The next day I had an epiphany about my dad. When Kevin drove out for work, I went to the living room where Mum had a desktop computer set up in the corner. I had my own laptop so never used this one and I didn’t even know if it still worked. I pressed the button on the front but nothing happened. When I looked under the desk I saw the problem. I plugged it into the wall and this time it started up.
I sat down and waited for the password prompt. Mum’s password hadn’t changed in years – Sunshine0000.
Taking a deep breath, I typed ‘David Moore’ into the computer’s search window. I was banking on the chance that Mum had kept some sort of email contact with my father, or that there would be files somewhere, pertaining to him. I pressed enter and the search began loading.
It was taking its time and that generally meant there were no files. But suddenly something came up in the list. It was an email. I clicked it open.
It was from Connelly Barton Family Lawyers, dated a month and a half ago.
Dear Mr Horsham,
Regarding your inquiry into the consent orders for Sunshine Maguire, in order to formalise legal guardianship of your stepdaughter you should approach the biological father, David Moore, and propose that application for consent orders are filed in the Family Court of Australia for Sunny to live with you. If Mr Moore consents, the Court makes the orders, which remain in place until the child is 18 years of age unless it is varied prior to that time …
I read back through the email trail. Kevin had sent a brief email to the lawyers asking about custody and this email had been their reply. After that there was nothing. With a pounding heart, I re-read the email a few times until I was sure about what it was saying, but it seemed pretty clear: Kevin wanted to formalise his legal guardianship, and it was up to my real father to let that happen. Or not.
I searched through the email address book and found my dad’s name. There was also a mobile number and a Brisbane address. I checked the sent items under his name. Kevin had not yet contacted him.
I took out my phone and entered the details. Under contact name, I put ‘Dad’.
It was Saturday and I was looking forward to my first shift at the fish and chip shop. I hoped it would take my mind off things. Kevin came home late in the afternoon, just as I was heading out to my bike.
‘I can give you a lift,’ he said, passing me on the back porch.
‘It’s okay. I want to ride,’ I said.
‘Okay. Does the headlight on your bike work?’
‘Yes. I checked it.’ I grabbed my bike from where it leant against the veranda.
‘Sunny, can we have a quick chat before you go?’
‘What about?’
‘I saw Zara’s mum today. She said she saw you in a car.’
‘What, when?’
‘The other day. She said Matthew Bright was driving.’
‘Look, can we talk about this later?’ I said, wheeling my bike away. ‘I’ll be late if I don’t leave now.’
‘Okay. Later. But listen, I don’t like you keeping things from me.’
I shook my head. Who was he to lecture me about withholding things? He was holding back something pretty major as if this huge decision had nothing to do with me. I felt like shouting at him: Well, isn’t there something else we should be discussing? But no. What would be the point of that? We’d only fight again. And he’d clearly decide to keep quiet about the fact that my real dad could, if he wanted to, have legal custody of me.
I’d spent ages that day lying on my bed, staring at the photo of him with me on Rocket, wondering what to do; but there was clearly only one course of action.
I would have to contact him myself.
As I rode into town I felt a little lighter and happier. I had made a decision. I was going to call my father. I’d arrange to meet him. I bet he’d like me. I was his kid after all.
I rode up to Leanne’s shop just as the sun was going down. As I leant my bike against the electricity pole out the front, the main street lamps flickered on. Inside, Leanne was already run off her feet. The farmers would be in soon, hungry after a hard day, and ready to line their stomachs with some grease before they headed over to the pub.
‘There you are!’ Zara appeared from the kitchen, and it took me a moment to realise what was going on. She was wearing an apron.
‘Oh,’ I said.
‘I’m working here, too. Isn’t it great?’ She winked and I wasn’t sure if she was being sarky or not.
Leanne came out carrying a bag of frozen chips in one hand and I frowned at her, trying to convey with my look the questions: Why have you put Zara on? and Why have you put her on the same shift as me? But she was a bad thought-reader.
‘You know Zara, don’t you, Sunny?’ Leanne asked, emptying chips into the fryer basket.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Can you show her the ropes with the fryers?’ she said, heading out back.
‘Right.’ I looked at Zara who gave me a broad smile.
She shrugged. ‘Thank my mum.’
‘Okay then,’ I said. ‘Well, wait here. I’ve got to get some more paper.’
I went out into the kitchen and Leanne looked up at me from her chopping board.
‘What’s going on?’ I whispered so Zara wouldn’t hear.
‘You know how busy weekends get. Friday and Saturday nights especially. I thought it would be nice for you to have some company.’
‘We managed alright by ourselves last summer.’
‘Things are busier lately.’ Leanne placed the knife on its tip on the green board. ‘Anyway, I owe her mother a favour. Is there a problem, Sunny?’
I glanced back over my shoulder. Zara appeared in the doorway. The truth was, I
