Page 84 of The Elements

He takes a deep breath and points toward the gate.

“There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that will make me get on that plane,” he says.

“Nothing you can say, nothing you can do. If you cause a fuss, I’ll throw some sort of fit, and security will have us both removed.

So it’s this simple: you can organize a hotel room for me and go on to Ireland alone, or we can both return to Sydney right now, together.

It’s your choice. I’m sorry. I had planned on seeing it through.

Honestly, I had. And I feel bad about leaving you to do this without me.

This isn’t something I planned, and I’m not trying to let you down.

Especially today. On your birthday. If it’s still your birthday.

” He pauses for a moment and frowns. “Is it still your birthday?” he asks.

“I mean, with the time difference, is it still today? Or yesterday? Or—”

“Emmet!” I snap. Global time zones are the last thing on my mind right now.

“Sorry. OK. Anyway, my point is I don’t see why I should give her this when she’s given me nothing.”

“Other than life, you mean.”

He crosses his arms defensively and shakes his head.

I’ve dealt with a lot of children and teenagers throughout my career, and they can be difficult in any one of a thousand ways.

Another parent might panic at a declaration like this, and I will admit I’m starting to grow unnerved as we’re under severe time pressure. But I have to remain calm.

“You must want a better relationship with her,” I say.

“I used to. I don’t really care anymore.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Look, she’s a complicated woman. You don’t know what she’s been through.”

He laughs. “What?” he asks sarcastically. “What has she been through? As far as I can see, she’s done everything her way, always. Made her own decisions. Let us both down.”

I remain silent. Of course, he knows nothing about the realities of Rebecca’s past. We’ve both kept that from him.

“She doesn’t love me, Dad,” he continues, and I can see tears forming in his eyes. “Not like you love me.”

“She does,” I insist. “She just doesn’t know how to express it, that’s all. She’s damaged. We’re both damaged.”

“You’re not.”

“I am, Emmet.”

“How?” he asks, sounding intrigued now, perhaps hearing something in my tone that tells him that he might not know me quite as well as he thinks he does, but I shake my head.

“That’s a conversation for another time,” I say. “Right now, we have bigger things to worry about. We have to go. We have to.”

“Why?”

“Because—Jesus!—I loved her once, Emmet, that’s why. Very much. Very deeply. We got married. We planned a life together. And we created you.”

“So you go, then. You be there for her if it’s so important to you.”

“Not without you. No. I know you’re angry with her but—”

“I have no feelings about her one way or the other,” he says, the crack in his voice showing that he’s almost overwhelmed by the complexity of his emotions and his inability to negotiate them. The jet lag is probably only adding to his stress.

“And you have every reason to feel that way,” I continue calmly. “But trust me, now is not the time to act upon those feelings. This is a moment in life when your mother needs you. She needs both of us, whether she realizes it or not. And she will be glad that we’re there.”

He stares at me. I sense a chink in his armor. I’ve found myself in moments like this before, in professional settings, and know that I just need to prize it open. Very carefully.

“The loss of a parent can cause people to think differently about their lives,” I tell him. “I’ve seen it many times in my work.”

“You work with children.”

“And sometimes children lose their parents. Jacob lost Jackie, remember?”

He looks away and swallows, considering this.

Jacob is one of his closest friends, part of the gang he hangs around with at the beach, a boy who’s spent countless nights sleeping in the top bunk in Emmet’s bedroom since they were kids.

His mother passed away from cancer just over a year ago and Jacob has handled his grief admirably.

“I remember,” he says.

“And you were there for him. You and Damian. And Shane and Maxie. I’ve watched you all. I’ve seen how much you’ve helped him.”

“Cos he’s our friend.”

“And Rebecca’s your mum. She’ll be thinking about you now, I know she will.”

He turns to look at me. He wants reassurance.

“How do you know that?” he asks.

“Because I understand people. I’m trained to understand them. It’s the one thing I know I can do well.”

What feels like an endless silence lingers between us, and when he speaks again, his determination seems to have diminished a little.

“If she’d wanted us to come,” he says, “wouldn’t she have said so?”

“That’s not her way. You don’t know her like I do.”

“Of course I don’t,” he says, bursting into a bitter laugh. “I barely know her at all. That’s the problem.”

“And this is an opportunity to start rectifying that.”

“That’s on her, not me.”

“You’re right. You are absolutely right.

And one day, I have no doubt that you and she will sit down and discuss your relationship.

When that day comes, you’ll be able to tell her that you flew halfway across the world at this crucial moment because you wanted to support her.

I’m not trying to pit you against each other, you know I’ve never done that, but trust me, that is a card you’ll be able to pull out of your deck when the moment arrives. ”

“I shouldn’t need a fucking card,” he whispers, wiping tears away now. He’s an emotional boy, he always has been, but he hasn’t cried in front of me in a long time. When something upsets him, he tends to take to his room.

“No, you shouldn’t,” I agree, knowing that I can’t put an arm around him, even though I want to. To pull him close would be to push him away. “But you have one.”

“She didn’t even speak to me on the phone,” he says, his tone softening.

“Perhaps she was worried that you’d say no to coming.”

“I would have said yes.”

“And you did say yes. You said yes when I told you what had happened. When I suggested we go over. You said yes then.”

“Only because I knew you wouldn’t have let me stay home alone. Even though I’m fourteen.”

“ Only fourteen,” I repeat. “The preposition—”

“Adverb!”

“Jesus, fine! The adverb! The point is, you did agree, Emmet. You agreed instantly. You want to go; I know you do. Even if you’re nervous about what awaits us at the other end. You want to be there for her.”

The announcement comes. First-class passengers can board now. We still have a few minutes until business is called.

“No,” he says, looking down at the floor.

In front of us, I notice another family—a husband, wife, and a boy about my son’s age—stand up and gather their hand luggage.

They look so full of energy and excitement that I assume they’re traveling directly from Dubai and haven’t endured a thirteen-hour flight already.

As they leave their seats, the mother throws an arm around her son’s shoulder, kisses him on the cheek, and they walk on together in perfect contentment.

The boy turns to her to say something, and she bursts out laughing.

I see Emmet watching them too, and he looks desolate.

Once again, he points at the gate.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he says, shaking his head.

“I really am. I promise, I’m not doing this to hurt you.

Or to hurt her. But there is absolutely no way that I’m getting on that plane to Dublin.

None. You either book me a hotel here, a flight home, or I just sleep in this airport for the next five nights. It’s up to you.”