“You’re Caleb Knight?” the man said, and for a moment he just stood there and stared at Caleb, and in the man’s eyes Caleb saw a world of pain and loss. Then he gave a bittersweet smile while he wiped his hands on the tea towel before thrusting out his hand. “I’m Dave. Thank you so much for coming,” he said, before pulling him into a stiff man hug.
Caleb knew he was in trouble. He was already choking up and he hadn’t even got inside the door.
“Come and meet the little guy,” Dave said, leading Caleb into a family room peppered with shoes and abandoned toys while on the table sat a basket piled high with laundry.
In the kitchen in the corner the remnants of breakfast were littered all over the bench. And there, on the other side of the room stood the bassinet.
Dave rounded the basket, his hands on the side of the bassinet, gently rocking it. “He’s sleeping now, thank god. Took me ages to get him settled after the school run, but finally he’s asleep and I can get something done.” He looked around the room. “Sorry about the state of the place,” he said. “I’m not too good at keeping house.”
Caleb shook his head, not bothered in the least, and staring down at the tiny creature in the bassinet, the cupid bow of his mouth, the nub of nose and the even tinier fingers wrapped around his turned down sheet.
“He was three weeks prem, but he’s doing well. He’s a tough little bugger, that’s for sure.”
Caleb nodded, searching for something to say. “I don’t know much about babies, but this one looks pretty good.”
“You don’t have kids?”
“No.” He’d always imagined he’d have a clutch of kids by now.
His mum had been hoping for grandchildren from the day he and Angie married. But those dreams had turned to dust with his divorce, and with neither him nor his brother looking like hooking up with someone permanent, their mum was going to have to go on hoping.
“We’ve got three,” Dave said. “Sylvie’s six and Anthony’s five and just started school. Makes for some interesting mornings,” he added, with a hollow laugh that ended with him blinking his eyes and reaching for his tea towel as he turned away.
It was excruciating. God only knew how the man coped.
“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat as he moved to the mantelpiece nearby and picked up a picture.
A smiling woman looked out of the photo. Caleb barely recognised her, he’d been concentrating on getting her out and the ambos had had her all masked up while he’d worked, but the brunette hair – yeah – he remembered that. And he remembered the ambos talking urgently to each other. He remembered their desperate, “We’re losing her.” He remembered wielding the Jaws of Life like it was his own loved one – his own wife – trapped inside the mangled wreck, battling the twisted metal. Battling time. He remembered the, “She’s gone,” and Caleb’s gut descending to the depths of despair. Caleb closed his eyes. There were some things you should be able to forget.
Dave smiled down at the picture. “Sally was such a great mum. She loved the kids so much. And, boy,” he said, looking around again, “she’d sure go ape if she saw how I’ve let the house go—”
His words stalled. This time he didn’t bother trying to hide the tears. Carefully, almost reverently, he put the photo back on the mantel and placed his fingers on another, of his wife, with their two children in her arms and sitting on a horse drawn tram. Victor Harbor, he recognised, with Granite Island behind. His folks had taken Dylan and him there once for a family holiday when they were kids. Happy memories, only now there would be no happy family shots of the five of this family. No more pictures of Sally with her arms around three kids this time.
“Oh, god, sorry,” Dave said with a sniff, returning to the bassinet. “I didn’t ask you over so I could cry all over you.”
“It’s okay,” Caleb said, his throat suddenly two sizes too small, cursing himself for not being able to save her.
Cursing a drunk nineteen-year-old who’d got his girlfriend to drive and who’d subsequently been charged with two counts of manslaughter, but that was hardly going to help this man now. He watched Dave return to the bassinet, his fingers stroking the sleeping baby’s brow, his grief palpable.
“Anyway,” he said, smiling down at the sleeping baby, “Sally and I had the name picked out. We knew it was a boy. We’d spent entire evenings going through all the baby name books until we finally settled on one we both liked. Harry Alexander O’Dwyer.
“We were all ready for the big day. Sally could hardly wait. And then – well you were there, you know what happened. And the silly thing is, she shouldn’t have been there. She only went out for milk. I’d had a couple of beers with dinner and she wouldn’t let me go. Joked that it was her last chance to drive while she could still fit behind the wheel.”
Caleb closed his eyes against the sheer dumb luck of it all. He hadn’t known that bit. Imagined being in his place and didn’t know how this man would ever forgive himself for that. The baby sighed in its sleep and Caleb sighed with it. Damn straight.
“Anyway,” Dave continued, “I know Sal’s somewhere up there smiling down on the kids and no doubt scowling at me for being such a shit housekeeper, but when the doctors operated on Sal and when they let me see him in the crib for the first time, and he wrapped his tiny hand around my finger – I knew she’d be with me one hundred per cent agreement on this.”
A tear fell on the baby’s cheek,
