by Ben Adams
‘Now you listen to me, Graham, this is Lucy’s big day. Despite her mother not being here to share it with her, Lucy has been talking about it for the last week. If she can cope with her mother being in hospital for her birthday, then so can you. Come on, I’ve got some jobs for you to do.’ And off she marched in to the house.
As I mopped floors and scrubbed surfaces, I thought about Imogen’s words. Yet again I had been too self-absorbed. This party isn’t just about me. In fact it is mainly not about me. I owe it to Amy to make Lucy’s day a success. I owe it to Lucy too. And to Jack and Sean. I gave myself another mental kick up the backside and got on with the mopping, the brushing, the toilet-cleaning, the heavy lifting and the plating of assorted confectionary.
Imogen had designated the kitchen and adjoining conservatory as the ‘adults’ zone’ and the oak panelled dining room as the ‘young people’s zone’, the idea being that the kids couldn’t get to the alcohol in the kitchen fridge if they were restricted to the dining area.
I toiled long and hard to take most of the furniture out of the dining room, to provide the kids with a decent sized dance area. I am sure that pleased Jack.
By the time Lucy, and then Jack and Sean, arrived at Amy’s from school, the dining table in their party room was laden with soft drinks and more sweet stuff than they could possibly eat. The sound system I had stolen from Helen’s was also in place. I heard Jack telling Lucy that I might not be cool but at least I have cool speakers. I bet they won’t be playing my music on them.
About an hour before the first guests arrived, Lucy went off to do what teenage girls do before parties and Jack and Sean sat watching some rubbish on Amy’s cinema-sized telly. Imogen and I took the opportunity of this quiet moment to have a calming cup of tea and to take stock.
‘Thanks for doing all this, Imogen,’ I offered in the best conciliatory tone I could muster. I am in no doubt that the party wouldn’t have happened without her energy and enthusiasm.
‘Graham, it’s my pleasure. More than anything I want to see young Lucy happy. It’s her day.’
‘She’s a great kid.’
‘I also want to see Amy happy,’ Imogen continued. I sensed there was more to come so I just nodded while fiddling with the handle of my china cup.
‘Are you the one to make her happy?’ she asked. I felt like I was about to be interviewed for a job. It was a job I knew I wanted so I couldn’t flunk the test. But having said that, a part of me didn’t want to be having this conversation with Imogen. I wanted to be having it with Amy.
‘Imogen, I want very much to make your daughter happy, but it’s hard to do that when she doesn’t want to see me.’
‘Graham, don’t you get it? It isn’t that she doesn’t want to see you. She doesn’t want you to see her. Not looking like she thinks she does, anyway.’
‘But that’s just stupid,’ I protested. ‘Amy is the most glamorous, the most alluring, the most seductive person I have ever met. I can’t take my eyes off her smile. A few scratches here and there isn’t going to change that.’
Imogen put her hands up, indicating me to stop. ‘It isn’t me you should be telling this, is it?’
And then I got it. Grow a pair, Graham. Get off your arse. Get your backside in gear. Get your car in gear.
I grabbed my car keys off the kitchen side and ran out of the door without so much as a word to my boys about where I was going.
I sprayed gravel everywhere as I accelerated out of Amy’s drive and up Parkside towards the A3. I drove as quickly as I could through the rush-hour traffic to the hospital. The adrenaline was flowing as I dumped the car on zigzag lines past the hospital entrance and ran in through the doors to the Atkinson Morley wing.
Had Amy simply been waiting for me to show her how little her injuries affected me? If so, then I have been a wimp, a pathetic excuse for a lover, making Amy and myself suffer unnecessarily. That was about to change. I was going to set the pace in a relationship for once in my miserable life.
I hurtled up three flights of stairs and ran through corridors, dodging all obstacles in my way until I reached Amy’s ward. I didn’t even hesitate. I barged straight in.
Amy’s bed was empty. I stood there for a minute catching my breath and wiping the sweat from my forehead. Looking around, I saw that her bed was made. Her bedside locker still contained a few of Amy’s knick knacks but her handbag was notable by its absence. I was about to open the travel case at the foot of the bed when Amy coughed. ‘Are you after me?’
I turned around. Amy looked stunning. Dressed simply in jeans and a white long-sleeved top and a black leather jacket, she could have been a model. Her hair looked fantastic and the wrap-around sunglasses didn’t look out of place. I expect my jaw dropped.
‘I love you,’ I muttered as I walked towards her. It was hardly a Paul Hogan to Linda Kozlowski in Crocodile Dundee (I had a big crush on her) or Tom Hanks to Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle (I had a crush on her too). My Shakespeare deserted me too, so I just stuck with the simple-is-best approach.
I took Amy’s sunglasses off and kissed her. And kissed her again. And then she kissed me back and we held each other, tighter and tighter until she winced. In the heat of the moment I had forgotten entirely about her injuries.
I will always relive that moment in my mind, the moment I stopped being a total wuss and manned up. The moment when I totally let go of my inhibitions and laid my emotions bare in front of Amy. I will never forget her reaction, her joy at knowing that I wanted her, and her now, not her as she was before the accident. I will never forget the moment I got a life.
We stayed standing, entwined in each other’s arms, for quite some time. Eventually, Amy asked if we were going to the party.
‘Are we going?’ I asked incredulously. ‘You haven’t been discharged, have you?’
‘Why do you think I have got my jacket on?’ she asked. ‘The doctors have given me permission to come home for the night. I was on my way to the lift when I saw you coming from the other direction.’ The night was getting better and better.
Amy and I made our way back to my car which, miraculously, hadn’t been towed away. The journey home was much more leisurely than my dash to the hospital an hour earlier had been. Amy and I didn’t say much to each other. For my part, I was getting my head around having Amy with me this evening. And Amy was just looking forward to coming home.
As we pulled in through the gates, we could hear the monotonous thud of modern bass-heavy music blasting out of the open dining room window. Unsurprisingly, Lucy’s music was drowning out whatever was being played by the adults in the back of the house.
‘Where do you want to go first?’ I asked as we walked towards the front door. Amy stopped me and kissed me again. As we were kissing, the front door opened, throwing light on to us standing in the porch. People burst out of the house seemingly from every direction and surrounded us. Amy detached herself from me and hugged her daughter and her mother. Jack hugged me. As I wiped a tear from my eye, Sean told me to stop being such a sissy. A drink was thrust in to my hand, I think by Dave who had turned up despite his mother dying a few days ago.
I felt incredibly happy.
Eventually Lucy led her mother back in to the house and everyone gradually followed. Most of the teenagers drifted off back into the dining room and the monotonous beat started up again, only quieter in consideration of Amy’s fragile head. Lucy, Amy and the rest of the adults sat in the conservatory.
I looked around. Dave was there, as were Bryan and Katie, although they weren’t sitting together. John and Tracey were there, although they weren’t sitting anywhere near Bryan and Katie. Ray was there, and he was sitting next to Mr Def Leppard from my upstairs flat. That was interesting.
Hills and Donna were there too. Hills was drinking from a vodka bottle so I reckon it must be Donna that’s pregnant.
All in all, there was a good turnout to celebrate my spectacular achievements and to toast my new-found conviviality. I
was even thinking of getting up and making a speech. Luckily for me, and for everyone around me, someone put the music back on.
Stevie Wonder’s ‘Happy Birthday’.
‘Who put that shit on?’ I asked, outraged that anyone would think I am old enough to remember Stevie Wonder.
‘Do you know who sings this song?’ Amy piped up as people looked at me awkwardly.
‘Stevie Wonder,’ I responded, thinking, ‘what am I missing?’
‘And what’s he?’ she asked me with a glint in her eye.
‘I don’t know, about 70?’
‘He is blind,’ Imogen said, from beside the stereo.
‘So is that guy who used to be the Home Secretary,’ I said, ‘but it doesn’t mean I have to listen to him.’ And then I suddenly got where they were going with this. Amy was looking for inspiration from people who couldn’t see very well but had continued to make a success of their lives.
‘That nice man who played Columbo only had one eye,’ Imogen pointed out.
In an attempt to bolster Amy’s confidence still further, I tried another one. ‘Wasn’t that England goalie blind in one eye?’
‘Gordon Banks lost an eye in a car crash and had to retire,’ Bryan corrected me. I shut up then.
‘Homer was blind too,’ Hills joined in.
‘Homer isn’t blind!’ Jack protested. I hadn’t noticed him come in.
‘Homer the ancient Greek poet, not Homer Simpson you chump,’ Hills explained, ruffling Jack’s hair, much to his disgust.
‘And you know one-eyed people can drive.’ This one from Sean.
‘You are all too good to me,’ Amy managed to mutter through her tears.
The party continued late into the night. Other notable events included Katie punching Bryan and then falling out of the conservatory doors in to a raised flower bed, Dave talking to my ex Helen and going off in the car with her and Sean, Jack throwing up in the aforementioned raised flower bed (‘it must have been the dodgy pizza’) and Amy telling me she loved me too.
Diary note
I set myself the challenge of getting my life sorted out by my birthday. This was of course a bit of a hypothetical challenge. Can any of us say that our lives are fully sorted out? People prone to clichés say that life is a journey. Enjoy the good bits of the ride, because there are bound to be a few bad bits coming up at some point in the future. Another cliché that is particularly apt in my case is that life is a rollercoaster. I am enjoying the up but as sure as night follows day, there will be a down soon. I think I’ll quit writing while I am ahead.
If you have enjoyed reading ‘Six Months to Get a Life’ then let me whet your appetite for my next book, ‘Six Lies’.
Prologue
Dear David,
It has been said before but I will say it again. Rectal cancer is a pain in the backside.
If you are reading this letter then the wretched disease has got the better of me. As I sit here in my bedroom scribbling away, I know my time is running out. I have fought my heart out over the past couple of years to fend off my cancer but life is too painful. I am beginning to run out of fight. Once I have finished this letter, I plan to accept any drugs on offer and drift off quietly into oblivion. My time has come.
I have spent time over the past few days reflecting upon what difference I have made to the world. This may sound a bit old hat but believe me, when you know you will be dying soon, the urge to look back rather than think about a future you won’t be part of is irresistible.
I have never wanted fame and fortune. I won’t be studied by generations of school children or idolised by thousands of sports fans. I don’t suppose even the music world will mourn my passing despite me being the best sax player in London back in the day.
None of that matters to me though. Without a doubt, your dad’s and my greatest contribution to this world is you.
You are a joy to be around and a positive influence on everyone you meet. When you walk into a room, people notice. Your enthusiasm for life is infectious. Everyone you meet falls in love with you. You didn’t achieve your dream of being the next Billy Joel or Liverpool’s record striker but even if you had, your father and I wouldn’t have been more proud of you than we already are. We love you more than you could ever know and I for one will go to my grave in the knowledge that I have brought up a unique, sparky and fun-loving son.
I am truly sorry to be leaving you. My heart aches because I will never again get to share a pot of tea with you on your way home from work. I won’t get to play cards with you and your dad or discover new restaurants with the pair of you. I won’t get to hear about all those scrapes you get yourself into on a regular basis. I won’t get to meet your next ‘chosen one’. On that subject, don’t you think it is about time you actually chose another woman to settle down with rather than just choosing one for the night?
This letter would have been worth writing even if it was only to tell you how proud I am of you. But unfortunately there is something else I need to say to you.
There is no easy way to say this so I will just come out with it. Biologically-speaking, I am not your mother.
Those words must be truly shocking to you. I can imagine your sharp intake of breath. I bet you uttered a swear word or two. Of course I don’t blame you.
Your father can tell you the full story. To be fair to your dad, he has always wanted you to know. It is me that stopped him from telling you our secret. All I can say to you is that I kept the truth from you for the right reasons. I have always loved you as if you were my own son. I couldn’t have cared more for you if I had tried. I didn’t want you to find out that you weren’t my flesh and blood because I didn’t want you ever doubting my love for you.
You are a strong man, David. You have coped with adversity in the past. I know you can cope with this news too. You are surrounded by good friends. If you need to, talk to Graham about this news. He will help you through it.
I don’t know what else to say now. Do you remember you used to come home from school every Wednesday and tell me how many goals you scored in your school football game? And then one Wednesday you came home really excited and said, ‘mum, mum, I really scored a goal today!’
I love you son.
Mum
Copyright
Published by Clink Street Publishing 2014
Copyright © Ben Adams 2014
First edition.
The author asserts the moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
ISBN: 978–1–909477–49–0
Ebook: 978–1–909477–50–6
