said Grafton, ‘I just didn’t realise it would be so …’
‘Presidential?’ suggested Janet.
‘Yes. I mean, I hadn’t really thought about it but … yes.’
‘That’s why you need to get packing my dear.’
‘Yes. Packing indeed,’ and Grafton headed towards the stairs. He stopped once and turned around. ‘Anything we want, did you say?’
‘Within reason,’ repeated Janet with emphasis.
Grafton mounted the stairs, noting they seemed to be not as steep as usual.
The next day, Lee-Anne arrived.
It was less an arrival than an invasion.
The First Wave was the block-long limo that edged its way down their narrow street, almost taking the side mirrors off the parked cars. The door swung open and Lee-Anne burst out, wearing a lime-green boiler suit and huge sunglasses which gave her a passable resemblance to a mantis. She was followed by her husband Wayne, a short stocky man with orange hair gelled up into spikes. Since he had a bald patch in the middle of his head, it gave the impression he was wearing a paper crown from a Christmas cracker.
Wayne had his phone pressed to his ear and was apparently dealing with some complicated business. As Lee-Anne swung open the iron gate to the Everest townhouse, a third person emerged from the limo, stooped at first but then unfolding into her full height. She was a woman of African appearance – possibly Maasai – dressed in a long gown of brilliant opalescent blues and greens and holding Grafton’s grandson in her arms.
Before Lee-Anne could even knock, Janet opened the door and welcomed her only child with outflung arms as Grafton plodded down the stairs behind, annoyed that he had to put on pants and a shirt. He met Lee-Anne in the hall for a hug and a brief handshake with Wayne, who dropped the phone to his chest briefly for the occasion before resuming the conversation. Grafton then turned to see what seemed like a stilt-walker in a brilliant evening gown.
‘This is our nanny Kiki,’ said Lee-Anne, introducing her.
The nanny stepped forward and handed the baby to Janet, who hugged him to her bosom.
‘Oh he’s gorgeous. He’s grown already!’
Kiki then stepped forward and offered her hand to Grafton. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said in a soft African accent.
‘Me too,’ gulped Grafton stupidly, shaking the long fingers awkwardly with his short pudgy ones, thrown slightly by looking upwards at a face higher than his own. Kiki smiled a warm African smile and said, in a voice that sounded like a leopard purring, ‘Lee-Anne has told me so much about you.’
This reduced Grafton to water. He smiled hopelessly and blurted some vowels, none of which were arranged into words, then muttered, ‘You too,’ which made no sense since he had no previous knowledge of this statuesque woman’s existence.
The normal chit-chat about ‘How was your flight?’ was redundant because Lee-Anne and entourage had flown from Los Angeles on Wayne’s private jet. The best Janet could manage was, ‘Do you have any luggage?’ (a hint that Grafton should perhaps go outside and carry in bags).
‘No, it’s already gone to the hotel,’ said Lee-Anne, whipping off the sunglasses and looking around the house.
‘You don’t want to stay here?’ Janet asked.
‘Too many of us,’ said Lee-Anne. ‘But we’ll stay for lunch. I thought you’d like to see Justice.’
Justice, of course, was the baby – Justice Singlet – which Grafton immediately thought sounded like someone wearing ‘just a singlet’. This was not a problem in the US where the Americans called a singlet a ‘vest’, but in Australia, introducing someone as ‘Justice Singlet’ would surely elicit mirth.
‘How was he on the flight?’ asked Janet, gazing at her sleeping grandson.
‘Justice was fine. Justice flies a lot. Justice never seems to mind. Justice sleeps most of the time.’ Lee-Anne’s odd manner of speech arose from the fact that she refused to gender her child by using male or female pronouns. For her, it was up to the individual to decide their own gender when they reached adulthood and she was planning a full-on Gender Party for Justice when Justice reached the age of eighteen. Until the Time of the Gendering, Lee-Anne was resolved to eschew the use of pronouns and, since she disapproved of synthetic pronouns or the confusing ‘they’, she would only use Justice’s name when referring to Justice.
(It was important to note that the gender chosen at the Gendering could be varied at any time throughout a person’s life, though it was not thought that any subsequent regendering warranted a party.)
‘What a good baby,’ said Janet fondly, recalling that Lee-Anne herself cried non-stop for the first year.
‘Yes, Justice is pretty good,’ said Lee-Anne. ‘God, this house is so much smaller than I remembered.’
‘It’s actually too big for us,’ said Janet.
‘And so we’re moving somewhere bigger,’ said Grafton.
‘Yes, congratulations, Daddy,’ said Lee-Anne. ‘Wow! President. That’s awesome. Think of what you’ll be able to do.’
That was exactly what Grafton had been trying to do but so far, nothing was forthcoming.
‘Would you like to hold your grandperson?’ offered Janet, holding Justice out to Grafton.
‘Sure,’ said Grafton, awkwardly taking the swaddled infant into his arms. In his peripheral vision it seemed that Kiki tensed slightly at seeing her precious charge entrusted to an uncertified bearer, but Grafton was comfortable holding babies: he quite liked babies and identified with them, arguably still being one himself. Then the doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be the caterers,’ said Lee-Anne. ‘We knew you’d be packing so I arranged lunch.’
And so the Second Wave arrived: a seemingly endless line of waiters and cooks who poured out of a van like clowns from a clown car. Fitting, thought Grafton, given Lee-Anne’s championship of the clown community.
The family retreated to the patio as the invaders poured down the passageway and into the kitchen where they took charge. Within minutes the table under the pergola was set with fine crockery and glassware, and a trestle table with a full buffet had appeared beneath the purple wisteria racemes. Incredible, thought Grafton watching the chafing dishes being opened by white-clad chefs. Thirty years of parenting has finally paid off.
Over lunch, during which, let it be told, Wayne’s phone never left his ear, they discussed the projects that he and Lee-Anne were involved in. Though the lunch was lavish, Grafton was disappointed to find that it was vegan. Nevertheless, the caterers seemed to have disguised the taste of vegetable matter so well that he actually enjoyed it.
As he devoured small patties of unknown composition, Lee-Anne explained the radical concept that had made Wayne a billionaire: EAI or Ethical AI. Grafton was still in the dark about what AI meant and Lee-Anne had to explain it meant Artificial Intelligence. Grafton nodded. This was not a new concept to him. Having worked in universities for forty
