The House We Called Home

by Jenny Oliver

  Stella looked across at him, his eyes wide and bright with disbelief, but there was something else there, something she’d never seen before, respect maybe. Or perhaps just interest. It made it all seem much less of a drama. Much less the moment her father stopped acknowledging her existence or the moment she actually feared Pete was about to smack her in the face, and more just a cool anecdote for her son.

  ‘Do you want me to take a picture of you, to put it on Instagram?’ Sonny asked.

  Stella shook her head. ‘No, not of me. I’ll take one of you.’

  Sonny shook his head. ‘Nah, my hair looks shit.’

  Not wanting to upset their fragile détente, Stella quashed her usual comment of, ‘Sonny, language!’ It was quite refreshing. She wondered then why she cared if he swore or not – he’d be swearing non-stop in a couple of years. If her mother had been with them then Stella would definitely have told Sonny off, simply because she would have known her mother would have been offended. She wondered how often she pulled her kids up because of what she actually believed or because of what was deemed acceptable. It made her think of Jack, his silence about his job had stemmed from whether she would deem him less. It was all insidious, these tightening threads of presumption.

  Stella realised Sonny was holding the phone up, waiting for her to say something about what to take. ‘Maybe take one of the horizon, there’s still some pink left.’ She pointed out to the rosy aftermath of the sunrise and the sharp flat line of the sea.

  ‘Nah, it’s OK. I’ve done one,’ Sonny said, clearly not waiting for her photographic suggestions. He handed her the phone to have a look.

  ‘Oh God, Sonny!’ Stella gasped, looking at the picture, half her back in the shot, her vest, her hair in sodden waves, the caption: Mum’s been swimming. Three easy words loaded with a lifetime. When she saw the flicker of disappointment on his face, the retreat of his shoulders she forced herself to add, ‘He’ll like that.’

  And Sonny took the phone back, nodding in agreement. Then as they started to walk back towards the steps that led up to the house, he mumbled, voice tentative, ‘Can we stay, Mum? You know, stay and find him?’

  Stella really wanted to say no. But something about the fact they had had this conversation, this moment together, that they had unwittingly found neutral ground in the unlikeliest of sources; her father, made her say, ‘Maybe. We’ll see.’ And Sonny do a barely perceptible, ‘Yes!’

  CHAPTER 19

  Jack was sitting outside drinking coffee when Stella and Sonny climbed up the steps to the cliff path and along to the garden. A figure as forlorn as the ragged palm tree that stood thin and weather-beaten next to the table. He didn’t look surprised to see them together, and Stella wondered if he’d watched them on the beach. He looked knackered – the bags under his eyes puffy like marshmallows, his shirt half-buttoned, his hair as askew as Jack’s short hair could be. Sonny ran straight over with his phone to show him the blurry Neptune013 Instagram pic. Stella joined them, slightly more reticent, pulling out the chair opposite Jack.

  ‘Where do you think he is?’ Jack asked. ‘Do they geotag Instagrams?’

  ‘Big words, Dad,’ Sonny mocked. ‘How do you know what a geotag is?’

  ‘I’m not a complete dinosaur, Sonny.’

  ‘Dad, you have fifteen Instagram followers. One of them is Rosie.’

  ‘Watch your cheek, young man,’ Jack said, smiling, taking a sip of his coffee. One eye all the time on Stella. ‘I know what a geotag is.’ Then a little less confidently he added, ‘I read about it in the paper. It’s a thing that shows where someone is, no?’

  ‘Very good.’ Sonny nodded. ‘But it’s not automatic on Instagram, you have to tag yourself. Which he hasn’t.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jack, not really sure what Sonny was talking about. ‘Right.’

  Gus appeared in the doorway. ‘Oh, there you are,’ he said to Sonny. ‘Your bloody game has kept me up nearly all night. It’s impossible.’

  Sonny sniggered. ‘It’s not impossible. You’re just RUBBISH.’

  Gus made a show of mock offence. He was dressed in shorts and a faded green T-shirt with characters made of McDonald’s products on the front – a milkshake and a chip packet with eyes and arms and legs – dancing with each other. ‘Why are you talking about geotags?’ he asked, and Sonny went over to the doorway and held the phone out for him to see. Gus squinted at the screen. ‘Is that a leg?’

  Sonny nodded. ‘It’s Grandpa’s.’

  Gus tipped his head. ‘Well that’s it then, search over. We have located his knee.’

  Stella laughed despite herself.

  Sonny thumped him on the arm. Gus winced. ‘Come on then, Loser,’ Sonny said, stepping just inside the French doors, ‘show me your score.’

  Gus got his own phone out and pulled up the game he had failed so badly.

  At the table, Stella looked at Jack. Jack at Stella.

  Jack looked nervous, or rather, sheepish. ‘I’m sorry about last night,’ he whispered. ‘It was unfair to bring parenting into it all.’

  The air was all salty sea breeze and apricot sunshine. Stella picked at the flakes of weather-worn paint on the table. ‘Yeah.’

  They felt like strangers.

  ‘I know you do the brunt of the hard work with the kids,’ Jack went on. ‘And I know I come in through the door when you’ve dealt with all the hard stuff, so it’s easy to make judgements.’

  Stella was listening but none of it was really going in. She had wanted to be all post-swim breezy and say it was all cool and she was all cool and they should just chill and discuss. But now he was talking, little arrows of annoyance were piercing through the walls. She wanted to ask how, without a job, he had still had the nerve to walk in the door at seven thirty, when she’d been shouting at the kids for three hours to do their homework, share the stupid iPad and had cooked dinner.

  There was a whoop from the doorway where Gus had just completed some move on the game with the help of Sonny.

  Jack glanced up, all big eyes and sad mouth, and it made Stella want to slap him. She wanted to stand up and go inside, make her own coffee and sit on her own.

  But when she went to move, hands flat on the table, she saw the once familiar sight of sea salt dried on her skin. And the sudden reminder of her swim made her stay. The adrenaline from the cold and the exertion, the high of endorphins, the rarely acknowledged memories. It had done something to her. She could feel it. It had given her a sense of being alive. She was reminded of Jack last night sighing as he said, ‘I think I understand why your dad’s gone. It’s just for the break from life. From expectation.’ If she closed her eyes she could see the view she’d had of the sky as she lay floating on her back, the wide expanse of marbled pink and blue. And she thought briefly that that was how Jack had felt. That was why he had lied. For that freedom.

  It occurred to her that she could still stand up and walk inside and this would fester and grow and spread its tentacles through their lives. Or she could do what her dad had never done for her. She could realise that these weren’t actions of Jack’s normal character. She could remember that she loved him and attempt to give him the benefit of the doubt. She could force herself to stay sitting and try to understand.

  ‘Mummy! Amy let me have a bowl of Coco Pops and Nutella on toast for breakfast!’ Rosie appeared at the door with a plate of toast balanced on top of her bowl.

  Amy appeared behind her looking a little guilty, wearing pale pink velour shorts and a white T-shirt with the Rolling Stones’ tongue sticking out on the front. ‘I didn’t realise you were here,’ she said, as if she wouldn’t have said it was OK had she known.

  Stella knew she would normally have made a comment about daily sugar allowances. But right now it seemed both the least of her problems and to highlight her supposed control issues. Instead she said, ‘Well aren’t you lucky, Rosie,’ distracted, glancing at Jack who was staring glumly down at the coffee cup in his hands. The moment to talk more w
as over; parenthood was a million interrupted chats.

  Sonny nabbed a slice of Rosie’s toast as she skipped past him to the garden, then filled Amy in on the Instagram picture. All the while Gus stood lanky in the doorway still trying to decipher the game, head bent, thumbs moving, brows drawn.

  As Amy went out to talk to Stella about the photo, she paused and said, ‘Morning,’ to Gus, who looked up slightly shocked, checked she was talking to him and then said, ‘Yeah, morning.’ He watched her as she nodded primly and went to sit at the table, before going back to his phone.

  ‘Sonny says we need to have a day of photos,’ Amy spoke through a mouthful of Coco Pops. ‘I think that’s a really good idea.’

  On cue Sonny said, ‘Say cheese!’ and snapped a photo for Instagram. All of them turned in surprise.

  ‘Oh Sonny, I was eating – I look awful,’ Amy cried, immediately bouffing up her hair. ‘More notice next time. Let me see.’

  Sonny held the phone in front of Amy’s face so she could look but wouldn’t let her hold it.

  ‘Why can’t I hold your phone?’ Amy asked, trying to take it from him.

  ‘I don’t want you to Like anything by mistake.’

  ‘Oh, please!’ Amy snatched the handset from him. ‘I’m a social media pro.’

  From the doorway, Gus snorted.

  Amy pretended not to notice.

  Stella glanced over her shoulder to have a look at the photo. There they all were, Instagram filtered to the psychedelic max.

  Under the pic it said: Sxnny.x1x2 Chillin with the fam.

  Looking at the shot, Stella was suddenly taunted by what Mitch had said on the beach – about the lies of normality. About the unsaid. She looked at Jack across the table and raised her eyebrows. Jack cocked his head in question, eyebrows furrowed. She indicated to the ‘fam’ with a tip of her head. Jack did a little shake of his head. Stella did a wide-eyed nod.

  ‘What are you two doing?’ Amy asked, glancing between them like a tennis game. ‘Stella, you look like you’ve got a tic.’

  ‘Nothing,’ Stella said, arms crossed still staring eyes-wide at Jack.

  Gus had given up playing the game on his phone and was scrolling through Instagram. ‘Blimey Stella, you swam in the sea?’ He pointed to the waves in the distance. ‘You’re crazy!’

  Jack’s brows rose. ‘You swam?’

  Stella shrugged.

  Sonny loped over to his dad and said, ‘Yeah, she did, look—’ and showed him the photos of Stella, wet by the water.

  Jack stared contemplatively at the photo.

  He handed Sonny back the handset.

  Gus was talking. ‘I’ve never swum in the sea.’

  They all looked at him in horror. Even Rosie, stuffing her face with Nutella, paused. ‘Never?’ she said, mouth full.

  Gus stepped back like he was in the firing line. ‘No. Blimey. My family were not big beachgoers.’

  ‘Where did you go on holiday?’ Amy asked, like she was talking to an alien.

  ‘I dunno.’ Gus edged forward again. ‘We went places we could walk. My mum likes the mountains.’

  Little Rosie was having none of it. ‘Why would you want to walk on holiday?’

  Gus shrugged. ‘Fresh air. Exercise?’ He thought some more. ‘Thermos of coffee that tastes like someone spat it out? Soggy egg sandwiches? Big red blisters that weep through your socks?’

  Sonny laughed.

  Rosie frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘He’s being stupid,’ Amy said. ‘Ignore him.’

  Gus made a face. ‘Come on, that was funny.’

  She made a face like maybe, maybe not.

  ‘I don’t think it was funny,’ Rosie whispered to Amy.

  ‘Me neither,’ Amy whispered loudly back.

  ‘Oh, come on, it was funny,’ Gus said. ‘Now you’ve ruined it by making it too big a deal.’

  Amy scoffed. Rosie giggled.

  Jack, who had been sitting a little glassy-eyed since he’d heard about his wife swimming, cleared his throat and said, ‘There’s erm— There’s something you should all know.’ He cleared his throat again. ‘I’ve er— been made redundant, which means I won’t be working in my job any longer. Sonny, Rosie – it’s nothing to worry about.’ He caught Stella’s eye and added, ‘It happened a while ago.’

  Rosie, who believed anything anyone told her, so if the message was not to worry she wouldn’t worry, said, ‘Oh, OK,’ and munched the rest of her toast.

  Sonny put his hands in his pockets and looked up from under his hair, eyes unable to hide their panic. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

  Jack shifted uncomfortably. ‘I er— Yes.’

  Sonny frowned at the response.

  Once again, Gus retreated back within the safety of the French doors, sensing another awkward family moment to avoid.

  Amy gave Stella a look. Stella made a resigned face back.

  Jack was floundering. He never floundered. He glanced at Stella to bail him out. She almost sat back with a return glance of you’re on your own, buster, but even after all their earlier back and forth, she couldn’t do it to him. So she turned to Sonny and said, ‘Because sometimes people need some time to come to terms with things by themselves.’

  Sonny looked down at the floor, scuffed at some moss growing between the paving slabs. ‘Are you going to leave?’ he mumbled.

  Stella frowned. ‘Why would he leave?’

  ‘Like Grandpa.’

  Jack pulled himself together. ‘No.’

  Sonny looked up, nervous.

  Then Gus stepped forward from the shadow of the doorway and said, ‘I got sacked once. From Cineworld. It wasn’t my fault – the girls used to go outside for a fag and when they came back in they’d warm their hands up by shoving them in the popcorn. When they got caught we were all given the boot – aiding and abetting.’ He grinned.

  ‘That’s disgusting!’ Sonny said, cheering up immensely. ‘Dad, did you do something like that?’

  Jack cleared his throat again. ‘Well actually, Sonny, being made redundant is very different to being sacked—’

  He was cut off by Amy who was still reeling. ‘I have popcorn all the time at the cinema. ALL THE TIME! That’s the grossest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m repulsed. I’m—’ She pointed to herself and repeated, ‘repulsed.’

  Gus scoffed, ‘Oh come on, that can’t be the grossest thing you’ve ever heard? I know way worse than that.’ He looked around his present company and clearly decided against sharing most of it.

  Sonny said, ‘I’ve got a mate who unscrews all the caps off shampoo and stuff in Boots and gobs in them.’

  ‘Oh, Sonny!’ Stella made a face.

  ‘What? It’s not me!’ Sonny pointed to himself like he was being hard done by while trying not to crack up.

  Amy looked appalled. ‘God, I’m not going to be able to buy anything ever again.’

  Gus winked at Sonny.

  Stella exhaled, unexpectedly relieved by the lightening of the atmosphere.

  Amy turned away from them with displeasure, then, stretching her slightly streaky fake-tanned legs out in front of her, said, ‘So, go on then, Jack, what have you been doing all that time?’

  Stella’s head shot up, surprised by the audacity of the question she had barely had the nerve to ask. Jack did another nervous cough. His neck dotted red as a flush crept up to his cheeks.

  Even Gus took a step closer.

  ‘I think,’ Jack said, his expression shifting, like excitement was edging above his embarrassment and shame, ‘it might be easier if I show you.’

  CHAPTER 20

  The sun had settled in by the time they were heading out of the door, a close, oven-baking heat muted only by scraps of cloud. Aeroplane trails crisscrossed the sky.

  Sonny had his red Wayfarer sunglasses on. Gus came out wearing bright blue ones.

  ‘Hey dude, we match,’ said Sonny.

  Gus paused. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head and taking his
sunglasses off. ‘That’s too embarrassing.’

  Sonny smirked and went to sit on the front wall.

  ‘Where’s the car?’ Amy asked, appearing in a giant hat and flip-flops with sunflowers on them.

  ‘Shit!’ Stella tipped her head back, staring up at the sky. ‘It’s miles away and it’s got no petrol.’

  The plan suddenly scuppered, they all stood around unsure what to do. Everyone too hot.

  ‘Mummy, you said “shit”,’ Rosie piped up.

  ‘Yes,’ Stella said. ‘Sorry.’

  Rosie shrugged like she’d only been pointing it out and didn’t really care. Then she skipped off to play with the swingball in the garden.

  Fat flies buzzed lazy in the heat. Jack, deflated, tried to check the coordinates of the nearest petrol station on his phone. ‘Sonny, I need your help with this. How do you work out distances?’ Sonny ambled over to help his dad.

  Gus kicked a stone on the drive then apologised when it hit Amy’s flowery flip-flop. Looking up, he nodded towards the picture of a giant tongue on her T-shirt and said, ‘I didn’t know you were a fan of the Rolling Stones.’

  Amy narrowed her eyes at him. ‘I’m not.’

  ‘But you’re wearing their T-shirt,’ Gus said, confused.

  Amy looked down at her top. ‘Am I?’

  ‘That’s their logo.’

  ‘Oh. I just got it in Primark.’

  Gus raised his brows then slipped his sunglasses on to hide his mocking expression.

  Amy shook her head. ‘You’re so condescending. “I didn’t know you were a fan of the Rolling Stones,”’ she said, mimicking his voice.

  ‘That’s not condescending.’ Gus held his arms wide. ‘That’s putting facts together. Condescending was the look I gave you afterwards when you said you didn’t know it was their logo.’

  Amy curled her lip. ‘I knew it was their logo.’

  ‘You so didn’t.’

  Amy shrugged like she didn’t care what he thought.

  ‘OK, then,’ Gus said. ‘Name me a Rolling Stones song.’

  Amy paused, looked momentarily stricken, then she said, ‘No, I don’t have to prove myself to you.’