The Perfect Fit

by Mary Jayne Baker

  He looked so miserable, I couldn’t help relenting a bit. I took a seat in his manky old armchair, indicating a stool opposite for him.

  ‘Talk to me, Dad,’ I said in a gentler voice. ‘What’s this all about?’

  He sat down and leaned on his knees, digging his fists into his cheeks. ‘Oh, you know. Worry I’ve let life pass me by. One last chance to grab it by the balls. You’ll understand when you get to my age.’

  ‘But it hasn’t passed you by,’ I said. ‘You’ve got two kids, a partner, a granddaughter who loves you to bits. You’re captain of the darts team. What more do you want?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said in the same flat voice. ‘Just to be doing something that matters. One final thrill before it’s too late.’

  ‘Now you’re being morbid. You’re only sixty. It’s the new forty, isn’t that what they say?’

  ‘Still. It’s an age that makes you think.’

  I dipped my head to catch his gaze. ‘Cyn told me about the health scare,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He sighed. ‘You get so used to your body being yours, don’t you? Doing what you tell it, Old Reliable. Until the day you realise there’s a traitor in your midst. Bloody terrifying.’

  ‘It was just a scare, Dad. You’re ok.’

  ‘But I might not’ve been. And one day it won’t just be a scare, will it? It’ll be the real thing.’

  ‘You could’ve talked to me, you know.’

  He smiled sadly. ‘No, love. I might be a bit of a fuck-up, but I’m still your dad. Have to protect you and Cam from the big bad world, don’t I?’

  ‘We’re adults. We protect each other now, all of us. And you’re not a fuck-up.’

  ‘Maybe not in one way.’ He reached out to squeeze my wrist. ‘I’ve given two things to the world I’m obscenely proud of.’

  I smiled. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘It’s a funny thing, life. Every day follows every day, and you keep thinking there’ll be a tomorrow when it gives you everything you need. But John Lennon had it right, I think. Life is what happens when you’re making other plans.’ He laughed. ‘God, I’m a depressing bastard.’

  ‘You are not. You’re my dad.’ I took his hand. ‘What about your family? Did we happen while you were making other plans?’

  He smiled. ‘You were the times life did give me what I needed. You and your brother, and little Pip. But after the scare, I just felt so… empty. Aching.’

  ‘Oh… Dad.’ I gave the hand I was holding a squeeze. ‘You know I love you. Hate seeing you like this.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Boo. I just need this little time to find where I’m going, that’s all. My head’s so full I can’t sleep.’

  I shot him a worried glance. ‘Is that why you’ve been staying out so late? Cyn’s worried sick about you.’

  ‘No,’ he said, avoiding my gaze. ‘No, that’s… something else.’

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart?’

  ‘You do still love Cyn, don’t you?’

  ‘Course I do. Nothing that’s going on in here can change that,’ he said, tapping his temple.

  ‘Only some men your age, when they get to feeling a bit… well, mortal, they start thinking back to their youth. Getting full of the joys of spring, if you take my meaning.’

  He frowned. ‘Eh?’

  ‘Cyn thinks you might be sleeping with someone else.’

  He snorted. ‘Does she? The daft cow.’

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ I said, frowning. ‘She’s really worried. And I’m not going to have a go at you about it now, but I know you’ve got history in that department. My mum?’

  He flinched. ‘Cyn told you about that, did she?’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘That was different though. Me and your mum, we knew our marriage was over long before I met Cyn. Then when I did it was just, bam, you know? I knew she was the one, right away.’

  ‘Yet you’ve never asked her to marry you.’

  He shrugged. ‘I tried that once. If it taught me anything, it’s that marriage is nothing without love. And if you’ve got love, why bother with marriage?’

  ‘What about what Cyn wants?’

  ‘She never said she wanted to get married.’

  ‘No. But I think she might’ve liked to be asked,’ I said. ‘So if it’s not another woman, where have you been going?’

  He looked embarrassed, scratching at the paintwork on the old stool with his fingernail.

  ‘Just a little project. Old hobby I’m getting back into.’

  ‘At two in the morning? What is it, bat-watching?’

  ‘All right, Boo, I’ll tell you. But only if you promise you won’t take the piss.’

  I frowned. ‘Why would I take the piss?’

  ‘Because you’re my daughter and it’s your favourite thing.’

  ‘Oh Christ. What is it?’

  ‘I’ve been in Pagey’s garage with Billy and a few lads from the Fox.’

  ‘What, smoking weed?’

  ‘No. Well, sometimes.’ His half-stoned eyes sparkled. ‘It’s just, me and the boys… we’re putting a band together.’

  ‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me.’ I buried my face in my hands, half laughing, half weeping, till the tears stung my eyes.

  ***

  ‘Becky!’

  The voice had been calling my name for a good minute.

  ‘Becky Finn! Where are you?’

  The wall felt cool against my hot forehead. I groaned softly. I was quite content where I was, alone in my dad’s shed. If the voice would only go away.

  ‘Must’ve gone home, Marc,’ a Deano voice said. ‘Come on. We’re the last ones.’

  ‘She would’ve said goodbye.’ There was a pause, then a soft knock at the door. ‘Becks?’ a voice whispered. ‘You hiding?’

  ‘Go ’way. Becky’s not here.’

  ‘There you go,’ Deano said. ‘Told you she went home.’

  ‘You’re a funny boy, Deano. Go say bye to Danny and Cynthia, I’ll be out in a minute.’

  The door opened a crack, and Marcus slid himself in.

  ‘Dark in here,’ he observed observantly.

  I shot him a thumbs-up, not moving my head from its resting place. ‘That’s what I like about you, Marc. Never afraid to state the bleeding obvious.’

  He stumbled around until he located the overhead lamp and flicked it on.

  ‘How’s the wall, Becks?’

  ‘Awesome. Top wall. Best wall I’ve leaned my head against while groaning pitifully in, ooh, weeks.’

  ‘Want to tell me what’s up?’

  ‘Ok.’ I stood up straight and turned to face him. ‘My future husband seems incapable of making a good impression on my parents, no matter how much I force him into their company. I may have made Egglethwaite sound like Yorkshire’s answer to Sodom and Gomorrah to a social worker responsible for deciding whether it’s a suitable place to raise a child. Oh, and my sixty-year-old father’s become a weed-smoking rock-and-roller with embarrassing hair. That enough?’

  ‘You’ve had some afternoon, haven’t you?’

  ‘Mmm. One for the family album.’

  ‘Here.’ He sat on the arm of the comfy chair and patted the cushion. I sank into it with another deep groan.

  ‘Want to see some magic?’

  ‘Not the time, Marc.’

  ‘Sure it is. It’s always the time for magic.’ He reached into his pocket for a pack of cards. ‘You once asked me to show you a card trick. Seems only fair, now I’ve got the necessary equipment.’

  I gave a sigh of resignation. ‘All right, Gambit, if you must.’

  ‘Here’s one you’ll like.’ He shuffled the cards, then fanned them out in front of me.r />
  ‘Pick a card, any card, right?’

  ‘You’ve done this before.’

  I extracted a card and glanced at it.

  ‘Now put it back anywhere in the pack,’ Marc said.

  I did as he asked, and he started shuffling again.

  ‘Erm, Marc?’ I said after a minute of him shuffling absently.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Oh, right, yeah.’ He nodded to an upturned plant pot. ‘Look under there.’

  I went to the pot and lifted it. Sure enough, there was a playing card underneath.

  ‘Three of Diamonds,’ I said, picking it up. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Your card, right?’

  ‘Um, yeah.’ I stared at him. ‘How’d you do that? You never even moved!’

  He shrugged. ‘Easy when you know how.’

  ‘Come on, tell me.’

  ‘Sorry. Trade secret.’

  ‘Please. I won’t tell anyone, cross my heart.’

  ‘Nope. If I start revealing my secrets to girls I’m trying to impress, I’ll lose all my sexy magical mystery.’

  I took my seat again, fixing him with an impressed gaze. ‘Ok, I take back anything I ever said about you not being a proper magician.’

  He smiled as he put the cards away. ‘And you feel better, right?’

  ‘I do a bit. Thanks, Marc.’

  ‘It’s really not so bad, you know. What happened today.’

  I sighed. ‘It’s pretty bad. If I’ve ruined Lana and Stew’s adoption chances, I’ll never forgive myself.’

  ‘What did you actually tell the adoption lady?’

  ‘I told her Stew was tabloid bad boy Harper Brady’s cousin. I told her Kit Beeton’s hot-tub orgies were the talk of the village. I told her Lana and Stew once posed nude for a calendar… oh God.’ I buried my face in my hands. ‘Ok, now I feel worse again.’

  He flicked a hand dismissively. ‘That’s nothing.’

  ‘How can you say it’s nothing?’

  ‘So Stew’s got an embarrassing relative. Not his fault. Anyway, they’d have found that out from the background checks.’

  ‘What about the other stuff?’

  ‘Well, the calendar was for charity. It’s not so shocking nowadays, is it? Loads of respectable people take their clothes off for calendars. And she’ll know the thing about Kit was a joke.’

  ‘Will she though?’

  ‘Even if she doesn’t, she’s not going to write them off based on the word of somebody she got chatting to at a garden party. They’ll make great parents. That’s all she cares about.’

  ‘What about my dad?’

  ‘Oh, he’ll get over it. To be honest, his mid-life crisis symptoms are pretty mild.’

  ‘Doing drugs at a children’s party? Are you kidding?’

  ‘My dad went through something similar a few years ago. Blew his and Mum’s savings on a trip to Thailand to “find himself”.’ He paused. ‘Then he met someone else out there and decided to move permanently.’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, casting his eyes down. ‘Tore the family apart. Me and Deano don’t really talk to him now.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Marc.’ I took his hand and gave it a squeeze. ‘Bet that was tough.’

  ‘On Mum it was. God, we would’ve loved it if he’d just rolled a few joints and locked himself in the shed.’ He glanced around. ‘Speaking of sheds, we should really get out of this one. There’s a fat spider over there looking at us like we might make a tasty snack.’

  ‘I’ll see you next week, won’t I? Our first script meeting?’

  ‘Looking forward to it. Hey.’ He stood up and pulled me to my feet. ‘Before we go.’

  He drew me into his arms for a hug. It was a good hug. Sort of bearish and unrestrained, his arms wrapping firmly across my back to squeeze me tight. An appreciative sigh escaped me.

  ‘No more worrying, ok?’ he whispered. ‘You had a lot to deal with today, Becks. I was proud of you.’

  ‘Yeah. Thanks, Marc.’

  Chapter 11

  ‘You look pretty,’ Cole said when he discovered me in the kitchen one evening, distributing maize-based snacks into bowls. He fingered my strappy top. ‘Is this for my benefit?’

  ‘Sadly not. Marc’s coming round to work on the panto script.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I thought I could take a night off and we could spend the evening together.’

  I turned and put my arms around him. ‘I’m sorry, love, you should’ve said. It’s too late to reschedule now, he’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘No, my fault. I shouldn’t expect you to be free at the drop of a hat now you’re such a pillar of the community,’ he said, smiling. ‘Still…’

  ‘What? I know that voice.’

  ‘I do think they ask rather a lot of you, Becky.’ He ran a finger under my eye. ‘You look exhausted.’

  I was tired, but it wasn’t the panto causing the sleepless nights. It was Dad. He was still out till all hours, poisoning himself with booze and God knew what else. The family were worried sick.

  I hadn’t confided my worries to Cole though. When it came to the law, he was always so… upright. For Cole, just the word ‘drugs’ was enough to conjure Trainspotting-esque images of filthy smack dens and crumpled tinfoil. I couldn’t help feeling he wouldn’t understand.

  ‘Who are “they”?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, you know. The pantomime people.’

  ‘I am the pantomime people. It was my idea.’

  ‘The people who run the village hall then.’

  ‘That’s me too. The village society are trustees of the hall, and I’m a member of the society,’ I said. ‘There isn’t really any “they”. Just volunteers, same as me. It’s no good trying to make it someone else’s problem: the Temp belongs to us all.’

  He smiled. ‘When did you get so public-spirited?’

  ‘Hard-working people ran the hall when I was a kid. Now it’s my turn.’

  ‘You know you’re pretty amazing?’

  ‘I know,’ I said, smiling. ‘But I like it when you tell me.’

  He glanced at my fancy top again. ‘You don’t really need to dress up just for Marcus, do you?’

  I shrugged. ‘Don’t want him thinking I’m a closet slob.’

  ‘What’s all this?’ he asked, indicating the food.

  ‘Nibbles. We’ll need to keep our energy up.’

  He laughed. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think you were getting ready for a date.’

  ‘Cheeky.’ I tapped the bridge of his nose. ‘You know you’re welcome to join us, love. Innuendo contributions all appreciated.’

  ‘No, I’ll get some painting done. Shame to waste the evening. If I think up any good innuendos I’ll shout them down.’

  ‘Ok,’ I said, giving him a kiss. ‘Oh, here. You’ll need to keep your energy up too.’ I handed him one of the snack bowls.

  He frowned at it. ‘What on earth are these?’

  ‘Wotsits. Don’t tell me you’ve never tried them?’

  ‘These are food? They look like crunchy tangerine maggots.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I popped one in my mouth. ‘Delicious bastards.’

  ‘Oh, that reminds me,’ he said, trying unsuccessfully not to let his distaste show as he put the Wotsits back down. ‘Are we free the last Friday of next month?’

  ‘Think so. Why?’

  ‘I was chatting to Patrick today, the classics lecturer at college, and I sort of accidentally invited him and his wife over for a few drinks. Sorry.’

  ‘No need to be. I’m thrilled you’re making new friends. I still feel guilty about dragging you away from your arty set down south.’ I smiled. ‘Tell you what, I’ll cook, shall I? We’ll make it a proper dinner party.’<
br />
  ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’ His guilty grimace deepened. ‘Because, er, I kind of accidentally invited Ryder and Ali too. They’re coming up from Kensington.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Cole was a smart lad. Actually I’d long been convinced he was some kind of super-IQed mega-genius, easily capable of advanced calculus or brain surgery if he wasn’t so committed to his art. So it seemed odd that with his huge brain, he’d never noticed how much I found his pretentious friend Ryder and his snooty wife hard work.

  I summoned a smile. ‘That’s… great,’ I lied. ‘You won’t mind me inviting a couple of people, will you?’

  ‘Of course not. Who did you have in mind?’

  Oh God, anyone to save me from the monotony of a night tête-a-tête with bloody Ryder Sherlock-Steele…

  ‘It’d be nice to ask my brother and Tom,’ I said. ‘And Lana and Stew. I’m sure my parents won’t mind babysitting.’

  I was glad to have an excuse not to suggest inviting my dad and Cyn. Already unconvinced by Cole, I couldn’t see an evening in the company of his braying tit of a best mate doing much to pour oil on troubled waters.

  There was a knock at the door and I went to get it, Cole following.

  ‘Hi Becks,’ Marcus said when I answered, kissing my cheek. He brandished a few sheets of A4. ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

  ‘Come on in. I’ve cleared a space at the coffee table.’

  ‘All right, mate?’ Marcus said, nodding to Cole. ‘You script-doctoring with us?’

  ‘Hello Marcus. No, work to do I’m afraid.’ He clapped Marc on the shoulder. ‘Look after Becky for me.’

  ‘Bloody hell, you’re honoured,’ I said when Cole had disappeared.

  ‘Am I? Why?’

  ‘He remembered your name.’

  ‘Bad with them, is he?’

  ‘Yeah. Spends too much time in his head with imaginary landscapes. Here, come through.’

  He followed me into the living room and we took a seat on the sofa.

  ‘So what have you written?’ I said.

  ‘Just a brainstorm really, a few jokes. Thought we could work them into suitable scenes.’