The Sandfather

by Linda Newbery

  ‘D’you know your way around?’ Don asked him.

  ‘Well, I know the Plough.’ Hal pointed. ‘There it is. And Orion. That’s easy.’

  But - he looked around, getting a crick in his neck from gazing - the Orion constellation was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘He’ll be down on the horizon - round in the west by early morning,’ said Don. ‘See Cassiopeia, though, the big W? And Ursa Minor, the Little Bear, like the Plough only smaller? And look - there’s too much light everywhere, these days, but you can just get an idea of the Milky Way - see where the stars are thickest - like a long scarf trailing across the sky?’

  They looked and looked. Aunt Jude got cold and went indoors; Hal and Don stayed outside until Hal too was chilled and giddied, ready to fall asleep on his feet.

  ‘Didn’t know you knew so much,’ Hal said, gratefully entering the warmth of the kitchen.

  ‘Hardly anything at all, when you think how much there is to know. If you’re interested, we ought to get hold of a - k! - telescope. Go down to the beach one clear night.’

  ‘But there aren’t many nights left. This time next week I’ll be at home.’

  ‘Mmnng. And your grandfather’ll be here. All change,’ Don said gloomily.

  Hal hadn’t thought about that. Where would that leave Don, when the grandfather was back? Aunt Jude would move into her own flat, then. Maybe Don would go and live in the beach hut.

  On Thursday, Hal went with Luke to the leisure centre, for football coaching. Wesley was heading for the pool; he waved and smiled and said, ‘Catch you later.’

  ‘Is that him?’ Luke asked; Hal nodded, and that was all that was said.

  Hal enjoyed the football: mind and body working together, using old skills and building new ones, with a coach and a young player from Southampton United. Both Hal and Luke came in for praise and encouragement, and finished the session feeling good, keen for more.

  They paused to look at the Circus Skills group in the gym, which Hal would quite like to have tried. People were juggling, walking on stilts, attempting to cross a low wire. To his surprise Hal saw Czeszka, high on stilts and walking quite effectively. He pointed her out to Luke, who immediately started on about her being Hal’s girlfriend.

  ‘Duh! Don’t be stupid!’ Hal retorted. ‘I hardly know her. Seen her around, that’s all.’

  But the more fiercely he denied it, the more Luke joked and insinuated. Hal gave up.

  Next day was The Day. The day Mum was arriving, with Claire. The day she’d tell him. The day he’d find out who his father was.

  From the moment Hal woke up, he was alert and excited. Anxious, too. Oddly, now that the finding-out was so close, he felt that maybe he didn’t want to know. If it wasn’t Wesley, who else could be as good? How could some complete stranger take over, fill the gap?

  It was too big to be filled. Maybe that was the problem. And the stranger, whoever he was, couldn’t be more than a distant speck, as far away and as small as one of the stars in the Milky Way.

  They arrived at twelve, in Claire’s car. Mum greeted Hal as if they’d been separated for many months. In jeans and bright T-shirt, she looked much more her normal self than when he’d seen her in hospital. Claire left soon after lunch, with strict instructions to Mum not to tire herself, and to phone as soon as she got home on Sunday.

  They stood in the road while the car turned the corner and out of sight, Claire waving till the last moment. Wanting Mum to himself, Hal was glad she’d gone.

  Mum knew what he was waiting for.

  ‘I think I’ll unpack my things now,’ she said. ‘Come and give me a hand, Hal?’

  Aunt Jude had stripped and changed the bed for Mum, and put out a clean towel. Hal’s few clothes hadn’t been back on their hangers since Mum had put them there, and had now been tidied and folded by Aunt Jude. Mum hung her trousers, tops and jacket in the wardrobe, and put her nightdress under the pillow.

  At first, she seemed to be avoiding the subject that was hanging unspoken in the air. ‘How was the sailing?’ she asked instead. And: ‘I hear you’re friends with Luke again? That’s good.’

  Maybe she’d changed her mind. Maybe she wasn’t going to tell him after all.

  ‘Mum,’ he prompted. ‘You said you’d . . .’

  ‘I know.’ She sat on the bed and gestured him to sit beside her; she gave him a big hug. ‘Hal, you know I love you more than anything, don’t you? More than anyone in the world?’

  ‘Uh.’ Hal squirmed; her hair tickled his cheek and he smelled her perfume. He wished she wouldn’t talk like that. Even though it was nice to know.

  ‘And I’d never do anything to hurt you. That’s why I’ve never told you before.’

  He looked at her sidelong. ‘Told me what?’

  ‘What I’m going to tell you now.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, really sorry for all this confusion, about Wesley I mean. I had no idea he was living here again. If I had known—’

  ‘Yeah, what?’

  ‘Well! I might have told you that he used to be my boyfriend, but he’s definitely not your father. I could have saved you that disappointment. If you could choose yourself a - a dad, you’d probably choose someone like Wesley. I can see that.’

  ‘So why did you have to dump him, then?’

  ‘Oh . . .’ Mum smiled, shook her head. ‘It wasn’t like that. We were just too young. Wesley was lovely, and we had great times together. He was fun, he was kind, he was - well, gorgeous. But I didn’t want to tie myself down. Didn’t want him to, either. We were both going our different ways. We went off to university. Him to Loughborough, me to Manchester.’

  ‘And, what, you met someone else there?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did. He, your father, reminded me of Wesley - that’s what attracted me, at first. He was black, obviously. Tall, handsome, athletic. Only not as - Hal, he was a few years older than me. He was a mature student. And he was already married.’

  Hal took this in. ‘You had a thing going with a married man?’

  ‘I did. And I can’t say I’m proud of myself for that. But at the time I - I thought I loved him. I thought he loved me. Maybe I did, maybe he did, for a while. Six months, it lasted, just about. It ended when I found I was pregnant. When I told him.’

  ‘So - what happened then? Did his wife find out?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He was desperate to keep it secret. He was horrified. He - wanted me to have an abortion, Hal. Pleaded with me. Offered to pay.’

  ‘But you didn’t?’

  Mum gave a sort of sobbing laugh, leaned against him, hugged him again. ‘Of course I didn’t! Here you are - the best thing in my life!’

  ‘So what, then? Did you dump him?’

  ‘I think we dumped each other. It was finished. He didn’t want any more to do with me - I was a nuisance, a threat. And I didn’t want anything to do with him, if he expected me to get rid of the baby I wanted so much. So that was that. I left Manchester - well, you know that. Never finished my course. And then - then there was the big row with my parents. My father especially.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  Mum shifted on the bed, wriggled herself into a more comfortable position. ‘Oh - I was a disgrace to the family, I’d thrown away my chances. Look at it from their point of view, Hal. They’d set their hearts on me getting a degree - they’d have been so proud. They’d put a lot of money into helping me through. And now I was throwing it all back in their faces. Giving up.’

  ‘So they chucked you out?’

  ‘No! They didn’t chuck me out. That was my decision. I decided to go my own way. I didn’t want their support, not if I was such a disappointment.’

  Hal was picking at a loose thread on the duvet cover. ‘Did they want you to - you know - get rid of me, too?’

  ‘Yes, they did. At the time. They thought I’d made a huge mistake, and I shouldn’t let it dictate my future. Maybe I had - made a mistake. But it gave me the best thing in my whole life, so how could I possibly
regret it? And I never have. Not for a single millisecond. Truly, Hal.’

  ‘They wanted you to get rid of me,’ Hal repeated, thinking and now I’m in their house. ‘Was it because - like - were they racist? Because my father was black? Was that why? Is that why I’d never seen them? Is that why you never really told me about them?’

  ‘No!’ Mum shook her head vehemently. ‘It was nothing to do with that! Is that what you’ve been thinking? Oh, Hal, I should have explained; I’ve always known I should, but I didn’t know where to start - or where to stop. The fact is, they didn’t know. I didn’t tell them. I didn’t want them to have anything to do with you. Or with me. I went off on my own. They never saw you - not till this summer. I mean my dad saw you - it was too late for Mum. And by then he’d realised how stupid it’s been, this quarrel going on for so many years. How much he’s missed.’ She rubbed Hal’s arm, looked at him closely. ‘It’s an awful lot to take in, isn’t it? Too much, all at once.’

  ‘No, go on,’ Hal said quickly. ‘I can - you know - think about it all later.’ He didn’t want to skip over anything, while Mum was in this talkative mood. It might not happen again.

  ‘I mean, he liked Wesley. He really did,’ she went on. ‘And I suppose - like Aunt Jude - he must think you’re Wesley’s son. Maybe I should have explained to him, about your real father. But maybe it’s too late for that now. You’re you, and that’s all that matters.’

  ‘But there’s something you, uh, still haven’t told me. My father’s name.’

  Mum looked away from him, out of the window.

  ‘No. And I’m not going to.’

  ‘What?’ He couldn’t believe it. ‘But you promised!’

  ‘Not yet, Hal. And I didn’t promise that. When you’re older, when you’re eighteen, I’ll tell you what you want to know - if you still do want it. You might not. After all, you know he didn’t want you to be born.’

  Hal considered this. He wondered what he thought about this man, this father. Who must be somewhere, now this minute, and had been, all those years. Surely, surely he couldn’t have forgotten that he had a son? Surely he must wonder, sometimes?

  ‘Has he got other kids?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t, then.’

  ‘So I might have half-brothers and sisters. Younger than me, they’d be. And what about—’ He thought of Wesley’s father, the Jamaican accent and all it carried with it. ‘Is he, like, Afro-Caribbean? Or from where? You can tell me that, can’t you?’

  ‘Not Jamaican. Barbados. Still Afro-Caribbean.’

  Hal tried it. ‘Barbados. Barbados.’ Felt it on his lips and tongue, its energy, its strong syllables, its hissing finish.

  Bar-bay-doss.

  He saw a holiday-advert kind of scene: a sweeping curve of beach, palm trees, lush greenery, deep blue sea. And beyond that was music, rhythm. People. Voices. Ways of living, of belonging, of being. One word from his mum, and it was part of him. Part of who he was, waiting to be found.

  Maybe that was why he was so drawn to the beach. It was Barbados calling to him through his blood and his genes. And farther back, Africa, the huge continent full of possibilities.

  ‘Cool,’ he said.

  21

  LIFEBOAT

  Marborough’s was sold. The sale, all the solicitor business Aunt Jude had been so involved with, was completed. A builder’s sign went up outside; it was screened off, boards blocking the pavement, with a pedestrian walkway taking up part of the road. Work would begin next week.

  Hal, his mum and Aunt Jude looked at it from their seats in the coffee shop opposite.

  ‘It’s sad,’ said Mum, ‘to think it’s not going to be there any more, the old shop.’

  ‘I remember your dad walking round all the departments, every day, first thing and last,’ Aunt Jude told her. ‘All those memories - he’ll miss it, I know.’

  Mum was only allowed to do very short walks, warned not to tire herself. From the sea-front car park was enough; now a reviving cappuccino for her, double espresso for Aunt Jude, choco-latte and raspberry muffin for Hal.

  ‘If you wanted to do, like, psychology,’ Hal asked her, ‘how come you’re a hairdresser?’

  ‘One thing led to another. When I thought of leaving Manchester and setting up on my own, I couldn’t think where to start. No job, no money, no qualifications - I thought I’d be penniless on the streets. But one thing I was sure of - I wasn’t going to run home, asking for help.’

  Aunt Jude sighed. ‘Silly girl. I only wish I’d known. You’re every bit as obstinate as your dad! Always have been.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Hal asked.

  ‘I only told two of my friends, Jenna and Claire,’ Mum said. ‘Claire was the one who solved the problem. Her older brother was working in the States for six months, and he had a bedsit near where we live now. Claire asked if I could have it, and he agreed, as long as I paid the bills. So I moved in, and Jacky was next door. She’s a single mum too, so she helped me sort out allowances and benefits, and lent me lots of baby stuff. I was clueless, but I had to learn somehow. She was the biggest help.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Well, she was just starting up JJ’s. It was her dream. Her own salon. She’d been left some money by her grandma, and that gave her the chance to do it. I knew nothing about hairdressing, but she took me on part-time, to help out. I was cleaner, accountant—’

  ‘Runs in the family,’ said Aunt Jude.

  ‘—receptionist, general dogsbody. Earned enough to pay the rent, once the six months was up, and we moved into a council flat. Then Jacky said - a joke, at first - why didn’t I train as a stylist? So I did a course, one day a week - she helped finance me through that. And soon, I found the thing that really fascinated me - talking to people. And even more important, listening to them. It’s quite staggering, the things people tell their hairdresser! And sometimes, you know, I really feel I’ve helped someone. Given them an idea, helped them solve a problem, or make up their mind about something that bothers them. Sometimes all I’ve done is listen, but that’s enough.’

  ‘Agony aunt,’ said Hal.

  Mum smiled. ‘And I like the work. Accidental hairdresser, that’s me.’

  ‘Now, though?’ said Aunt Jude. ‘You can always find hairdressing work.’

  Mum made a search me face. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Could be time for a change.’

  It made Hal feel weird, all this. His life seemed such a fixed and definite thing, as if it couldn’t possibly have been any different. Yet all of it - his actual existence - depended on chance meetings, decisions, mistakes, offers and suggestions. Here he was, though: himself. He felt solid enough.

  Still, there was that name, elusive as a wisp of smoke; the name he still didn’t know. He tried again to get it from Mum - pleaded, begged, sulked - but she wouldn’t budge.

  Down at the beach hut, he sought Don’s help.

  ‘She still won’t tell me who he is! His name! She’s told me other stuff, but not that. It’s well out of order!’

  Don was painting, though he wouldn’t let Hal see what. He continued, frowning and scowling over his Daler board, while Hal told him what he did know. Then he said nothing for quite a long time.

  ‘So, come on!’ Hal demanded. ‘She’s got to tell me, hasn’t she?’

  Don considered the matter for a bit longer. Then he said, ‘You know what strikes me? You’re best off without him. He’s a father, but not a dad. And only a father in the strictest biological sense. What else has he done? He’s been no use to you, probably never will be. But you’ve got family, Hal, a family that loves you and wants you and needs you. You’ve got a lovely mum. You’ve got Jude. You’ve even - nng - got me, like it or not. And you’ve got your grandfather.’

  Hal turned away. ‘Him! I don’t count him as family.’

  ‘But he is. Close family. He may have been a miserable old sod, but he knows that now. Regrets it. I know - Hal, believe me, I know - what that feels like. Go on, give the ol
d boy another chance.’

  ‘He wasn’t racist, like I thought,’ Hal conceded. ‘He didn’t know.’

  Don was putting his brushes to soak in a jam-jar, wiping his hands on a piece of filthy rag. ‘No, he was just a stubborn, short-sighted old git.’

  ‘Obstinate, Aunt Jude says.’

  ‘Well, there you are then. He’s got a lot to make up for, hasn’t he? He wants to, really wants to. I think I’m done for today.’ He reached down to the stack of boards and canvases. ‘Here. This is for you.’ He handed Hal a package wrapped in a carrier bag. ‘Don’t unwrap it now. Later.’

  ‘But what—?’

  ‘Wait till you get home. D’you mind leaving me alone for a bit? I’ve got to write this wretched speech for tomorrow night.’

  When Hal got home, Mum and Aunt Jude were cooking in the kitchen. Aunt Jude was stirring a saucepan, while Mum had her hands in a mixing-bowl, making crumble.

  Hal showed them the package. ‘Look, Don’s given me this.’

  ‘Oh, what?’ Mum tried to uncrumble her hands, and leaned over to see.

  ‘Looks like a picture.’ Hal tore at the parcel tape.

  It was a small unframed painting. With a shock, Hal recognised himself, head and shoulders, against the night sky. The angle was an unusual one, as if looking at him close over his shoulder, seeing his hair, his ear, the side of his cheek, one eye open and gazing, the inside of the lashes. Torch-glow showed his skin brown and gleaming, his lips parted, a glimpse of teeth. And above him the stars blazed, larger than life, flaring against ink-darkness. The shapes of garden trees swirled vaguely in the background.

  ‘It’s the other night in the garden,’ Hal said. They stood, all three of them, gazing at the painting he held in his hands.

  ‘Oh, it’s lovely, lovely,’ said Aunt Jude. ‘And he’s signed it, look! That must mean he’s pleased with it. He only signs the ones he really likes.’

  Mum gazed and gazed. ‘It’s beautiful! We’ll get it framed, Hal, and you must keep it for ever.’