Saturdays at Noon

by Marks, Rachel

  * * *

  The following day, the conflict begins as soon as we get home from school. ‘I want to go to the park.’

  Hands are on hips. Heels are dug in. I can see we’re in for the long haul.

  ‘It’s pouring with rain and freezing. We can do anything else, just not the park.’

  ‘The Xbox, then.’

  I sigh, but secretly I’m impressed by his resourcefulness. ‘That’s the only other thing we can’t do. Come on, it’s not good for you to be staring at screens all the time.’

  ‘Which is why I said let’s go to the park.’

  I can’t help it. I have to laugh.

  ‘Normally I love the park, but seriously, in the pouring rain?’

  ‘I’ll wear my coat and my waterproof trousers.’

  ‘And what about me?’

  ‘You can wear Daddy’s snowboarding trousers. They’re waterproof.’

  ‘You have answers for everything, don’t you? Come on then, let’s get you dressed.’

  It’s freezing at the park and the ground is like a mud bath. Alfie’s covered within seconds, but he doesn’t notice. He’s got the place to himself and he makes the most of it, charging from one piece of apparatus to the next. Running up the slide as many times as he wants because there is no one to move out the way for.

  The rain is dripping off my hood and on to my nose but I realize that there are no arguments, no negotiations or tantrums. Shivering and soaking is a small price to pay for a break from all that. For once, Alfie’s face is not twisted with angst or rage. His eyebrows are relaxed, his eyes gleaming and there is a smile that fills his face. I wish I could show Jake.

  Then I have a brainwave. It’s a rare occurrence, so I jump on it.

  ‘Alfie, I’m going to grab something from the car. I’m just there.’ I point at my car parked right next to the fence. ‘You’ll be able to see me the whole time.’

  ‘OK.’

  I run to the car and grab my camera out of the boot. I sort the settings while I’m slightly sheltered and then create a makeshift rain cover by ripping a hole in a plastic bag and posting the end of the lens through.

  Alfie is running up the slide, then letting himself fall back down, chortling away to himself. There’s so much mud on his face it looks like camouflage paint. I snap away, capturing him just as he lets go and begins his descent, as this is the moment when he always giggles. I take more pictures of him on the swings, in the tunnel and lying on his back on the roundabout. It feels great to be behind the camera again. For the first time in a long time, it feels like it has nothing to do with Alex. In fact, without even really noticing, I’m thinking about him less and less. The wound is definitely still there, but I think it’s healing.

  Just as the rain eases, Alfie decides he wants to go. We get in the car and I remove my camera from the plastic bag.

  ‘Can I see the pictures?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I scroll through the images for Alfie. He laughs as he sees himself covered in mud.

  ‘Can I take some pictures?’

  I put the camera back in its bag. ‘Well, it’s pretty tricky.’

  ‘You could teach me. Please.’

  I’m reluctant. Alfie’s all fingers and thumbs and my camera is the only possession I have that I’m precious about. To be fair, it’s the only thing I own of any value. But looking at the excitement on his face, I can’t say no.

  ‘OK. I’ll teach you later.’

  I’m hoping he’ll forget all about it, but as this is Alfie we’re talking about, I know that’s highly unlikely.

  The second we get home, he grabs my camera bag and carries it into the house. My heart feels like it’s imitating a techno beat. I take the bag off him and remove the camera.

  ‘OK. Look, I’ll show you. But you must look after it. It’s very expensive and precious to me. You must always wear it round your neck and hold it at the same time and press the buttons gently.’

  ‘I promise I will. Can I have it, then?’

  ‘Wait, I’ve got to teach you how to use it first.’

  I switch it to auto and show him the basic controls. He listens carefully but he can’t sit still. It reminds me of my first driving lesson. My instructor always smelt of cheese-and-onion crisps. I swear he must’ve gobbled a pack before every one of our lessons. On our first lesson, I sat in the driver’s seat, a mixture of nerves and excitement, with my hand on the key, ready to turn it. I couldn’t believe it. I only got to drive for the last fifteen minutes of that forty-five minute lesson. The rest was spent listening to him drone on about the mechanics of driving. How when you pressed this pedal it affected this pulley or some rubbish like that. All I wanted to know was how to make it go, what gear to have it in and how to make it stop. I didn’t care about the technicalities of how it all worked. So I keep it simple for Alfie and concentrate on the basics of zooming and focusing. Then, like it’s a newborn baby, I reluctantly hand the camera over.

  At first, Alfie snaps randomly and I’m sure we’re going to end up with a lot of close-ups of cupboard handles and the carpet. But then he goes into his room and starts to position his figures. He has the camera around his neck and it bashes against the carpet every time he leans over.

  ‘Let me hold that for a bit while you’re sorting out where you want your figures to go.’

  Alfie turns his body away. ‘No, I want it.’

  ‘I look after it or no more pictures. Simple as that.’

  Alfie pushes out his bottom lip, but he doesn’t fight as I lift the camera from around his neck.

  ‘I’ll hold it just here until you’re ready.’

  He gets more figures down off his Lego shelf and grabs the Batmobile. He puts Batman in and then sets up a row of baddies that I’m assuming are about to get run over.

  ‘Can I take a picture now?’

  I hand Alfie the camera, reminding him which button he needs. He struggles to look through the viewfinder so I hold my hand over one of his eyes. He twists the lens to zoom out and then presses the shutter.

  We look at the photo on the back of the camera. It’s blurred but he’s managed to get the whole scene in view.

  ‘Good one. Next time, just remember to press the button super-gently until it beeps and then keep pushing it the whole way down. Don’t take your finger off.’

  Alfie creates another scene as the Batmobile crashes into the row of baddies and the Joker and Bane topple over.

  ‘I need to take another picture.’

  I hand Alfie back the camera and this time he manages to focus properly and gets a pretty decent shot, if a little wonky.

  ‘I’m making a story.’

  Unexpectedly, I have my second brainwave of the day. It’s like my brain’s been in hiding and suddenly decided to reveal itself.

  ‘We could make a stop-motion film, Alfie! We could use the pictures and turn them into a proper film, like your Lego superhero ones.’

  Alfie opens his mouth in wonder and I’m suddenly aware that, in my excitement, I may have slightly overplayed exactly what we can achieve. Now Alfie’s expecting a Hollywood movie rather than the amateur creation we’ll be able to muster.

  ‘I mean, it won’t be exactly like the ones on TV – they use a special program on the computer that we don’t have.’ Alfie’s face falls. ‘But it will be a film. And we can add sound effects and stuff.’

  We did a project on stop-motion films at art college and I have a vague recollection of spending hours making tiny adjustments to clay figures. In fact, now I come to think of it, it was a tediously long-winded process.

  ‘Actually, Alfie, I think your idea of just taking photos to tell the story is much better. We could make it into a comic. That’d be cool.’

  ‘No. I want to make the film.’

  There’s no point arguing. I put the idea in his head – I have to live with the consequences. ‘OK.’

  ‘So what do we need to do? Let’s make a list.’

  It’s one of t
he many great things about Alfie. Despite being only six, he has a clear understanding of the importance of a list.

  ‘Right, we need to decide on a story, then list the key scenes, then we take pictures of each scene, put it on to my computer and then we can add the sound effects. You can even speak into the computer and put your voice on the film.’

  ‘Really?’

  I can’t help but be infected by Alfie’s enthusiasm. ‘Come on, let’s decide what story you want to tell.’

  Well, Alfie being Alfie, of course the story he wants to tell is long and complicated. It involves pretty much every Lego figure and every Lego creation he has (and he has a lot) but I don’t have the heart to scale down his big idea. While Alfie dictates the story, I write down his ideas in bullet-pointed scenes, until he gets to the part where Spider-Man is declaring his love for Gwen Stacy.

  ‘Hold on a minute, I thought Spider-Man loved Mary Jane.’

  Alfie gives me a look that says bless, you haven’t got a clue, have you?.

  ‘Daddy says that’s what everyone thinks but in the real story it’s Gwen Stacy he loves, but the Green Goblin throws her from a bridge and Spider-Man tries to catch her but he doesn’t and she dies so he marries Mary Jane. But in one episode, when he gets to live his perfect life for the day, he chooses to spend it with Gwen Stacy, and Daddy says that’s because Gwen Stacy is his true love.’

  ‘Good remembering, little man,’ Jake says, popping his head round the door.

  Amid all the excitement, I hadn’t heard him come home. ‘He was just correcting my inaccurate knowledge of Spider-Man.’

  ‘It’s an easy mistake to make. Only real geeks like me overanalyse Marvel comics.’

  ‘I’m right though, Daddy, aren’t I? Gwen Stacy is super-special because she’s the one Spider-Man really loves?’

  ‘Well, he loves Mary Jane too, but, yeah, she’s his one true love. She’s the one he would’ve chosen.’

  ‘Except he didn’t catch her?’ I lift my eyebrows. ‘Even though he’s got, like, super-strength and speed and stuff?’

  Jake smiles. ‘Even heroes make mistakes.’

  Alfie jumps up, taking the story plan off me and waving it in Jake’s face. ‘We’re doing a story, Daddy. We’re going to make a real film and I can even talk on it. We’ll be able to watch it on the television.’ Alfie looks up at me, concern suddenly filling his face. ‘We will be able to watch it on the television, won’t we?’

  ‘Yes, buddy. We will.’

  Hearing Alfie so animated about something I’ve suggested feels good. Making the perfect cappuccino never brought quite the same job satisfaction.

  ‘Sounds great,’ Jake says warily. I can tell he thinks I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. He’s probably right, but I’ll enjoy the moment while it lasts.

  ‘Can I start doing some photos?’ Alfie picks the Lego figures he needs for the first scene off the shelf.

  ‘Well, I’m going soon and I need to take my camera with me, but I promise I’ll bring it back on Monday, OK?’

  ‘But …’ Alfie starts to protest but Jake shuts him down.

  ‘I know how much that camera cost, Alfie. There is no way we are being responsible for that over the weekend. If you make a fuss, Emily won’t bring it back next week.’

  Alfie doesn’t look happy but he doesn’t object. ‘OK, can I play on the tablet then, Daddy? I’ve not played on it all week.’

  ‘I said he had to check with you,’ I say to Jake. ‘I wasn’t sure when he was allowed it back.’

  Alfie told me, with surprising honesty for a boy his age, that Jake had banned it because of some Lego-smashing misdemeanour.

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ Jake says, squeezing Alfie’s shoulders. Going back to work seems to suit him. It’s like he’s removed the weights from his shoes.

  ‘Thanks, Daddy.’

  Alfie runs off to locate his tablet and Jake releases his tie and pulls it out from the neck of his shirt. ‘I’m just going to get changed.’

  ‘Right, well, I suppose I better get going. Shall I put the oven on? You’ve got lasagne tonight; I hope that’s OK? My repertoire of meals is somewhat limited.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s amazing. Thank you. I told you that wasn’t part of your contract.’

  ‘And I told you I can’t have you pay me the equivalent of a day’s work and not clean the house or make the meals.’

  Since I’ve started looking after Alfie, things with Jake have been a lot better. He greets me with a smile when I arrive in the morning and always seems really appreciative of everything I’ve done when he gets home. But I can’t help feeling like a fraud. I’m sure if Jake saw the screaming fits, the chaos when he’s not here, the constant state of panic I’m in because I don’t know what to do with his son, he’d be slamming the door in my face and telling me never to return. I always tell him everything’s great, but I’m convinced one of these days Alfie’s going to dob me in.

  ‘Well, at least have a glass of wine before you go? I’m just about to open a beer.’

  I usually leave almost immediately after Jake’s come through the door. ‘Um … I don’t know. I should probably be going.’

  ‘Come on, one drink. You’ve been looking after my son all day; there’s no way you’re not in need of a glass of wine.’

  He’s right. I am. ‘Oh, go on then. Just one.’

  ‘Great. Go down and help yourself. I’ll be there in a sec. We’ve lost Alfie to the land of Where’s My Water? for at least an hour.’

  I head to the kitchen, take a bottle of white wine out the fridge and get the bottle opener from the cutlery drawer. It feels weird knowing where everything is. I can imagine Jemma, when she moved in, deciding where she wanted everything to go, and now some stranger is rifling through her carefully organized drawers.

  The wine glistens in the glass like a precious jewel and it takes every ounce of my willpower not to down the whole lot in one go. I find a beer for Jake and remove the top.

  When he comes down, he’s wearing black joggers and a long-sleeved Volcom top, the stone logo emblazoned on the front. There’s no denying it: he is very attractive – his deep-brown eyes, like Alfie’s, his tanned skin and tousled dark hair. I know it’s stupid but it puts me on edge slightly. I’m not sure what it is about good-looking men, and I’m not proud of it, but being around them always makes me feel self-conscious. I hand him the bottle.

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ He straddles the stool opposite me at the breakfast bar and glugs his beer. ‘So, how’s your week been?’

  I shrug. I haven’t got the energy to lie. ‘It’s been OK.’

  Jake raises an eyebrow. ‘That good, hey? Please tell me you’re not about to throw in the towel?’

  ‘No, of course not. I’m just tired, I guess. You know what it’s like.’

  ‘I certainly do. Before Alfie, I thought teaching was exhausting, but I guarantee my week dealing with the predicaments of melodramatic teenagers has been a walk in the park compared to yours.’

  ‘It’s had its moments.’

  ‘Well, Alfie seems happy, so you’re obviously doing something right.’

  ‘We went to the park today. It was nice. And he seems excited about the film, although I’m not sure it’s going to live up to his expectations.’

  Jake gets down off the bar stool and walks to the sink. He starts putting away the crockery I’ve left on the drying rack and I suddenly worry that I should’ve done it. ‘You went to the park? In this weather?’

  ‘Yeah, he wanted to. We wore waterproofs.’

  ‘Fair enough. But just because Alfie wants to do something, don’t feel you have to do it. You can say no.’

  I know he’s trying to be supportive, but it feels like a criticism. ‘I know. I do say no. Sometimes it feels like the poor kid’s whole life is one big no.’

  ‘Right.’

  I can see I’ve pissed him off and it’s the last thing I need right now. I’m dog-tired and, besides, I need this job. I don’t want to
go back to the café. But there’s this constant niggling feeling in my stomach that I can’t ignore … guilt, sadness, I’m not sure. I just keep seeing Alfie’s face as I held him down on the stairs – at first surprise, like he’d thought I was going to be different, and then disappointment, as he realized I wasn’t. It feels like I’m betraying him, and every time I do, it’s like I’m making yet another tiny crack in the delicate relationship we’ve formed.

  ‘I just feel like every time I start to make some forward progress with him, I ruin it by forcing him to sit on that bloody naughty step because he’s dared to ask for a biscuit or something equally minor.’

  ‘So what do you suggest? We just give in to him about everything?’

  ‘No. I just think maybe if you said yes a bit more, he wouldn’t fight so much.’

  Jake snorts. ‘You’re right. Let him have his own way all the time and he’ll be a doddle.’

  ‘Forget it. I’m wasting my time.’ I down the last of my wine, start to gather my things and put them in my bag.

  ‘No, come on. You tell me what to do with him. How are you going to solve Alfie’s behaviour?’

  I take a deep breath. ‘I don’t know, Jake. Maybe it doesn’t need solving. Maybe he just needs to be cut some slack. I mean, do you ever want a treat when you get home from work? Would you like to be forced to sit on the thinking step every time you disagreed with the way something was done?’

  Jake throws the cutlery into the drawer. ‘He needs to understand consequences. He needs to learn.’

  ‘I get that. It just doesn’t feel like anyone’s learning very much when I’m physically holding him down and he’s fighting me to get off.’ The oven light goes off and I put the lasagne in on the middle shelf. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. The food will be about half an hour. I’ll put the timer on for you.’

  Jake nods. ‘Thanks.’

  Before I leave, I go up to find Alfie, but he’s so engrossed in his game on the tablet that he doesn’t even acknowledge me, so I kiss the top of his head and leave him be.

  * * *

  ‘Right, we’re halfway through the course, so I want you to consider if there was one thing in your life you could change right now to make you feel less angry, what would it be? Instead of getting you to work in pairs this time, I’m going to give you ten minutes to think about it on your own, make some notes if you wish, and then we’ll discuss as a group. After today, you have a break for half-term, so you might want to try putting your chosen change into action and see what effect it has.’