by Anna Bloom
His fingers grip mine tight, their strong touch familiar, the rough edge of his skin releasing a torrent of memories. A flash of discomfort winces his face as he straightens his legs. “Thanks for coming to dinner.” His hands still hold mine.
“You’re welcome. Thanks for having me to your family dinner.” I glance up and meet his eyes. The sun is sinking on the horizon and it illuminates him with a golden hue, turning his hair into strands of glimmering fire.
“Ready?” He motions to the door with a small nod of his head, his eyes keenly measuring my reactions. I motion a nervous agreement, my mouth too dry to speak and in no particular hurry, we walk to the front door, his hand still holding mine.
The house is an old cottage with small lead windows and peeling paint. It’s the sort of home I’d like if I weren’t stuck living inside a hunk of concrete looking after mum, and actually had substantial funds to buy such a property. I know I never will.
Inside the latched door it sounds like all hell is breaking loose. Stopping in alarm, I take in kids running, dogs barking, adults shouting, and in the background some terrible music tying the whole shebang together.
“Bailey, I told you to turn that down.” Henry walks through wiping his hands on a tea towel, a frown on his face. He comes to a halt when he sees me cowering by the front door. “Ah, Amber French returns at last.”
Dickwad.
“Here I am,” I respond as lightly as I can.
‘Amber,” booms a voice from deep inside the house.
Spinning, I turn to find Freddy. “Is your dad here?”
“It’s a BBQ, there’s steak and cold beer, of course he’s here.” His eyes dance as he smiles with his words. It’s the first time I’ve seen it since I got home.
I focus on the ocean blues, losing myself in their depths until Charles Bales' voice jogs me into looking for him and not drooling over his son.
“Amber!” he shouts across the room. “Look at you all grown up!”
Flushing, I make my way towards him, wrapping him tight in a hug and kissing him on the cheek. Charles looks healthy and younger than I remember; life seems to be rushing through his veins again. Feeling his fatherly embrace makes a sharp pang of longing for my own dad settle in my chest.
“I hope I get received the same way,” speaks a familiar voice behind me. Grant.
I offer a simple wave to Freddy’s annoying younger brother, now married to my old friend. Awkwardness turns me to stone as all the Bales evaluate me with their glances.
“Get the girl a drink then,” instructs Charles, linking his arm through mine. “Come on, Amber, lets go and catch up. I hear you have a son now?”
“Yes, I do.” My tone sounds as awkward as my body language feels, all stiff and unnatural. “Isaac!” I holler loudly. “Come here, don’t be rude!”
I watch the Bale family reaction closely as Isaac walks into the room. They can all do maths. If any of them have anything to say, none of them do. Just like Freddy the other night.
“Nice to meet you, Isaac.” Charles leans forward and offers his hand to Isaac to shake, his eyes widening just slightly. Isaac looks at the extended hand in horror but Bailey comes in and rescues his friend from having to do anything so uncool as shake an adult's hand.
“Come on, lets play Xbox,” Bailey shouts. The oriental influence of Bailey’s mother is all over him, thankfully erasing any sign of Henry from his physical looks. I don’t know the boy well enough yet to say whether or not he unfortunately inherited his father’s mannerisms and personality. Lets hope not.
“Oh, no, no, no.” Charles ruffles Bailey’s inky black hair and then turns a thoughtful face towards Isaac’s sandy locks. “Outside, no indoors today, this weather can’t last for much longer.”
Both boys look suitably horrified and I laugh at their shocked expressions. Freddy comes up and hands me a cold beer. “Come on, Bailey, you can show Isaac the tree house I made you.” With his words Freddy smiles at Isaac his eyes carefully taking in his expression and reaction.
I turn and glance admiringly at Freddy, especially his hands.
“You’ve got a tree house! Cool!” Isaac practically squeals in excitement, which makes Freddy laugh. He turns to Freddy and the breath catches in my throat as I watch them interact. “Maybe you could build one for me?”
There is a beat of silence that permeates around the kitchen as everyone stops his or her activity to watch the interaction.
“Sure, if your mum doesn’t mind.”
“She doesn’t mind,” Isaac assures him with youthful presumption. “Can we start next weekend?” he asks eagerly and Freddy laughs, nudging him with his fists.
“Sure thing.”
“You can’t,” I butt in. All eyes turn to me. “You’re seeing your dad.” The word dad sticks like a pea caught in my throat. My cheeks burn, although they shouldn’t, not really.
Isaac looks so disappointed I want to jump in and tell him it doesn’t matter, we will cancel the visit, but I know this is one of those really important parenting moments. “You arranged the visit, Isaac. You have to stick with it.”
He doesn’t look keen, but he accepts my final word with good grace, more than I would normally expect. Before anything else can be said, Bailey thrusts a can of Coke at him. Isaac looks like he may be about to explode with excitement. He’s never allowed Coke. Ever. I pull a tongue at him and he laughs in my face as he runs out the door following his friend.
All the adults in the kitchen are watching me and I shift uncomfortably under their gaze, heat prickling along the back of my neck. “So Charles,” I throw across the room. “How’s business?” Truth is, I haven’t driven down the winding lane which leads to the Bale Garage. I came back to the village with the hope of keeping a clean slate. The clean slate isn’t going too well, or actually at all. But a trip literally down memory lane is not happening any time soon.
“Sold it, honey, why do you think I’m looking so spruced and lively, and young Freddy over there looks forty not thirty?”
My mouth falls open with a resounding “Pop.” My attention drifts to Freddy, he doesn’t look tired, he looks hot, still.
“You brought the garage? Why?”
He shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets, his typical unobtrusive stance, which I remember so well. “Nothing else to do, I guess, and Dad needed to retire. Simple really.”
Simple?
"I thought you didn’t like simple, or easy?”
“I had a change of heart.”
Our eyes meet across the kitchen table, for a long while neither of us moves. We weigh each other up, assessing the possibilities.
“Excellent, Amber’s back and so is the drama,” Henry drily trills to the room. His wife Mai comes in from the garden and shushes him with her hand.
“You ruined a perfectly good moment.” She turns to me and offers her hand. “I’m Mai.” I know who she is already. Danni is a terrible gossip.
After introductions and once I’ve given Danni a major bollocking for not telling the truth regarding the evening plans, Mai waves us all outside for my first real family meal in a very long time.
It’s gone eleven, and the evening air has a creeping chill, tingling on my bare shoulders when I know it’s time to go home. The evening has been pleasant, and I’m so comfortable wrapped in a pashmina and watching the faces of the Bales laugh and tease in the flicker of citronella candles, a large part of me doesn’t want to leave. The smell of antiseptic coming from the candles mingling with the night jasmine creeping along the garden fence will be stored in my memory bank for a long while under the heading, “Good Freddy Bale Memories.” It feels nice to have one after all these years.
But it’s a far walk home, which I’m not relishing, so I know I need to make a move. “Isaac, come on, babe, it’s time to head home.” Everyone groans and Isaac make his annoyance known in no uncertain terms, flinging his arms around like a stropping teenager. I get up from my chair and walk over to him. He folds his arm
s, a habit he’s picked up from me and sends me his best scowl.
“Isaac, don’t make a scene in front of your new friend, let's go home and maybe Bailey can come tomorrow for a while.”
This appeases him slightly and he relaxes his pose. Brushing the hair from his eyes, I watch him give a definite double blink. I know this familiar sign of extreme tiredness. Pulling him into my arms, I give him a massive hug and kiss the top of his hair. He doesn’t resist, which is also another sign of tiredness. It’s not cool to be kissed by your mum when you’re nearly ten. It hasn’t been cool since he was seven, despite my efforts to demonstrate otherwise. “Love you, Munchkin,” I whisper, and he squeezes me back. “Come on, lets get home to bed.”
Danni is smiling at me, the biggest, goofiest grin I’ve seen from her since she snogged Archie McGregor outside the Junior girls toilets thirteen years ago.
‘Are you pissed?” I ask her, covering Isaac’s ears.
“Uh, Mum, I’ve heard you say worse than that.”
“Shh. They all think I’m a good parent right now.” I laugh and grab my boy even closer.
Charles gets up and gives me a hug, “Don’t be a stranger anymore, Amber.”
“Nope, Mr. Bale.” I tease. He hated me calling him Mr. Bale in a former life.
Henry gives me a quick peck on the cheek, but Mai, whom I’ve enjoyed spending the last couple of hours with, gets up and gives me a giant squeeze. “See you on the school run, Monday.”
I grimace. “Uh. Monday, right.”
Freddy is watching me, his dark blues practically black in the shadowy night. ‘Ready.” He steps up from his chair and stretches high, revealing a perfect strip of toned stomach under his T-shirt.
“For what?”
“I’ll drive you.” He waves a key at me and takes a step forward.
“Nah, it’s cool.” I wave off his intention. “I’m not getting in that car again, anyway.” I laugh. I’m not sure whether to kiss him goodbye or not. I just stand there hovering awkwardly.
“I know. That’s why I’m taking Grant's car.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks, I guess.”
Together, the three of us head towards a Mercedes. “Does everyone in this family drive posh cars?”
“Not all of us, I still drive my old truck.” He chuckles as he catches sight of my astonished look.
“Still?”
“Yep.” He doesn’t say anything more, he opens my door and lets Isaac into the back seat.
We drive in silence, Isaac's breathing getting deeper as he slips into a quick sleep.
The silence deepens until Freddy has parked outside my house. Then he spins in his seat, his arm sliding along the back of mine. Little actions like this set off memories exploding in my mind like fireworks. Each one hurts more than I would like. He still doesn’t speak and neither do I. The dark night seems to intensify around us, a heavy black, cloaking us until all I can see is Freddy shining bright by my side.
Finally he breaks the heavy silence. “Would you like me to carry Isaac up for you?” His voice is low, his tone suggesting he’s not just worried he will wake Isaac from his slumber.
I hesitate, unsure. I have a feeling watching Freddy carry Isaac to bed would be the act that brings down all my defenses, could set me on a path I don’t know I want to be on.
“If you like.” My heart beats fast with my acceptance.
Freddy gently opens Isaac's door, sliding him into his arms like he weighs nothing more than feather stuffed pillows. I can’t pick Isaac up even for a sort hug these days. Not without nearly dying.
I open the front door and hold it as Freddy guides Isaac in. My chest is now pounding so loud I’m sure Freddy must be able to hear it.
“First on the right,” I tell Freddy as he takes the stairs. I follow behind, hanging back, watching the situation play out, wondering if it will be anywhere close to how I imagined it in my wildest dreams over the last ten years. A sob starts to build in my already contracted chest.
For me, this was my darkest dream in my darkest moments. When I couldn’t fight my memories of Freddy anymore, when I regretted leaving, when I hated myself for not going back, it was a dream similar to this scene that gave me some escapism, my fantasy.
Hanging back at the door, I watch Freddy lay Isaac on the bed and tuck his cover around him, his hand gently sweeps across his fair hair, pausing slightly against his cheek.
Freddy doesn’t turn around. He keeps his gaze intent on Isaac, his fingers still lingering on his skin. “He’s mine, isn’t he, Amber?” Freddy’s voice is so low at first I don’t catch his words. Well my ears don’t, but my heart does. It hears his words as clear as a bell. And with his question, all my efforts of staying away from Freddy Bale fade into the distance. So does the one truth I’ve told Isaac his entire life that I never got the chance to tell his dad.
“Yes.”
Slowly, Freddy straighten up, his shoulders rolling.
Please turn around so I can read your face.
I can’t seem to move my feet towards him. I’m rooted to the spot waiting for his reaction.
“I guess we need to talk then, Amber,” he says finally.
“Yeah, I guess we do.”
TRUTHS
“When did you realise?” My mouth feels like the parched Sahara.
Freddy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, there is a faint tremble of his fingers as he works a worn picture from the leather. He passes it to me in silence.
“Why have you got a picture of Isaac?”
“I don't. That’s me.”
I look closer and sure enough, the clothes on the boy in the picture are nothing close to an outfit I could wrestle Isaac into.
“I knew the moment I saw him.” Freddy confirms my worst fear that there was no way I was going to be able to keep Isaac to myself once we returned to this place.
“He looks like you, too, you know?” Freddy whispers as we walk out of the room. I glance up at him in surprise. His tone isn’t the angry one I’ve been anticipating the last decade.
“That’s funny, because all I see is you.”
Freddy gives a sarcastic laugh. “I’m sure you’ve been thrilled with that over the years?”
‘It’s been a challenge,” I reply my tone tarter than I expect.
We walk down the rest of the stairs in silence and when we reach the front door Freddy hesitates, unclear what to do.
“So, do you want to talk now, or another time?” All my defenses are up and I sound like a bitch, when really I should be grovelling asking forgiveness for committing an inexcusable offence and keeping Isaac a secret from his father.
“Uh, now, I think would be best.” Freddy’s body language and tone are stiff and formal in a way I’ve never seen or heard from him before.
I don’t blame him.
I walk for the kitchen, feeling the air move behind me, assuring me he’s following. At the fridge, I pull out two cold beers — this conversation will be far easier with alcohol — and then step through the patio doors and into the night air.
Darkness shrouds me but it doesn’t help cover the exposed sensation I get when he sits on the garden chair next to mine and turns his intense gaze upon me. Neither of us speak, instead we sit there, watching and waiting.
Finally I crack. My heart hammers a loud marching beat as I lower my head, averting my gaze. “I’m sorry, Freddy.”
I know these words wont ever make up for what I’ve done, but they are start. Two words in the right direction.
There is a beat of a pause, and then he leans down, one elbow resting on his knees while his other hand rubs along the back of his neck. “You are sorry?” His tone is confusing.
‘Yes. I’m sorry, I know it’s not enough, but I am sorry all the same.”
“Amber,” his voice instructs me to look up at him. “Why are you sorry? I’m the one who should be sorry.”
“What?”
“What do you mean, what?”
O
kay. I don’t think this conversation is going anywhere fast.
Gently he picks my fingers up in his. “You must have truly hated me to stay away all those years. To prefer to be a single mum than come back and tell me we’d made a child.” The hand which still lingers by the back of his neck begins to knead the tension away. He rolls his shoulders this way and that. “You must have really hated me,” he repeats almost to himself.
His self-derision makes me flare with anger. “You should be hating me now, Freddy. You should be shouting at me, punishing me for keeping the worlds most awful secret from you.”
He looks up at me in surprise. “I didn’t give you any choice, did I?” He shudders with the memory. “There I was, walking into that dance like a complete arsehole ready to let you go, regardless of how much it hurt, and you were pregnant all the time. I pushed you and my child away. I will never forgive myself.”
All my fears and secret fantasies dance around me like fireflies in the night air. “I won’t forgive myself for not giving you the chance to have a choice.” I try and make my eyes meet his with my words. It feels uncomfortable.
“Did you get a choice, Amber?”
I think back to the night he told me it was over. There was no room for me to reason with him, he was determined and firm. “I’m not talking about the night of the dance,” he adds softly.
My mind spins to the days I was throwing up, not knowing it was a baby causing the sickness. The futile thought I had back in those days where in my immature mind I wondered if perhaps I was dying of a broken heart. Then when I did understand what was going on, there was that single moment of blinding clarity when I realised whatever happened from that point, it was my own, single responsibility to deal with it, no one else’s.
“Maybe not.” I shrug.
“Do you hate me?”
“I did.” With my words, he jumps from his seat and paces away. “I forced myself to hate you,” I call after him. “But now I’m here I don’t know what I feel or think. I never expected to see you again. Then the other night when you kissed me . . .” I trail off and he pounces on my hesitation.
