From the Outside

by Clare Johnston

  Ben left the centre that night bursting with enthusiasm. He had been shocked by both the talent and the ambition some of these young people had – many from backgrounds that were challenging to say the least. After he met with Jason, he talked to a girl called Gemma, who he found sitting with Sonja filling in an application form for college.

  ‘What are you applying for?’ he had asked.

  ‘Telford College,’ she replied. ‘I’m going to sit some Higher exams and see if I can go on to study nursing.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Ben. Genuinely impressed. ‘You’re in good hands with Sonja advising you,’ he added, wondering if she could tell he was just sucking up. Somehow he felt he had yet to win Sonja over. She still seemed a little suspicious although he wasn’t sure why.

  Sonja smiled back at him as if to say, ‘you’ll have to do a lot better than that to convince me you’re up to the job’.

  Ben sensed it was time to move on, before he made the situation worse. He would wait until the next team meeting to discuss his plans for Jason. He thought he could ask Sarah to help too as he was sure she’d mentioned she knew Emily DiRollo who owned a big gallery in town. It would be fantastic if Sarah could persuade Emily to take a look at Jason’s drawings. He was sure she’d want to snap them up. He decided to head over to Sarah’s on the way home and talk to her, hoping he wouldn’t find her drunk if he was dropping in unexpected. He realised he was hardly in a position to judge when he’d spent the last twenty five years completely out of it. It seemed strange that he was suddenly the responsible one.

  He wondered how long he could continue feeling this good and resolved to keep moving so the pin couldn’t catch up with him and burst his bubble.

  As Ben rang the doorbell, he stiffened at the thought of what could be about to greet him. The lights were on so he knew Sarah was in, but it didn’t look like she was going to answer. He imagined her slumped on the sofa, half asleep, wine glass half-tipped over as she lost awareness, but just as he was about to turn on his heels the door opened.

  Sarah stood smiling in front of him, dressed immaculately in white jeans and an expensive-looking jumper with her hair swept cleanly back into a pony-tail. She looked as relaxed and stunning as she once always did and, clearly, she wasn’t drunk.

  ‘Come in,’ she said, gesturing towards the living room. ‘It’s nice to see you.’

  For the first time, Ben thought she sounded like she meant it.

  ‘It’s good to see you looking so well.’

  ‘I’m feeling good,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Glass of wine, cup of tea?’

  ‘A glass of wine would be bloody marvellous,’ Ben said, realising he sounded a little too enthusiastic. He’d been desperate for a drink since lunchtime.

  ‘No problem. You go and take a seat and I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Ben sat down, his mind ticking over as he tried to figure out what could have cheered Sarah up so much. He knew her mother, Angela, had travelled up from Cumbria to stay last week so maybe that had been a bit of a turning point.

  When she appeared back in the room with his glass of wine, he asked: ‘Did your mum enjoy her visit?’

  ‘I think she did – and it was so nice to see her again. She wants me to go and stay with her and Dad for a week next month so I think I might just do that.’

  ‘Great,’ said Ben. ‘It’s nice to see you looking so happy again. Are you not joining me in a drink?’

  ‘There’s a reason for that,’ Sarah said quickly, her voice hardening.

  Ben shuffled in his seat, hardly daring to ask in case she’d met someone else in a fit of grief-induced madness. But she’d laid down the gauntlet so he supposed he’d have to follow up.

  ‘What’s the reason?’

  ‘I’m pregnant.’

  A mixture of relief and overwhelming joy rushed through Ben as he began to absorb that statement. He leapt to his feet, but she held her hand out as if to keep him at bay.

  ‘Ben, it’s not Harry’s,’ she snapped.

  This statement gave him such a jolt he toppled back onto the sofa. His brain went to jelly as he tried to figure out what that meant. Then he realised she must be referring to the fertility treatment I had mentioned to him. Another wave of relief swept in as he reassured her: ‘That’s okay, Sarah. Just because it’s a donor it doesn’t change the fact this is Harry’s baby – because it’s the baby Harry wanted.’

  Sarah studied Ben’s hope-filled face with a mixture of something that looked like horror and pity.

  Then her features softened again; her smile returning as quickly as it had left a few moments earlier.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘It was a donor.’

  ‘Sarah,’ said Ben, his eyes filling with tears as he rushed towards her. ‘I can’t believe you were afraid to tell me that.’

  ‘I know. It was silly.’

  He threw his arms around her and they fell into a natural embrace for the first time ever.

  ‘Dad will be thrilled,’ said Ben. ‘And I’ll be an uncle. When’s it due?’

  ‘November. It seems ages away.’

  ‘Oh wow. This is amazing news.’

  Sarah could only watch in silence as Ben got lost in his excitement.

  ‘I wonder if it’ll be a boy?’ he mused out loud. ‘I don’t care either way. But it’s just what we need isn’t it, Sarah? After these dark, dark weeks, suddenly some sunshine.’

  Sarah stuck her hands awkwardly into her pockets and nodded.

  What a funny fish she was with all her mood swings and strange notions, Ben thought. He imagined he’d never work her out, but he was just so happy that the very thing I would have wanted for her was actually happening.

  Dad broke down at the other end of the phone line as Ben told him about the pregnancy. After a long discussion, he and Sarah had agreed not to mention the ‘donor’ – as my brother so innocently had come to call him – as it would simply confuse the issue for Dad. After all, Ben felt this was the child that Sarah and I had tried for and, therefore, I was theoretically still the father so there was no need to complicate things further by explaining the science.

  When he heard how overcome our father was though, Ben did have a moment where he wondered if they should have told him the full story.

  ‘That’s so wonderful,’ Dad sobbed. ‘God has given us back what he has taken.’

  Ben winced again. But he had to rationalise this. Dad would be the grandfather of what would have been my child, so why was he feeling weird about this?

  ‘I’ll let you speak to Sarah,’ he said, passing the buck as quickly as he handed over the phone.

  He listened for a moment as Sarah laughed with Dad, sharing his joy.

  ‘I know, I can’t believe it,’ she kept saying. ‘I’m so happy.’

  Ben suddenly felt a little light-headed – the mix of emotions, that ill-fitted pairing of grief and excitement, had almost caused his brain to fuse. He walked through to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water, gulping it down quickly and letting the coolness of the liquid suppress the heat of the situation.

  Later that night and finally alone, Sarah lay back on the pillow and took a long, deep breath, exhaling all the weirdness of the day. She had fully meant to tell Ben about the baby’s real father but, when it actually came to the moment, seeing the joy on his face, she just couldn’t do it. When he jumped to the conclusion that she and I had opted to use a donor it gave her the perfect solution to a very major problem. And in a way, she reasoned, we had used a donor. It may not have been in the conventional way but, biologically, it was no different to plucking a test tube out of a sperm bank. She did have flashes of guilt when she thought of Paul, the real father, and how he would never know he had this child. But she told herself he’d probably rather not know. He was a single guy in his thirties who didn’t want to be lumbered with the responsibilities of parenthood without having actively decided to become a father. The worst guilt came wh
en she thought of Dad and Ben. They were so elated. It was like she’d turned the light back on in their dark worlds. She knew that feeling well. The light had just been switched back on for her too. How unthinkable then it would be to plunge them back into the abyss from which they’d all just crawled out.

  CHAPTER six

  I SET UP THE MELVILLE FOUNDATION after an encounter with a relentlessly cheerful Big Issue seller, who based himself outside my local Tesco store. When one day my curiosity got the better of me, it resulted in one of the most interesting conversations I’d ever had. It was a freezing January morning, complete with driving winds and sleet, when I dashed from my car towards the store, hoping to pick up a packet of Beechams powders – I had a stinking cold. Although he’d been standing at the doorway every time I’d visited the store in the last four years, I still couldn’t believe he’d turned out in such terrible weather. And today, like every other, he stood happily smiling and bidding a good day to every customer who walked past him. As I approached within a few feet of him, I was about to offer my standard greeting, ‘Hiya mate’, when instead, I found myself asking: ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘Sorry pal?’ he squinted behind smiling eyes, still eager to please.

  ‘Why are you standing out here on this bloody awful morning?’

  ‘I come here every day, except Sundays.’

  ‘Don’t you even make an exception on a day like this – how many copies are you going to sell today after all?’

  ‘More than you’d think. Bad weather can be good for business when you’re homeless,’ he chuckled. I liked his style.

  ‘Do you mind me asking what brought you here; why you’re selling the Big Issue?’

  ‘I was in care most of my life and went straight onto the streets at sixteen. I got this gig not long after that.’

  And then I posed the question I’d been itching to ask all along.

  ‘So what would you really like to be doing?’

  For the first time since we started speaking, his eyes left mine and his face turned serious as he thought for a while.

  ‘Actually, I’d like to be a social worker. It’s a powerful job, that. And there’s too many people doing it that don’t have a bloody clue what they’re talking about. They destroy families because it’s easier than keeping them together.’

  ‘Families like yours?’

  ‘Aye, like mine, pal. Like mine.’

  It was the briefest of exchanges but it set me on what became an endless quest to help people like him accomplish what they were capable of in life; to help them live and not just survive. It had often troubled me that just because of my privileged background, I had a passport to opportunity, when people just a few blocks away were sentenced to a lifetime’s struggle. Who decides who gets to make something of themselves and who remains in squalor? And what would happen if I decided to reshuffle the pack and deal a new hand?

  Ben walked to work with a definite spring in his step. He’d spent all night imagining life as an uncle. After all, it hadn’t escaped him that he would be the immediate father figure. He envisaged afternoons in the park, visits to the zoo, the ice cream parlour just down the road.

  He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face at the thought. Whether it was a boy or a girl he didn’t care, he just couldn’t wait. Ben’s elation had taken him by surprise, but he was enjoying every minute. It almost felt like a new lease of life. There was so much happening right now, so much to celebrate. He couldn’t help but marvel at the way things had turned around for him, but it was equally perplexing to realise these positive changes had so closely followed my death.

  Ben’s desire to be a big part of his niece or nephew’s life had also helped cement the changes he was making to improve his health. He had significantly reduced his drinking to just a few beers in the evening, and some days nothing at all, and he had even begun eating salads lately. It had taken the death of his twin for Ben to realise he should at least try to preserve his own life. Such a dark and painful event had jolted him back to reality – and he couldn’t deny that he had never felt happier now he suddenly had so much to live for.

  What a crash back down to earth then when he reached the Melville Centre and opened the door to the staff room only to find Sonja in tears at the meeting table. He was trying to make a split-second decision on whether to walk back out and give her some privacy or go in and try to comfort her. But when she looked up at him, her cheeks streaked with tears, he knew it was too late to back away.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, wishing it had been anyone but Sonja he’d found in this state. After all, she knew how to make him feel generally useless at the best of times, let alone when she was in need of a tower of strength.

  ‘Nothing’. She shook her head as if that ended the matter.

  ‘Look, you may not know me well but it could help to talk. I’m more than happy to listen.’

  She looked him up and down with the usual degree of suspicion before deciding on her response.

  ‘One of the girls here, Gemma, has just told me she’s pregnant,’ she explained.

  Ben took the opportunity to sit down while she was in the frame of mind to talk.

  ‘She’s seventeen-years-old and had just got her life on track and a college place sorted when this happens. She’s just thrown away everything we’ve worked so hard for.’ Sonja shook her head while Ben searched for the right words of encouragement for his new colleague.

  He remembered Gemma. He had talked to her while she was filling her application form out with Sonja a couple of weeks ago.

  ‘That’s really frustrating,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not this situation in itself that has got me down. It’s just that we invest so much of ourselves in these young people. When good things happen for them it’s just as exciting as it happening to you. And when it goes wrong, you’re devastated. I can’t seem to separate myself from it all.’

  ‘I don’t think you should,’ Ben interrupted. ‘If you separated yourself from it then you wouldn’t care, and that’s what makes this place different – the fact that people care.’

  ‘Do you care?’ she asked, turning to face him directly.

  ‘Well,’ Ben said, ready to deliver a defensive answer. But then he paused to truly ask himself the question.

  ‘Look, Sonja, I know I’m not my brother. I’m not confident and inspiring. I know you can probably tell I’m nervous right now. But all I can say is that every night after working here, I go home and think about the young people I’ve met that day. All the drama in their lives. Some of them have come from the worst of backgrounds, the kind of homes where you think they wouldn’t stand a chance, yet they come in here because they just want to make a better life for themselves. I look at some of them and I know exactly what they mean when they talk about not being good enough and feeling foolish for even daring to believe they could have a good career. That’s how I felt when I walked through these doors. It’s how I feel right now. But – and I know I may not have a lot of experience – I want very much to try and make this work. And, with you and the rest of the team behind me, I think we will.’

  Sonja tilted her head as she considered what he’d said, and then, for the first time in his company, she broke into a smile.

  I think I’ve just made a friend, thought Ben, smiling back.

  Sarah slowly selected the contact from her mobile and hit dial. She had put off making the call for weeks but she knew she had to do it. Emily DiRollo was an intimidating character at the best of times, so the thought of having to ask her a favour made her stomach lurch in trepidation. It didn’t help either that Emily loved to remind Sarah she had once dated me way back when we were teenagers. To Sarah, this seemed like Emily’s little power card which she would dangle in front of her each time they spoke, just so she could watch her squirm.

  Still, she had promised Ben and, with everything he was putting into the centre, she felt she owed him one.

  Emily was a client of the legal practice wh
ere she used to work. She was a sharp operator which, combined with her knowledge of the art world and eye for great pieces of work, had pushed her right to the top of her game. Her Edinburgh gallery was renowned throughout the city, and the wider art world.

  The phone was ringing now and within seconds Emily answered. ‘Sarah, how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you..’ She was about to launch into her prepared dialogue when Emily interrupted her.

  ‘I was so sorry to hear about your husband,’ she said, her voice genuinely full of concern. ‘You must have been through hell.’

  ‘It’s been a pretty difficult few months, yes. Thank you for asking though.’ Not wishing to linger on the subject, Sarah moved quickly on. ‘I wanted to ask you a bit of a favour.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Emily replied.

  ‘You may be aware that Harry started up the Melville Foundation through which he ran a centre to help disadvantaged young people.’

  ‘I’m more than aware of it. I have donated towards it in the past.’

  Sarah couldn’t help but bristle at this little snippet of information. I hadn’t mentioned Emily’s donations. To Sarah, this seemed to hint at an ongoing connection between her late husband and the woman at the other end of the phone.

  Sarah took a deep breath before continuing. ‘I wasn’t aware of that, Emily. But thank you for your generosity. Harry’s twin brother, Ben, is now running the centre and he is currently helping a twenty-year-old called Jason Weir who is a rather exceptional artist.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘He has produced a series of portraits of his family and friends using the only resource he had – a ballpoint pen – to create incredibly detailed pictures which appear, at first sight, almost as photographic prints.’

  ‘Interesting,’ Emily added. Sarah could tell she was going to make her work for this.

  ‘We wondered if you would mind taking a look at them?’

  ‘I would be happy to do that, Sarah, but may I ask for what purpose?’

  Sarah swallowed hard as she tried to figure out how she could subtly suggest Emily might sell the pictures in her gallery or at least point Jason in the direction of another gallery owner or agent who could help.