The Fathers, the Sons and the Anxious Ghost

by Jamie Adams

  It was just all of a sudden. He quickly shot up from his place and crossed the stage in long striding movements. I could see that the others had not quite finished their scene yet. They looked at him oddly. He opened his mouth to speak. Alfie, who was on stage as a ‘naughty boy from Roald Dahl’s class’, whispered something to Max menacingly and gave him a nudge. Max looked embarrassed as he realised he had timed it wrong. As he stepped back, he flipped backwards onto the floor. It all seemed to be happening in slow motion. It did not seem to be real; more of a vision than a real sequence of events. I could see that he had tripped over another boy’s foot. As he fell, his other leg flicked out and caught Alfie in the shin. The other boy yelled as most of the top-half of Max landed on him awkwardly. It was all kicking off now.

  Instantly, Alfie swung a fist at Max, and I knew I had to go up there and help him. Alex rushed up to the stage too, and we ended up having to hold the boys back from each other. The boy who had been crushed had also got up and was pushing both of them. Quickly the teacher grabbed him and told him to go back to the class room. My heart was racing. That bloody git, Alfie, had given my boy a black eye. I just about managed to hold back the swearing until we had been able to drag them all back into the corridor, away from the ears of that group of vultures gossiping in that packed, sweaty school hall.

  I lost my rag a bit. I told that Alfie’s dad what I thought of him. Alex just shouted back at me a lot. He reckoned my son had screwed up the whole play. I lifted my arm up in what seemed like slow motion, about to make a move towards him with my clenched fist. Before I had had time to follow through, I felt someone grab my wrist. Alex ducked anyway and stepped back as the teacher pulled my arm down and asked me to take a few minutes outside while he quizzed the boys to find out what had gone wrong. I had to assume the play just carried on, as the rest of the school building seemed barren and deserted still.

  When I got out into the fresh air, I took a deep breath and started to wish that I smoked. My blood was boiling. I could not face the other parents knowing, or thinking they knew, that my son had messed up this Easter production. God knows what the Missus would say. No doubt she would blame it on me, as usual. My legs caved, and I sank to the floor, back against the wall, knees bent. Alex must have found somewhere else to hide. I was glad he was not around, or I would have been tempted to knock his block off at that moment.

  After what seemed like days, the teacher finally came and found me. He asked if I wanted a cup of tea and explained that the head teacher was discussing everything with the boys.

  “Sorry that happened,” Mr Johnson began, calmly.

  “It’s not your fault,” I growled, slightly easing up as I spoke.

  “Well, I can only apologise for my son. His foot got in the way,” he carried on, still very pleasant and genuine.

  “Oh shit. That was your boy. Is he alright?”

  “Just a bruised ego. Your boy has a bruise developing near his eye. We have put a cold compress on it, and it seems to be reducing the swelling.”

  “Let me see Max.”

  “You can, I just need you to promise you will act calmly around school. I do understand your reaction though.”

  “Thanks. I was a bit hot-headed, but it ain’t nice seeing your boy getting beaten up.”

  He walked me into the head’s office, and she offered me a chair.

  Chapter 5 (Alex)

  I could see Matt going into her office and tried to avert making eye contact, as I knew he would be nasty. Alfie was still sat in a chair slumped over a table in the Year One classroom. He was angry, crying and refusing to talk to me. His stubbornness always ruled him during times like these. I paced up and down with my hands behind my back and thought about calling his mum. No… I needed to man up! I needed to handle this one myself and show him how to deal with his emotions. She would just soften to him in order to calm him down and give him treats to take his mind off of it. Sometimes he would speak to her like a piece of dirt on the sole of his shoes. If only I had been stronger and waded in more in the past, we might not have let it get this far. I mean I would always stick up for him. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my son. If only he could learn to tow the line and settle down more rather than losing his rag all the time.

  “Look mate… We really need to deal with this. I don’t want you going home and upsetting your mum (oh why did I say that?). Let us go through this together.”

  He shrugged and sniffed a lot; the kind of snotty sniff that resonates around the room.

  “What made you do it, mate?” I tried being sensitive and put my hand on his shoulder.

  He brushed it away and wriggled a bit.

  “I don’t blame you! I just want to understand what went through your head, mate.”

  “Stop calling me mate!” he finally responded snappily, yet surprisingly without shouting.

  I paced around some more and started to wonder whether Tess saw any of this. She must have done as the whole school was watching. I hoped she was alright. Mind you, the kids had not even come back from the assembly yet. Suddenly I heard what must have been a round of applause. It sounded like they had completed the play after all and now were about to return to their rooms. I needed to get him out of here so as not to create a scene with the other children.

  “We need to get out of the class now. The Year Ones will be on their way back.”

  “Who cares!?” he whimpered, with his eyes still closed.

  “We don’t want the little ones to worry about you, do we!?” I pointed out carefully.

  It was too late. They suddenly started coming into the room, and the teaching assistant clocked us and asked me to take Alfie into the reception area. She ushered the Year Ones silently onto the carpet, ready for the teacher to follow. The teacher was a small-framed woman, who looked quite unimpressed by the situation. Her eyes glared at me, with a stern message underlining their discomfort.

  I took Alfie’s hand and practically dragged him out of that room. I did not want her to start a scene. Although, to be honest, that teacher’s stare that she gave me went right through my bones. It somehow instantly reminded me of my own childhood and that scary teacher who used to stand over us when we did exams, looking down at us through her sharply polished glasses. I had always been pretty well-behaved, but part of that was down to the fear of what she might do. Her stare always seemed calculating and menacing. She seemed to spend her time scanning for trouble. Luckily, I never got on the wrong side of her, but the fear was still there. This Year One teacher had that same evil stare. Penetrating.

  Alfie kept relatively quiet as he hitched his way down the corridor with me still attached. Part of me wondered if they would consider me a bad parent for doing this; but when I glanced back over my shoulder, I could see the relief in the face of the teaching assistant who moments earlier had looked startled.

  The head teacher had come to look for us by now, and we were taken back to her room; which was to my surprise, empty. She closed the door peacefully and proceeded to sit down at her desk, taking her hair band off as she did, releasing a full head of mousey brown hair.

  “Max has been taken to hospital as a precaution. It seems he has had quite a bad headache ever since the incident, and he has bruising around his right eye.”

  “I can only apologise for everything today, Mrs Bellamy,” I murmured, reading the name badge on her blouse because I could never recall her surname.

  “I think I need to hear what Alfie has to say about all of this,” she went on.

  “Alfie takes a while to think about what he has done, before he can talk much about it, miss,” I replied.

  “I am married, sir,” she uttered and then carried on with her attempts to goad a response from Alfie. “Look at me, young man! This is not the first time that you have hurt someone at school.”

  I tried to change the subject. “I do hope Max is OK. How badly do you think he is hurt?” I queried.

  “Alfie, can you pick your head up for me and look at me? I
need to make sure you are alright as well,” she continued, regardless of my attempts to ease her off.

  “I can tell that he is very sorry, Mrs Bellamy. He rarely cries like this, so he must be feeling bad.”

  “He can cry as much as he likes, but he needs to face up to things, sir,” she replied, snappily.

  “I won’t do it again, miss,” he murmured.

  “I am going to have to think about what happens next, but for now I am sending you home to contemplate your actions,” she replied sternly.

  I took him by the hand, and he reluctantly went with me back to the car. He was in a right state, and I was not sure that going home right now would go down well. I decided to take him down to the beach and have a proper chat with him before going into work. In fact, as I drove along through the busy streets, with the radio blaring, I decided to text in to work when we parked and give myself the day off. If he could be naughty, so could I after all. We pulled up at the car park by the beach, and I got him to go and put change into the pay machine. For some reason, he liked doing this. To be honest, he had slightly cheered up now that we were away from his school. I had to make sure he learned his lesson and didn’t just have a doss day while his poor school friends were stuck in classrooms, reciting times tables.

  Chapter 6 (Josh)

  What a day! What a shit day that was! I usually love my work, but today really took the piss. I was so glad to finally be home; with the TV on, Sam buried in his bedroom with a shoot-‘em-up game exploding in the background, and the dog whimpering for his feed by my calves. Everything was back to normal; at least for now. Maybe an episode of ’Suits’ could take my mind off of it. Then later on, I would be able to quiz Sam a bit more about what had happened earlier.

  Bugger. The phone rang. I pondered just ignoring it, but I knew it would only ring again. It was the house phone, which was unusual. I dragged my feet across the living room until I could just about reach the handset. “Hello mate.” It was Conor. What a relief. Conor had been my best friend since the 90s and was always fun to be around.

  “Fancy drowning your sorrows?” He carried on, quickly.

  How could I turn him down? It was probably just what the doctor ordered.

  “See you at the Crown in ten,” I replied, popping the phone down, sliding my slippers off and marching towards the bedroom to find some deodorant.

  I nipped past Millie’s room and asked her to keep an eye on Sam for me. Millie was a great housemate, as she was always around and willing to look after Sam, especially when I needed some light relief. Millie and Sam got along well anyway. She was a PhD nerd, studying molecular biology; and he was a kid who was crazy about animals and wildlife shows. They would often sit glued to one of those epic David Attenborough series on the telly. Sam rushed up to me and gave me a hug and then asked if he could steal a piece of treacle tart from the fridge. I agreed, and he went on his way, scooping up the dog as he skipped.

  When I arrived at the pub, Conor wasn’t there yet. Typical. He was always late. Even though he was the one that said to be there in ten. I may as well have added half an hour to anything he said. Mind you, he didn’t expressly say ten minutes. He could have meant ten days or ten weeks or even ten years. What could I do? I hated being in a pub alone. I grabbed a Jack Daniels from the bar and wandered over to the quiz machine to try my luck on one of those movie quizzes where you win a quid if you answer ten questions correctly. I was soon absorbed in it and ran out of change. As I turned to switch a tenner for some one pound coins, I felt a strong hand on my shoulder.

  As I stopped and turned, it all seemed to go into slow motion. The hand was attached to a muscular arm, upon which sat an expensive-looking watch. Soon that dark, perfectly combed hair appeared and those piercing, deep blue eyes. I was not expecting it to be him!

  “Fancy seeing you here,” he said, brightly.

  “Hello again, I do hope your son is doing well,” I replied, nervously.

  I was not sure how Max had got on at the hospital but assumed that if Dad was here, he must’ve been relatively OK. I could smell a distinctive stench of the alcohol on his breath though, which could have simply meant he was drowning his sorrows.

  “It’s a long story; why don’t you come and play pool, and I can tell you the details.”

  “Well, I am waiting to meet my friend, but he is running late. Suppose I can have a go, but I am not really any good at it,” I wriggled as I stepped over to the pool table, and he put some coins in and retrieved a set of shiny yellow and red balls.

  “How about you break then? Then you get to decide your own colour.”

  I grabbed a cue and tapped some chalk into the end of it frantically. A small dust cloud surrounded me, and I sneezed a bit as it tickled my nose. This was not going to be a relaxing evening after all. I was now playing a game that I was crap at against a guy that made me blush. Worst of all, this guy was a parent at the school I taught at, and his kid had been in a scuffle with mine that very morning! This had no chance of ending with anything other than humiliation.

  He had made a neat, perfectly formed triangle with the balls, using one of those plastic frames. He tossed me the white. I just about caught it and circled the table in such a way that I might convince him I was eyeing up possible break shots, but actually I found myself doing everything not to lay my eyes on his face and study those distinct cheek bones and subtle dimples that made him look so chiselled and appealing. Whenever he turned his back, I would be eyeing him up rather than looking for opportunities to make a stunning first break of the balls and put him on the back footing.

  I finally opened up the game with a reasonable break and got a yellow in before handing the table over to Matt. He was a little better than me but not nearly as good as I thought he would be. He took swigs of beer whilst lining up the balls and started to banter with me, just before I took a shot in order to put me off. I found myself loosening up and having some fairly successful shots at the balls.

  I was quite involved in the game when Conor suddenly appeared in the background. He asked if Matt or I wanted a drink, and I took him up on it.

  “No, but thank you,” said Matt, politely.

  “I will. It is the least you could do! If I were you, Matt, I’d take advantage of the fact he has his wallet open. Give it a chance for the bats to fly off and the cobwebs to blow away.”

  He apologised for being late and, being competitive, demanded to take on the winner of our game.

  “Winner stays on. Loser buys next round,” he said, cheekily.

  Conor was always good at banter. He was always great at cheering people up. I could not ask for a better best mate. Matt soon joined in with a back and forth of random chat and we played on, swilling the drinks back.

  I was just making my way back from the toilet when Conor sauntered over to me and ushered me into a booth for a chat. I knew immediately that something serious must have happened. His eyes were a little swollen, and his breathing had changed.

  “I have to tell you this here. Matt has gone to get a round, and I was just checking my Facebook…” he said, awkwardly.

  “Oh no! What has happened?” I said, sitting down for a moment. Conor shuffled towards me, secretively.

  “Emily just sent me a message to say that police and ambulances are around Alex’s house. It is all kicking off. It looks as if someone has died.”

  I could not believe my ears.

  “Who died? Seriously?”

  “Alex’s wife…what’s her name?”

  “Oh shit! No way!”

  “She doesn’t know the details, but she saw them take a body away tonight,” he retorted, quietly, as if trying to avoid being overheard. Ironically, just as he said this, a large hand grasped his shoulder and another presented him with a drink. Matt joined us with a slim-looking girl holding the other drinks, including mine.

  The girl was blonde, about our age but maybe younger and looked very intelligent, with a long, flowing skirt and neatly tied back hair.

/>   “Nicole just told me something bad has happened. You won’t believe it.”

  The girl sat next to us and began to tell us what we already knew. It turned out that Nicole was Matt’s cousin, and she was friends with Emily and had already spoken to Matt about the events unfolding. To my surprise, Matt was completely sympathetic.

  “I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone, mate,” he murmured, gently. He had calmed down and was displaying a more serious side to his character.

  I glimpsed the time and made my excuses before putting my coat on and waving them goodbye. I left Conor and Matt discussing today’s events and Nicole finishing her drink swiftly before following me to the door. She seemed interested in my thoughts about Alex and his wife. I assured her that I knew very little about them other than that the wife was always at school events and seemed friendly, personable and always in good spirits. It seemed everything was not as clear cut as I had imagined.

  Nicole soon went her separate way and gave me a hug before doing so. I weaved my way back through the hilly streets of my quaint little village, wondering how Matt would get home. I had genuinely wanted to get to know him; and despite his tough exterior, he had presented a side to himself which seemed passionate and warm. I pondered for a minute what it would be like to spend time alone with him and even to just feel his warm embrace.

  As I flung open the door, Sam was in my face, asking me why all of his friends were messaging about trouble around at Alfie’s, and whether or not it was true that Michelle was now dead.

  Chapter 7 (Alex)

  I kicked the ball over to him. He had started to loosen up a bit. He gave me a quick cheeky look and then booted the ball past my left shoulder and between the two rolled up jumpers that acted as goal posts. When he was playing footie, he was always much more himself. It allowed him to let off steam, and he really seemed to have a passion for it. I kind of hope this passion came from me. When I was his age, I had joined a team too; and we played every weekend, with my father as the coach. Maybe I could get him to open up a bit while we pounded the ball across the beach.