Take a Chance on Me

by Carol Wyer

‘See you later. About half past six. Bye!’

  Charlie checked her phone. Jake lived in a street quite close to Mercedes and Ryan. She was still unsure as to how she had been manipulated into going around to Jake’s for dinner. Toby was definitely going to make a good lawyer.

  Sixty-One

  Charlie didn’t tell Mercedes about the invitation because she would read too much into it and insist Charlie made more effort with her appearance. As it was, she fully intended turning up in her clothes from the studio. If Jake was put off by jeans and a sweatshirt, then that was too bad. She guessed the other women in his life wore nothing but designer clothes. Abigail did – she still did not understand where Abigail fitted in – and Fiona would for certain.

  Show over, she slipped away before she could get caught by anyone, and drove to Jake’s house. It was a pleasant detached house with a small front garden. The door was fronted by two small bay trees in large blue pots. The garden was neat and had been recently weeded and the path was bordered by lavender plants. As she brushed past them they emitted a perfume that she always associated with summer.

  She rang the doorbell and was greeted almost immediately by Toby, clutching a games console.

  ‘Hi Charlie! Glad you could come. Dad’s having a meltdown in the kitchen. I told him takeaway was fine but he wanted to impress you with one of his cordon-bleu meals.’

  Jake appeared behind him and placed a hand over his son’s mouth in jest.

  ‘He’s joking,’ he said.

  There were muffled noises from under his hand as Toby protested.

  ‘Go inside, Toby. I think you need to go and get Charlie a drink. We agreed you’d be the drinks waiter.’

  Toby pulled away from his father’s hand. ‘We didn’t agree that at all. Oops, sorry. Manners. Come in, Charlie.’

  Charlie entered the spacious hallway. The carpet was new and the walls had been painted in cream, with a couple of sunset prints hung up. A small wooden table stood to one side, on which was a jar for keys and a photograph of Toby and Jake, arms around each other. They were smirking. It had been taken recently.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ encouraged Toby. ‘Do you like Mario? Maybe you’d prefer something else? We’ve got loads of games.’

  Charlie was taken through to the lounge. It contained a light blue sofa, a chair, a simple desk and a filing cabinet. A plasma screen television dominated one wall. On the floor, in front of it, were various games and DVDs scattered about.

  ‘It normally looks tidier than this, but when Toby’s here, it gets well-used,’ Jake explained. ‘It’s my office too, but it’s what we call the boys’ room.

  Charlie was invited to sit on the sofa. Toby threw himself into the chair.

  ‘So, what would you like to drink?’ Jake asked.

  ‘Wine. A small glass though, please.’

  ‘White or red?’

  ‘White. Thanks.’

  Jake went off to the kitchen. Toby looked up at her. ‘You still doing challenges for the radio?’ he asked.

  Charlie nodded. ‘I’m going to be flying in an aerobatic stunt plane in a couple of weeks.’

  Toby put down his console. ‘Really? That’s lush. I’m going to learn to fly. I’d like my own aeroplane one day. I’d get a small one, like a Piper Arrow, and go off at weekends. Hugh’s parents have a jet. They can’t fly it themselves. They hire a pilot to take them away. Hugh said I can go with them all, one year.’

  ‘You’ve got some wonderful ambitions,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Mum says there’s no point in letting the grass grow under your feet. She learned to fly a helicopter. She doesn’t do it now. She’s not got any time. She’s got lots of clients and cases to deal with. She even works when she’s on holiday. It cheeses off Simon, but she says it has to be dealt with.’

  ‘This Fiona you’re talking about?’ asked Jake, wandering back in carrying a glass of wine, a bottle of beer and a bottle of Coke. He handed out the drinks. ‘Workaholic,’ he explained to Charlie. ‘Loves it though. I don’t know where she gets all her energy.’

  ‘Vitamin pills and a macrobiotic diet,’ replied Toby in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Chelsea prepares her food in the morning. Mum takes some of it to the office and eats it there.’

  ‘Chelsea’s her home help and cook,’ said Jake.

  ‘Chelsea’s a good cook. She makes a wicked cottage pie, but Dad’s pie is much better.’

  ‘Nah, I’m only average. Just had a lot of practice,’ continued Jake. ‘I hope you like goat’s cheese. I’ve done a starter of warm goat’s cheese on toast with some onion chutney, followed by boeuf bourguignon. I’ve gone all French tonight. Only because I had the ingredients and it’s easy to prepare. It’s nothing special.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ said Charlie, realising that she was, in fact, rather hungry. And the food sounded delicious – much more appetizing than what she usually rustled up herself.

  ‘Shall we eat now or do you want a pre-dinner match on the console?’ asked Toby.

  ‘We’ll eat, Toby. We’ve got time to play afterwards,’ said Jake. ‘Would you excuse me while I go and prepare the starter? I won’t be long. Toby will look after you. He’s got verbal diarrhoea, so just tell him to stop talking if he’s asking too many questions.’ He winked at Toby, picked up his beer and left.

  ‘Is it difficult to be a radio presenter? Do you have to take exams?’

  ‘It’s not hard. Yes, you need to do a course, but I only work in hospital radio and that’s a lot simpler than major radio stations. It’s a similar principle, but there’s a lot more to do and far more equipment in the professional studios.’

  ‘Do you want to work in a bigger studio?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’m quite happy at the hospital. It’s more of a hobby than a job.’

  ‘Is the café your real job?’

  ‘I guess so. I enjoy the baking side of it most.’

  ‘You made the chocolate cake?’

  Charlie nodded.

  ‘It’s scrummy. Even dad admitted it was the best he’d had. You’re good at it. You could have a cake shop.’

  ‘That would be fun,’ said Charlie, thinking it was a nice idea. ‘I’d like to specialise in unusual cupcakes and sell them to the public or cater for party events.’

  Toby fiddled with his bottle, picking at the label. ‘Mum says it’s a good idea to know what you want to do and then choose a career path. Some days I think I’d like to be a lawyer then other days I want to be a pilot. Hugh wants to be a grime music artist like Dizzee Rascal or Tinie Tempah, that would be dench.’

  ‘Dench?’

  ‘Cool. It means cool, except cool isn’t cool anymore. Hugh’s really into that sort of music. He plays it in the bedder. That’s where we sleep. I share with Hugh and Thomas. Don’t tell Dad about the music. I don’t think he’d approve of it. It’s a bit, you know?’

  Charlie made a motion of sealing her lips with an invisible zip. Toby grinned.

  ‘You don’t have to decide what you want to do yet, you know. You’ve got plenty of time to decide. I wanted to be a vet when I was your age. I changed my mind completely and did an office job, which was great, but I left it and now I’m doing something quite different which I enjoy.’

  ‘What sort of office job?’ asked Toby, swigging his Coke from the bottle and staring at her intently. Given his inquisitive nature, Charlie thought he’d make quite the journalist, like his father.

  ‘I was in marketing. I worked on campaigns to help companies sell their products. It was interesting,’ she replied.

  ‘Mum’s got an office in London. It’s on the top floor. She can see the London Eye from there. She’s got another in Birmingham. I’ve been to both of them. Abigail has an office too. Hers is smaller than mum’s.’

  Charlie could not help herself. ‘Abigail?’

  ‘Abigail’s my mum’s sister. She’s my aunt.’

  Jake came through. ‘Dinner is served,’ he announced and bowed.

  ‘Funny,
Dad.’ Toby stretched and stood up. ‘Can I have a beer?’

  ‘No,’ said Jake firmly.

  ‘Simon lets me.’

  Jake’s face went dark for a moment. ‘No. You know the rules here. No beer. You’re too young. This way please,’ he continued, ignoring Toby’s pleading looks.

  Charlie was ushered into the kitchen. Modern cream kitchen units, cooker and double sink filled one end of the room. A breakfast bar with a black marble top divided the kitchen from the dining area. A black glass table had been set for three. Someone had thoughtfully displayed a vase of flowers as a centrepiece. She noticed an array of cookery books on a cream dresser along with a black telephone, a notepad and a pot of pens. It was one of the shark pots from the café.

  Jake served the starter. Toby took up the conversation where it had left off.

  ‘Abigail’s an agent. Isn’t she, Dad?’

  Jake, who was chewing, nodded.

  ‘Not a detective agent. That would be brilliant. I’d like to have an aunt who was a detective. Abigail helps people who write books. She finds them publishers. Dad’s written a book. Abigail’s going to find a publisher and he’ll become famous.’

  Jake choked on his toast. ‘Toby, I think you’re jumping the gun. It’s early days. It will probably get rejected.’

  Charlie sampled her food. It was superb. The chutney made the perfect accompaniment to the cheese. It did not taste shop-bought.

  ‘Is this chutney homemade?’ she asked, savouring the flavours of the goat’s cheese and the chutney.

  ‘Yes. I’m a bit of an old housewife sometimes. I should join the Women’s Institute, except they’d probably throw me out for singing “Jerusalem” off key. I was bored last year and didn’t have much work on, so I bottled some jams and chutneys. You like it?’

  ‘It’s excellent,’ she said. ‘I’m impressed. I suspect the Women’s Institute would be more likely to throw you out because you’re a man. You could try dressing up.’

  Toby piped up, ‘Like Mrs Doubtfire,’ and sniggered.

  Jake pursed his lips and gave a good impression of the character, ‘Carpe dentum. Seize the teeth.’

  Charlie could not help but laugh.

  ‘So you’ve written a book. What’s it about?’

  Jake looked down at his plate. ‘It’s a sort of cookbook,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Sort of?’

  ‘Yes, a sort of love story with recipes,’ Jake added but was reluctant to elaborate.

  ‘Oh!’ Charlie couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was astonished.

  ‘Dad’s always been good at cooking. He used to be a chef, didn’t you, Dad?’

  ‘I’m sure Charlie doesn’t want to hear about all that.’

  They did not revisit the subject of Jake’s book. Toby maintained centre stage and talked about school, his teachers and his friends. Plates were emptied and taken to the kitchen. They all moved off to the boys’ room, where Toby deliberated over which video game they would play. He finally settled on a bowling game to give them all a sporting chance.

  ‘I want Call of Duty: Ghosts, but Dad won’t let me get it,’ he stated as he lined up his virtual bowl and made a strike. He cheered.

  ‘Sorry son, but I don’t like those violent shooter type games. They’re not healthy for you.’

  ‘Hugh says he plays it. He’s got all the latest games including Titanfall.’

  ‘What Hugh does or plays is for his parents to decide. Both your mother and I agree on this matter. No violent games. You may be thirteen going on twenty, but you’re still only just thirteen. You can get those games when you’re a little older. There are plenty of good games that don’t have so much violence in them. You didn’t even enjoy Laser Quest when you went to Hugh’s party. We both know you’d rather beat your old dad at a racing car game or bowling.’

  He ruffled Jake’s hair. Jake acknowledged him with a grin.

  ‘Your turn, Charlie.’

  Charlie felt more relaxed than she had for a while. Jake’s house was friendly and comfortable. She was enjoying the company. Toby acted far older than his years and was trying hard to show his father off in a good light. And Jake had impressed her, not only with his cooking but his easy manner. He treated Toby like an equal and together they made her feel very much at home.

  ‘Strike!’ she shouted as she too knocked down all her virtual pins.

  Toby high-fived her. Jake groaned.

  ‘I am being trounced by you two. It’s bad enough being beaten by Toby on a regular basis but you as well. I feel such a failure.’

  Toby and Charlie battled it out, with Toby winning the game. ‘It was inevitable,’ he said as they turned off the game. ‘I get stacks of practice at this.’

  Charlie decided it was time to depart. It was with some reluctance that she started to make her excuses. She was interrupted by Toby who exclaimed, ‘I have to go upstairs and do some prep. I forgot I had some maths questions to do for tomorrow. Mr Nailer is not the best teacher to make angry. He puts you in detention if you do something wrong. Hugh was chewing gum in class last week and he had to do five detentions. That’s harsh. See you later.’

  He beetled off, leaving the adults staring at each other.

  ‘Make that thirteen going on thirty,’ said Jake. ‘I think my son has just made a strategic withdrawal so we can be alone. He certainly hasn’t brought any maths books home with him that I know about. Fancy another drink?’

  Charlie was amused. ‘It would be a shame to race off and spoil his plans. Thanks, I’ll have one last glass of wine. They walked back to the kitchen where Jake filled two glasses. ‘I hope I’m not over the limit.’

  ‘You can stay here if you want,’ said Jake, passing Charlie the glass of wine. Seeing the horrified look on her face, he clarified his statement, ‘There’s a spare room upstairs with an en suite. It’s in the loft, so you won’t even have to be on the same landing as us.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to send out any wrong messages to Toby.’

  ‘Okay, I understand. Kids eh? I take it you haven’t got any.’

  Charlie sipped the wine and hesitated before speaking. ‘I did have. I had a little girl. She was the same age as Toby when she was seriously injured in a car accident. She didn’t pull through.’

  Jake’s face changed. He stretched out a hand and placed it on top of hers. ‘I’m so sorry, Charlie. That’s dreadful. When Toby went to live with his mum, it tore me apart. I hated the fact she sent him to boarding school. I could’ve looked after him and been there for him. I can only guess what it’s been like for you. I’m truly sorry.’

  His tenderness touched her. This was a man who had a deep caring nature. From what she had seen tonight, he loved being a father. It was unfair that he’d been denied the chance to be the father he wanted to be. Life was like that. It was unfair.

  Changing the subject, Charlie asked, ‘Are you going to tell me more about your book?’

  ‘You’ll laugh when I tell you. It’s about a man, passionate about cooking, who attempts to woo a woman with his recipes.’

  ‘You surprise me. I hadn’t got you down as the romantic type.’

  ‘I think I told you once before, you’ve got me wrong. Fiona got me wrong too. She thought I’d be more adventurous than I am. She spent years trying to encourage me to get involved in more masculine pursuits. It didn’t work. I don’t even like football. I enjoy writing, cookery and the simplicity of nature. She got bored in the end. Simon is much more ambitious than I ever was.

  ‘Fiona forced me to into journalism, too. She complained that I had a degree in English and yet preferred to spend my days cooking at the local restaurant. She thought I had more talent than that and was underusing my potential. She badgered one of her clients who was in the industry and they took me on. I turned freelance and covered stories from all over the country and abroad on occasions. I became disillusioned with it all. I asked for more local assignments and began to write good news stories.
The world has so many problems that sometimes it’s good to read about positive stuff.

  ‘Writing articles for magazines and newspapers paid bills but it’s not what I want to do. I only do it today because I’m not likely to be employed for my chef skills. I’ve not cooked commercially for years. Even now, I’d rather cook a meal for friends or work in my vegetable plot than write some article about the local council charging for emptying recycle dustbins. At least the good news stories are more interesting. The problem is that most people enjoy sensationalistic news or rubbish about so-called celebrities. But I’m afraid my heart’s not in it and if it weren’t for Fiona who knows where I’d be. Her and Simon are much better suited for each other. They both work incredibly hard. I wish they had more time for Toby. I fear he’s going to be a carbon copy of his mother and burn out by the time he’s forty. I’m going to take him on a walking holiday in Derbyshire this summer. See if I can get him to appreciate the simpler things in life. He’s surrounded by wealth at home. I thought we’d do some camping and rough it. Have a go at some outdoor cooking. Maybe do some birdwatching and fishing.’

  Charlie was flabbergasted. This was not the Jake she thought she knew.

  ‘I’m rubbish at some of the stuff that dads are expected to be good at. Going on the roller coaster was as adventurous as I’d been in a long while. That was until you cajoled me into that flaming zorb thing. Toby was astounded when I told him I’d been zorbing. He texted all his friends at school and bragged about it.’

  ‘You went diving. I remember you telling me about the nurse sharks.’

  ‘Actually, I made that up,’ he said, looking bashful. ‘You looked so anxious. I thought it would help you relax. The only sharks I’ve seen were at the aquarium.’ He paused. ‘I’m glad I went zorbing with you. I felt pretty horrible afterwards when you left me throwing up, but now I’m glad. It was an experience I shan’t forget.’

  The wine was making her bold. She needed clarification. ‘Is that why you sent me the poem?’

  ‘What poem?’

  ‘The one I found on my doormat in a hand-delivered envelope. It was two lines long. And went something like: “It doesn’t matter what you do. I’ll always be there for you.”’