Crashing Down (16 page)

‘Pull over!' she shouts to Dad.

He's just pulled into the emergency lane on the freeway and she's got the door open as vomit hits the bitumen. Gross, she thinks heaving again.
This can't be good for me or a baby. I'm a wreck.

‘Firstly, I want to assure you that this is an unwinnable case for the Kapulettis,' William Paterson says, pouring them all water.

‘Why is it even getting a hearing, then?' Lucy's dad asks. There's an edge of anger in his voice.

‘Their lawyer, Richmond Monte, is worse than an ambulance chaser.' Paterson pauses. ‘He is what I refer to as a coffin chaser.' He looks over at Lucy. ‘I'm sorry for having to say that, but you need to know that not many lawyers would take on a case like this. It's unscrupulous. Preying on the grief-stricken and wealthy. The only one who will win here is Monte.'

‘So, again, why is this even going before a judge?' Dad asks.

‘Monte has put us in to ethically shaky territory,' Paterson says. ‘Many men have tried to prevent a partner — or ex, as is usually the case — from having
an abortion, but no court has ever ruled in their favour. I have case law going back thirty-odd years showing how a “potential” father's rights are denied in favour of the mother's wishes. On those grounds, if Carl were alive he'd have no legal basis whatsoever to mount this case.'

‘Phew.' Lucy's mother's relief is audible. ‘That's the main issue, then.'

‘Well, yes — but unfortunately, it's not that clear-cut. The case law I've referred to has been about the father's rights. But Monte has referred to other aspects of case law.'

‘Such as?' Lucy's dad asks.

‘They are arguing for grandparents' rights. It's new, and doubtful at best — but we have to have a hearing in court.'

‘What does it mean?' Lucy says finally. ‘What can they do?'

‘Nothing yet, except delay the abortion,' Paterson says. ‘The courts will rush things through, given the nature of the case, but it may take a couple of days — a week at most.'

‘But what is their claim based on?' Mum asks.

‘Ownership of sperm … legal heir … fatherhood.
I have to tell you, Monte is throwing everything at us.' Paterson sips his water. ‘Because it's a novel, unprecedented submission, in the interests of procedural fairness, Judge Lund wants to hear it. But we are preparing.'

‘What's their case?' Dad asks.

‘In a nutshell, they are trying to exercise two rights — that of parent and grandparent. Neither has ever been recognised by the courts, but they have this — and it muddies the waters.' Paterson holds a piece of paper in his hand. ‘It's Carl's final wishes.'

‘And they are?' Dad asks.

‘To exercise his right as a father — to keep the baby.'

‘But you told us that none of these “father injunctions” have ever won in court,' her mum says. ‘Why is this any different?'

‘It's not,' Paterson concedes, ‘but Monte is arguing that it is. This piece of paper establishes Carl wanted children — in particular,
that
child.' He nods his head towards Lucy. ‘He told his doctor and she wrote down his wishes.'

‘Right,' Dad says, ‘I think I know where this is headed. They are using an argument that would be
applied if Carl had frozen sperm?'

‘In the first instance, yes.' Paterson nods. ‘A precedent has been set that posthumous retrieval is acceptable if there has ever been a manifestation of intent on the part of the deceased to procreate after death.'

‘What does Carl say?' Dad asks. Paterson reads from the paper.

‘Carl has expressed his intention to pursue the pregnancy and birth of his unborn child. If Lucy Wishart decides not to continue the pregnancy, he will use a lawyer to prevent this. If she proceeds with the pregnancy, he will raise and parent the child with no financial nor emotional input from her.'

Lucy can't breathe. Carl's final words are so final. They're hard to disregard.

‘Where did that come from?' Dad asks.

‘Carl's psychiatrist,' Paterson says. ‘She has included her case notes as well. While Carl was demonstrating some extremes of behaviour, she has noted that she discussed all the logistical possibilities with him and he understood them. It is clear, from this, that Carl's intention was to
challenge you legally, Lucy, had he not passed away.'

‘But it wouldn't have been successful,' Mum says. ‘That's what you indicated.'

‘True,' Paterson says, ‘but because that was Carl's intention, and they have it in writing, that's where this case becomes unprecedented.'

‘And the doctor's findings are admissible in a court of law?' Mum asks incredulously, ‘given Carl's physical and emotional state?'

‘I'm not saying they would hold up under scrutiny if this was a court case,' Paterson says, ‘but they are enough to get the Kapulettis a hearing. And that's all Monte really cares for.

‘And then there's the final twist in the tale. The court needs to decide whether sperm is property. If so, the Kapulettis are heir to that property. That also then allows for another argument, which does have precedents set in court: following conception, a child is considered “rightful heir” of the deceased father. They are arguing that they are the owners of Carl's property — his sperm. And as that sperm is part of a fertilised egg, it is now “his rightful heir” and therefore if you, Lucy, go ahead with an abortion, you are destroying Carl's property, the Kapulettis'
inheritance, and the “rightful heir” of anything else belonging to Carl.'

‘Seems a bit of a stretch,' Mum says.

‘It is,' Paterson agrees. ‘It's quite convoluted. But all unprecedented cases are — and then they set precedents that define law. The Kapulettis' lawyer has combined many different aspects of law just to build a case.'

‘What happens next?' Lucy asks.

‘The hearing,' Paterson says.

She was walking through Kings Park, holding Carl's hand. It was a beautiful day. The sky cloudless, a clear translucent blue. Below them the Swan River was streaked with trails of white as speedboats jetted across its glassy surface. Peaceful and tranquil. She felt his hand, twice the size of hers, enveloping her own. He squeezed it. She squeezed back. They didn't look at each other; there was no need to. They stopped at the War Memorial and read the names. He looked for Kapuletti, she for Wishart. There was one. A Corporal James Wishart. She traced the name with her fingers. Who were you? she wondered. What happened? Did you die in the trenches? Running across the muddied fields like a lamb to the slaughter? Did you survive
battle and then get hit by a car — or fall off a train on your way home — a decorated soldier? Carl came up behind her and wrapped his six foot four body around her. In terms of the space they occupied on this earth, he took up more than twice her allotment.

‘Hey,' he said, and she turned to face him. His face was a patchwork of emotion. Sadness, fear, thoughtfulness, wonder. ‘You okay?'

‘Yeah.' She slid her arm through his. ‘All good.'

‘I love you, Luce,' he said.

Lucy stares at her computer screen, the Facebook page — RIP Carlo Kapuletti. The comments and pictures make it difficult to breathe. Her recollections are endless. She keeps thinking about him, when things were good between them.

Carl loved her so much. She remembers how much. And now he is dead. It's unfathomable — how can he be dead? How? Her Carl. Her lovely kind and gentle Carl. These memories of him are real; the hospital Carl, an aberration. Dead. No. She holds her stomach — the last vestiges of him. His baby.

‘Oh Carl.' She sobs loudly. ‘It's not fair. So, so not fair.'

The case is scheduled to be heard before a judge in four days — a rushed case, as Paterson predicted. Lucy can't sleep. Or think. Or really do anything at all but think about Carl. This isn't a break-up, this is final. He's dead. She'll never see him again, hold his hand, kiss him, feel his love. He's gone. She can't wrap her head around it. When was he ever a bad boyfriend? A bad person? Never. He was loving and kind. And loved her so much. Sometimes too much — but that was who he was. And now he's no more. She can't understand it.

She hasn't heard or seen the Kapulettis since they issued the injunction against her. She doesn't want to feel angry towards them, but it's difficult not to. They are trying to control her — force her into doing something they want.
And what if?
What if the Kapulettis win and she's forced to continue the pregnancy, and then forced to hand the baby over? It seems like fiction — or another episode of
Offspring,
she wryly thinks.

The house is an imposing white mansion, at least three storeys high, and set in lavish green gardens behind wrought iron gates. It reeks of opulence and wealth. Lucy is surprised — she had no idea.
They must be loaded,
she thinks as she rings the doorbell. Inside she hears voices, the slam of a door and footsteps. The front door opens.

‘Hey, beautiful girl,' Mr Tan says hugging her. ‘Good to see you. How are you?'

‘Surviving,' she says, fighting back the tears.

‘True story,' Mr Tan says. ‘Aren't we all. Except …' And his face crumples.

‘Don't,' Lucy says.

‘I know.' He nods and his eyes are glistening. ‘I
watch JD — I think how lucky he is, how lucky I am. I think of Carl, his parents. It makes me shudder. There but for the grace of God …'

He steps back and Lucy enters the house.

‘How's JD?' she asks, gathering her composure and following him down the hallway. The house smells of ginger and coriander. The walls are lined with artwork. The pictures are bright swirls of colour, abstract and beautiful in feeling. The interior is light and airy.

Mrs Tan comes down the hallway.

‘This is Anh,' Mr Tan says.

‘Lucy.' Mrs Tan opens her arms and hugs her tightly. ‘Thank you for everything you've done. These have been such trying times for all of us.'

Lucy pulls back and shakes her head. ‘I've really not done anything.'

‘You have,' Mrs Tan says; she has tears in her eyes. ‘You've been there for JD and the boys and poor, poor Carl. Oh dear.' Mrs Tan wipes her eyes with a tissue.

‘Through here,' Mr Tan points, also overcome with emotion.

They walk into a large family room of vaulted ceilings and huge Palladian-style windows. On a
green leather couch sits JD, surrounded by a new metal contraption — both legs in casts, jutting in front of him like the legs of a shop mannequin.

‘So now you can ask him yourself,' Mr Tan says, smiling. ‘We got him back yesterday.'

‘Hi.' JD looks over without turning his head.

Lucy sees new screws are embedded in his skull, holding it firm. ‘Hey,' she says, sitting opposite him. ‘Home, hey?'

‘Yeah.' He tries not to cry. ‘I can't believe it.'

‘Me neither.' Lucy is holding back her own tears. ‘It's unreal.'

‘I just thought, after all this time, he was okay,' JD says. ‘I can't believe I'm alive and he's not. I never even got to see him after …'

‘I know,' Lucy says, but she realises she doesn't know. What can she know?

‘I feel so bad,' JD says.

‘You can't.' She shakes her head. ‘None of this is your fault. You're a victim, too — look at you.'

‘I wish it was me,' JD says softly. ‘I rolled the joint, thought it would chill him out. I gave it to him — I shouldn't have.'

‘You can't think like that,' she says. ‘Carl wouldn't
have wanted it.' And as she says it, she knows it's true. He wouldn't have.

‘He was my best friend,' JD says finally, allowing the tears to fall.

‘I know,' Lucy cries. ‘He loved you.'

There's a knock at the door and Big Al and Ben arrive, carrying a slab.

‘Hey.' Ben leans down to kiss her. ‘How are you?'

‘Terrible,' she says. ‘You?'

‘Same.' Ben opens a beer. ‘Want one?'

‘No thanks, I'm driving,' she says.

JD indicates no with his unbroken arm. ‘Too many meds. Off my face anyway.'

‘Here's to JD,' Al says, raising a beer, ‘and our mate Carl.'

‘JD and Carl,' they all say. Lucy and JD clink glasses of water together.

‘Funeral tomorrow,' Big Al says. ‘Ben is delivering the eulogy. If that's okay, Lucy?'

She nods. She doesn't even know if she's welcome at the funeral. But how can she not go? And do these guys know about the injunction? The pregnancy?

‘Do you want to say something tomorrow?' Ben asks.

She shakes her head. What would she say? What if she broke down? She can't cry in front of everyone — but not to say anything seems as damning, like she couldn't give a shit. She wishes she could stand tall and proud and deliver something in an even voice — but what? An apology? Carl is never going to hear it. And what would she be apologising for? That she got pregnant? That he is dead? That she feels guilty? She clutches her stomach. Too hard, too hard.

‘I'm not sure.' Her voice wavers. ‘I don't know.'

‘It's okay,' Ben says. ‘I'm not sure I can, either. I can't believe we are doing this. My mate's funeral. Fuck.' He turns away.

‘I wish I could come,' JD says eventually. He is quiet for a bit. ‘I guess from the beginning I thought he was dead. I never believed anyone when they said he was alive. Except you, Lucy, when you came to see me. But I guess I was so used to the idea that when it happened, it didn't really surprise me. It's just now — here, it becomes real. I can't believe it. And I can't be there.'

‘We'll live stream it, mate,' Al says in a thick voice. ‘His family in Italy want to see it.'