Across the Dreaming Night by Judith White

Author:Judith White [Judith White]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781869796617
Publisher: Penguin Random House New Zealand
Published: 2011-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

‘Anyway, Matt,’ Scott is saying, ‘we are going to have to talk about things.’

‘What,’ says Matt.

‘This little baby here.’

‘Well?’

‘Well, she belongs to someone else.’

‘No, Scott, she’s mine now. Her mother is dead.’

‘And her father is alive.’

‘No … well. Yes, but … I was chosen …’

‘Come off it, Matt. What are you talking about?’

‘I saved her. I saved her father. He would have drowned and I saved him. And I rescued Dylana.’

‘That doesn’t mean to say she’s yours. Finders keepers does not work with people, Matthew. If you find an old lady lying in the gutter it doesn’t mean to say she’s your mother. We’ll have to take Dylana in, to the authorities. That’s all there is to it.’

‘No, you can’t. She’s mine.’

‘You’ll have to stay somewhere else then.’

‘All right then, I will. You’re not going to blackmail me. It just shows how much you care. One minute you pretend you’re worried about the baby and then you’re prepared to throw us both out. Well, we’ll go then.’

Scott looks exasperated, pissed off. His knee is jittering like a jigger. Fritha looks cocky: ah ha, so you think it’s so easy, don’t you? It’s over to you, matey. Nothing to do with me, anyway.

Dylana starts grizzling, drops her carrot.

‘I’ll have to tell Mum and Dad,’ says Scott.

‘That’s okay. We’ll run away. We’ll live under a bridge. You’ll never find us. I should have stayed at the bach.’

‘God, Matt. You’re pathetic’ Scott stands up. Fritha twiddles with a strand of wet hair, an eyebrow lifted.

Matt jumps up as Scott prepares to leave the room. ‘Where are you going?’

Scott looks back at him.

‘I’m putting your baby to bed. She needs a sleep.’

Fritha stays in the kitchen while Matt follows Scott down the hallway. She is thinking of Bruce coming back from the airport and finding his plants gone. It serves him right for growing marijuana on her parents’ farm. If only they’d known what he was up to — though they probably wouldn’t even know what it was. She rests her head on her arms on the table.

Finally the two men return to the kitchen.

‘Hey, Frith,’ says Scott. ‘You okay?’ She is too tired to move. She lifts her head an inch, looks at Scott and slithers off the chair to the floor in a faint.

Scott scoops her up and takes her to his bed. To his dark bedroom with the thick red curtains drawn closed and the big double bed and the high ceiling and the air musty and personal, where she curls foetus-like under the blankets on this summer’s day. The cicadas sing their muffled song and there’s the ancient voice of a baby crying as Fritha finally floats from the groaning half-faint into sleep.

Scott sits on the edge of the bed stroking her head, her tousled head buried in the pillow, until, when he is sure she is truly asleep, he creeps out.

Creeps to the door and opens it so as not to disturb her and there is Matt standing in

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