes. So put in your name and age there, and your hometown. Click that button if you don’t mind sharing your data with Kingpinz.” That’s Saxon’s company. I click the button, then press Go.
“Right,” she says. “The first thing is to select the first day of your last period. Do you know it?”
“Yes—I keep a note of my cycle on my phone.”
“Excellent, that makes things much easier.” She watches me input the fourth of December. “Okay, now press the green Go button.” We watch a flying stork come up while the program runs through the calculations, and then the results pop up. It shows a calendar, the actual days of the month in blue, and then the days of my cycle in green.
“There you go,” she says. “So your next period—highlighted in red—would have been due on December 31st. Which means you would have ovulated on day fourteen of your cycle—highlighted in yellow—which in this case was December 17th. The days before it are also highlighted because you can get pregnant up to five days before you ovulate, because sperm can live for five days inside you.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that.” I study the dates. “This isn’t quite right—my period was due on the fourth of January.”
“Oh shit.” She laughs. “I forgot to ask how long your cycle is. The average is twenty-eight days, but of course every woman is different.”
“Mine’s long—usually thirty-two or even thirty-three days.”
“Right, so go back, and in that box type thirty-two. Yep, and press Go again.” We wait for the results and look at the new calendar. “Yeah, there you go,” she says.
“It’s changed the date of ovulation.”
“Yes, because you ovulate fourteen days before your next period begins. So for you, the twenty-first of December. Which puts your fertile window from the sixteenth. Your due date is estimated as September the thirteenth because your cycle is a little longer than average. It’ll be great to have a spring baby!”
I study the calendar. “Yeah.” Then I frown. “It’s not quite right, though.”
“Oh?” She peers at the screen. “That’s good in a way. I’m still trying to iron out any issues. So what’s wrong?”
I tell her. She asks a few questions.
“Huh,” she says. She chews her bottom lip and meets my eyes. “I think we need to speak to Saxon,” she says softly.