“Hey, Dad. Is Mum there?”
“No, son. She’s in Liverpool with your Auntie Miranda.”
“Oh, course she is. When is she back?”
“She’s hoping to be back for lunch tomorrow. We’re going over to the Red Lion at two for a late lunch, if her train’s on time.”
“You okay if me and Linds join you? Depending on how she is?”
“Course, son. Everything alright?”
“She can’t stop being sick.”
“Let me have a think. What was it your mum had. Erm, ginger biscuits. Ginger biscuits and ginger ale. Get her some of those, it might help. Something plain too like a rich tea.”
“It’s worth a shot. Thanks, Dad.”
“So what do you want your mum for? Was that it, pregnancy advice?”
“No. Dylan suggested I ask her to help me sort my business out.”
“Ooh. A project for her. Good. She might stop gibbering on about being past it. It’ll give her something new to get enthusiastic about. See you at two tomorrow. I’ll be in the pub whether your mum’s train makes it or not.”
“Thanks, Dad. See you then.”
So I can’t do anything about my business until tomorrow when hopefully I can get my mum on board. In the meantime, I glance at my messages. Some people are really angry that I haven’t replied to them. Do they think I have nothing else to do?
I head up to the spare room which is set up with lighting and recording equipment, and I record a VLOG. Then I edit it and upload it to see what happens.
I title it Bewildered Baby Daddy.
Hi all. Tyler here.
Little update. As you know my girlfriend Linds and I are having a baby. Well, it’s kind of hit us for six. She’s falling asleep everywhere and keeps being sick and I, well, I’ll be honest. I have no idea what to do. My Dad has suggested ginger biscuits and ginger ale for her. Does anyone out there have any advice for this Bewildered Baby Daddy? In six months time, there’s going to be a baby here. I’ve got to admit to you guys. I’m clueless. I don’t want to be, but I am. So please, any advice, send it my way. Only, and this is important. I might not be able to thank you for it straight away. My life is chaos at the moment, and I’m looking at getting some help with my mail and everything so I can answer you guys, but Linds and the baby come first. So bear with me. Thanks all.
I sign off and sit back. I’ve got to get organised. Everyone will be expecting me to fail. I can hear it now. ‘Tyler, a dad - he can’t even look after himself’. I’m going to prove everyone wrong. It’s time for Tyler Turner, Bewildered Baby Daddy, to learn about pregnancy and babies. Not sure when I’m going to fit it in though. I start by going downstairs, picking up a throw blanket and covering Lindsay. Then I grab the shopping list pinned to the noticeboard and head to the supermarket. I purchase ginger biscuits, ginger ale, rich teas. I buy a pregnancy magazine so I can read up on my new study subject. I also buy a computer one so I can hide the pregnancy one inside. I don’t want Lindsay pinching it before I’ve read it.
My phone keeps pinging with notifications. I glance through quickly. There are tons of suggestions: soda water, sniff lemons if feel sick, eat little and often, eat dry toast in bed before you get up, drink ginger tea. I make sure I purchase everything recommended, and then I head back home.
When I get back, Lindsay is awake and curled up on the sofa watching Salvage Hunters.
“Sorry, I’m useless, Ty.”
“You’re not useless.” I go to kiss her but Jesus her breath is vile. “You’re growing a baby. Listen,” I hedge carefully. “I read in a newspaper that you must make sure to brush your teeth after you’re sick as it can damage your teeth.” It sounds true, whether or not it is I have no idea.
“Oh yeah. I bet it’s the acid. I’ll go and do them now,” she agrees.
“I’ll make you some toast and get you a drink of soda water. I’ve heard it helps.”
“That’ll be great. I’ll just go freshen up.”
When she comes back, her snacks are on the table. “You relax on the sofa, and I’ll go and have my tea in the kitchen. I got myself a pizza. Only the smell might get to you. I’ll be back in fifteen or so.” I kiss her forehead. She smells nice now, all minty from the toothpaste, and fresh, from where she’s washed her face.
“Thanks so much, Ty.”
“No problem, Linds.”
While I eat my pizza, I start reading the baby magazine. There is an article on morning sickness. It says if you feel really bad with sickness to take the day off and look after yourself, so I’ll see how she is Monday morning. I don’t realise I’ve been reading the magazine for an hour. Shit. Lindsay will think I’ve gone upstairs to the computer or something, not that I’ve been fascinated looking at how you bath a baby.
I hide the magazine back between the pages of my computer magazine and dash to the living room, but I needn’t have worried. The toast is gone, the drink is drunk, and Lindsay is asleep on the sofa again.
Chapter Six
Dora
I told Tim my train was an hour earlier than it actually was because I got an offer from the train company. It only cost six quid more to travel first class. This meant that on arrival at the train station, I went straight into the first class lounge where a kindly gentleman – who appeared to be in his sixties – made me a coffee and gave me a small muffin. There’s water for me to take on the train and lots of little buns and fruit. Yes, I guess I’ve paid for it with the extra six quid but it’s nice, and I can’t wait to be in the first class part of the train. I’ve not travelled first before.
I sit and read my Kindle while keeping an eye on my watch. With ten minutes to go, I visit the ladies, and then say goodbye to the gentleman.
The first class carriage is so nice. The places are set with proper china cups. I take my seat at a table. I’m on an aisle seat, so my view out of the window is obscured by two fellow passengers heads. Across from me is a woman who I’d put in her mid-fifties.
I take out my Kindle and begin to read. As the train gets going, our attendant comes over with tea and coffee and asks if we’d like to order lunch. I say no because I’ve already bought myself my ‘train food’. I always nip in M&S and have a prawn sandwich, cheese tasters and a lemon-flavoured water. It’s like a ritual. For some reason, me and Miranda always end up having tea in Pizza Express too. It’s one of our things.
I soon discover that I am not from the same breed of people who reside in first class. Everyone has a newspaper. One of those massive things that doesn’t fit on the table properly. It would appear you fold it up, take a pen out of your pocket or bag, and do the crossword. For this, you have to adjust your glasses on your nose and tilt your head to look studious. I’m mindful to not let anyone read my screen while Christian is using the spreader bar on Anastasia. I’m doing a re-read because the film comes out next Friday. I can’t fucking wait. My uncomfortable feeling lasts until a bloke at the other side of the carriage begins to text, his keys beeping with every letter. The woman across from me catches my eye, and we raise an eyebrow at each other. I am accepted. I refuse to eat my lunch on the train as I’m not losing my status now, so I fill up on mini muffins and a couple of packets of kettle chips that are part of the first class package.
I can’t wait to meet my sister. Not only are we buying books, but we’re going to hit the shops. Retail therapy, nothing finer. It’s a funny thing, my relationship with my sister. When we get together we have a good time, but we can’t see or speak to each other too often, or we get on each other’s nerves. We’re very different, with only reading as our main thing in common. I wonder if it’s because she’s so many years younger than I am.
When we arrive, I’m happy to depart the stuffy first class, and meet Miranda on the station platform. We make our way on foot for the ten-minute walk through Liverpool Centre to our apartment. We’ve only been walking a few minutes when I spot Iron Man, or rather a bloke dressed as Iron Man. He’s charging a pound a photo. “Mir, ta
ke my photo,” I beg, clutching onto her arm.
She rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding me? I want to get to the apartment. I’m knackered. I didn’t finish work until late last night, and then the cats never stopped miaowing.”
“I want my photo taken with Iron Man. I have a thing for sexy superheroes.” My lip pouts.
“I bet the bloke under that costume is ugly as sin,” she retorts.
“Don’t spoil my fun. Come on, it’s a laugh. Take my photo.” I wander up to Iron Man, who’s posing with a few children.
“Can I have my photo taken with you, Iron Man?” I ask.
“Sure,” comes a deep, manly voice. Ooh. Nice surprise.
He puts his arm around me. He’s all warm. I pretend it really is Robert Downey Jnr. Miranda shakes her head but takes the photo.
“Thanks, Mir.”
“You’d never think you were the older sister. You act about twelve.”
I stick my tongue out at her to prove her point.
We continue walking towards Waterstones. “Hey, your new husband could be in there.” I wink.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe? I thought you were absolutely sure. Brenda’s confirmed this literary love of your life, has she not?”
“Brenda disappeared with the church collection plate. No one’s seen her since January 6th.”
“She must have had an epiphany that her future looked rich,” I quip.
“It’s not funny, the church roof can’t be repaired now. We don’t have enough saved.”
I sigh as we walk around the corner of the store and see the buzzers to the apartments. There are four apartments over the third and fourth floors of the building. The first two floors being the bookshop.
We check in at the reception and then make our way to the apartment. I love opening the door of a hotel or apartment for the first time. It’s so exciting to glimpse the new place that’s home for the next day or so. We’re not disappointed. There’s a lounge with a small offshoot kitchen. The window of the lounge faces the same way as the front of the bookstore, looking out over the main shopping area. There’s one bedroom for us to share that has two single beds, and a very clean, modern bathroom with a shower.
Not fancying my prawn sandwich now it’s been in my bag for hours, I eat my cheese tasters and then we set off to spend our book money.
It’s so cool only having to stroll downstairs and round the corner. It’s a fairly large store over two floors. The smell of books and coffee hits as we walk through the door. “How are we doing this?” I ask my sister.
“Erotica and paranormal from upstairs first?” she queries. “Then Young Adult/New Adult and A-Z of fiction?”
I nod. “Then we’ll sit and review purchases and go for coffee.”
“We can have one back in our flat. It’s only up there.” Miranda points upwards.
“Oh yeah. Good idea. Right, let’s check out the staff and see if your new lover is here.”
There’s a really young bloke stacking books on shelves. He can only be around eighteen, so at twenty years younger than Miranda we both shake our heads. Other than that the staff are all female, except for the one other guy on the counter. He’s thin, with greasy hair and a large nose.
“Brenda’s fucked up,” I tell Miranda.
“Looks like it.” She sighs.
So we start our new book quest. Over the next hour, Miranda ends up with eleven potential purchases, and I have eight. This is where we take a seat in the corner and look through first our own books and then each other’s. “Oh this one sounds good,” I tell Mir. It’s a book about girls trapped in a cellar. “Well you put that one on your pile then, and I can read it after you.” I raise an eyebrow, but she doesn’t notice. She does this does our Mir. She always has more books picked out than me and then she’ll try and pass a few on to my pile so I buy them and she borrows them. It does sound good though so I move it to my pile.
Eventually, we make our way to the counter to purchase our books. This brings us up close and personal with the greasy haired man whose name badge declares him to be called Victor. He can’t stop sniffling. Up close I see that he has a stain, no doubt from his lunch, on his shirt. Someone had mustard on their sandwich I think. Thank God I’m served by a female assistant who looks clean.
I hear Miranda start to engage Victor in conversation. “Gosh, your cold sounds bad.”
“It’s an allergy.”
“Oh right.”
“I’m allergic to books I think. I only get like this at work.”
Allergic to books? He’d die of anaphylactic shock in Miranda’s then with her collection of 900+. Allergic to books? Poor fucker.
“Right. Oh. So I guess you don’t spend your spare time in libraries then?” She giggles. “Sorry, you probably don’t have any spare time. After work you’ll be with your wife and children won’t you?”
“I’m divorced,” he tells her. I cannot believe she is sounding him out.
“Gosh, me too. What a coincidence.”
My purchases are bagged up and handed to me, and I pay. Then I close the gap between myself and Miranda and elbow her in the side. “Are you nearly done, Mir, because I’m getting ready for that coffee.”
“Yes. Of course. This is my sister,” she tells Victor. “In case you were wondering.”
He fixes her with a strange look.
She collects her books and then walks towards the door. “Hang on a minute,” she tells me. “I’ve forgotten something.”
“I’ll be looking at these notebooks while you’re faffing about,” I tell her.
When I turn back, she has a packet of tissues in her hand, and I watch with my jaw dropped while she takes them to the counter and hands them to Victor.
“Okay, we can go now,” she tells me.
“All that messing about to give him a tissue.”
“I didn’t only give him tissues. I put my business card inside. It says ring me if you fancy a drink on it.”
“Are you shitting me? Seriously?” I drag her out of the shop. “Miranda, Brenda was a charlatan. I set this minibreak up based on what she told you. There’s no love of your life in this store.”
“Perhaps what Brenda said and what you did is all fate?”
“Well, then how do you know it’s not the young one you’re supposed to be with. Perhaps you’ll be his Mrs Robinson?”
“God, no. He’s younger than my nephew. Just no. Ew.”
“But Victor?”
“He could be very nice. He’ll not sniff if I keep him away from paper. His hair can be washed, and his shirt changed. There’s not much I can do about his nose but no one’s perfect.”
“Well for your sake I hope he has a dick as large as his snozzle. Anyway, what happened to your love for the lifeguard at the swimming baths? It’s almost Valentine’s day.”
“I’ve been trying to get his attention for years. He’s not interested. He smiles at me and watches that I don’t drown. That’s it. I’ve given up on him.”
“You’ve given up altogether if that’s what you’re taking a chance on.” I point back to the store, where Victor has just wiped across the underneath of his nose with his fingers before picking up his next customer’s purchase.
I shudder. “Do not let him anywhere near your paperbacks,” I warn her.
We take our books back to our apartment where we read all the blurbs again. Miranda yawns. “God, late shifts are no good for me, I’m shattered.”
“I could do with a cat nap before we shop til we drop. Shall we have half an hour?”
“Yeah. That’d be good.”
I curl up on the sofa, resting my head on a cushion. “This is lumpy. I’m going to get in the bed.”
“I’m going to put my pj's on and chill,” says Mir.
We each put on our pj's, climb into the single beds and close our eyes.
I open my eyes, lost for a moment as to where I am. The room is dark though some light comes through the window from outside. I remember I’
m in Liverpool. As it’s February, it goes dark at around four in the afternoon, so I reckon we’ve had a good hour’s kip.
“Mir,” I shout across to her bed.
There’s an incomprehensible groan.
“Wakey, wakey.”
I turn my head to my bedside table and pick up my mobile phone - it’s 7:05 PM.
“Fuck. Fuckety-fuckety-shit,” I shout.
Mir sits up fast. “What’s up?”
“It’s gone seven. We need to get ready quick and hit the shopping centre. I bet it closes at nine.”
We leap out of bed as if our pyjama bottoms have been set alight, wash our faces, brush our teeth and still yawning and feeling rather dead, we leave the apartment and cross the road to the shopping centre. Everything apart from the food hall is closed.
“What the fuck. Meadowhall stays open til eight or nine. What’s going on?” I ask.
I see an assistant from a clothes shop come past me. “Excuse me?” I ask her. “Are there any stores still open?”
“No, everything closes at seven on a Saturday. Back open at midday tomorrow.”
“Midday?” My face falls. “I’m going home at midday.”
I stand shell-shocked at the side of Miranda. “Mir. No shopping. Tim will think we didn’t meet and that I’m cheating on him if I don’t go home with any shopping bags.”
Mir also looks like she’s been hit in the face with a wet fish.
“I was going to look for a new dress for my date.”
“He’s not rung you yet.”
“He will. You’ve seen him, and you’ve seen me.”
I laugh. “Yes, you’re right. He’s definitely punching above his weight. All eight stone of it.”
Curve Balls: The Ball Games Book Six Page 3
