Twenty-seven
There was a spring in Jamie’s step as he made his way to the harbour next morning. Last night, for the first time since meeting up with Erica again, he sensed she was comfortable in his presence. As far as he was concerned, the meeting had been a disaster. He’d felt completely out of his depth, with no idea why Joe had invited him to attend, to be part of the committee. And that jerk, Malcolm Brown, hadn’t helped by cosying up to Erica and spouting all that medical jargon which a non-professional like Jamie couldn’t hope to understand.
He'd been stunned when Erica came up to him at the end of the meeting and suggested they leave together but had been happy to agree. Then there had been drinks at The Grand where it had felt almost as if they were back in the days when they were a couple. They had talked, laughed, shared memories. It was as if Erica was a different person from the one who had told him she didn’t want to be reminded of the past. Whatever had happened to her, he wasn’t going to question it. Maybe Malcolm Brown had done him a favour.
It was a pity they had travelled in separate cars to the meeting, but perhaps it was just as well. There was no opportunity for anything more than a “Thanks” and “Goodnight” when they parted. But Erica had agreed to go sailing with him on the weekend.
As the party which had booked today’s charter straggled on board, Jamie could see they were already hungover from the previous evening. He knew from the booking that they were a group of guys up from Sydney on a bucks’ getaway, and previous experience told him it would be a rough trip. He just hoped they hadn’t managed to squirrel away more grog in their backpacks.
His worst suspicions were realised. They were barely out of the harbour when one of the group produced a bottle, said, ‘The hair of the dog, guys,’ and the scene was set for the day.
One plus was that they were happy drunks, and they didn’t care that none of them managed to catch anything, seemingly satisfied that they were out on the water. By the time they returned to the harbour in the late afternoon, Jamie’s ears were ringing from their raucous voices yelling out the lyrics of popular songs with little regard for the tunes. It was a relief to see them stumble across the wharf, leaving him to clean up the mess they had left.
Although he was desperate for a beer and a chance to unwind in The Grand with Cam or whoever else might be there, Jamie knew he didn’t have time. He’d promised to take care of young Archie to enable Gary and Mandy to go out for the evening, so he headed home, hoping a shower and change of clothes would work their magic and re-energise him.
As the blast of hot water hit him, Jamie was reminded of the day he and Erica had spent in the rock pool. They hadn’t known each other very long and were in the early stages of their relationship. It was when they emerged from the pool and stood together under the outside shower that they shared their first kiss. That was the moment when he knew Erica was the girl for him. Unlike this one, the shower that day had been cold, and they were both shivering when they left it to race to where they had left their towels, taking turns to rub each other dry before pulling their clothes on over their swimmers. Then they’d laughed, hugged and kissed again before heading back to their respective homes to pretend nothing earth-shattering had happened. But it had, and for Jamie, life would never be the same again.
The water was turning cold when he pulled his mind back to the present and the realisation he had to hurry, or he’d be late in arriving at Gary’s.
*
It was Jamie’s first experience of babysitting his grandson, and he was thrilled to have the opportunity of spending more time with little Archie, sure the boy was going to turn out to be a true Whittaker with the ocean in his blood. As soon as Gary had mentioned he wanted to do something special for Mandy’s birthday, Jamie had suggested his son take her to Crossings and offered to babysit. But now he was here, although he’d assured a dubious Mandy he could cope, Jamie realised how much he’d forgotten about looking after a small baby. When Rory and Gary were Archie’s age, it had been Cindy who did most of the work. He’d been too busy earning a living, leaving early morning on the fishing boat and returning in the evening, too exhausted to do more than have something to eat, take a hot bath and fall into bed. In retrospect, it was a miracle Cindy hadn’t left before she did.
At first, everything went well. Jamie fed the little boy, changed his nappy and put him to bed, delighted when he fell asleep right away. He went downstairs, made himself a coffee and cut a slice of the fruit cake Mandy had left for him. As he settled down to watch the footy on Gary’s widescreen television, he decided he’d offer to do this more often. It beat being alone in the cottage every night.
But that had been two hours ago. Archie hadn’t slept for long. First, Jamie heard a small whimper, which had soon escalated into a cry, then a scream. Fearing the worst, he rushed to the little boy’s bedroom to find him thrashing about in his cot, his face beetroot. First, he checked his nappy, then picked him up, trying to remember how Cindy had calmed their two when this happened. But his mind remained obstinately blank. Had he been such a bad father? Had he left it all to Cindy? Surely he had attempted to pacify Rory and Gary at least once?
Nothing worked, and Archie was becoming more and more distressed. Jamie knew he’d need to ask for help. Feeling foolish, he slid his phone out of his pocket and holding Archie in one arm, pressed the number of the one person he knew he could call on for help.
The phone rang and rang. Jamie had almost given up hope, wondering if he’d be forced to admit his failure to Mandy’s mum, Liz, and call her instead, risking becoming the laughingstock of all his friends. Then, to his relief, a familiar voice said, ‘Hello?’