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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 Maori.
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 Maori atua or god of the ocean, the son of Ranginui and Papatuanuku, 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.
