Saturdays at Noon

by Marks, Rachel

  Sam hands us all a piece of paper and a pen, and I stare at mine, the blankness almost commanding to be filled. What wouldn’t I change?

  ‘Remember, it needs to be something you can change,’ Sam adds, as if reading my mind. ‘Not something you can’t.’

  I look around at all the others, scribbling away frantically, and start to doodle a picture of a flower, going over and over the petals until the pen makes a hole in the paper. I think it’s probably too late for me – that any damage to my psyche is most likely well and truly done – but sometimes I wonder how it would feel to confront Mum and Shane about what happened. Would it be like bursting a blood blister – an immediate release? Or would it make no difference at all, and therefore make me feel even worse?

  Sam claps his hands (he seems to have left his triangle at home) and I cover my paper with my hand.

  ‘Right, who’d like to go first?’

  As expected, Sharon raises her hand. ‘I’ve been thinking about moving away. Maybe I should just take the plunge. It can’t be good for my anger, living around the corner from my main trigger.’

  Believe me, I guarantee she feels the same way.

  ‘Maybe I should do the same,’ Bill says. ‘Find myself a nice deserted cottage in the country where I don’t have to be surrounded by idiots day in and day out. I suspect I’d soon feel better.’

  Sam smiles. ‘Well, I guess controlling our emotions would be easier for all of us if we didn’t have to interact with anyone else, but it might get a bit lonely, hey, Bill?’

  Bill shrugs. ‘I don’t know. I quite like my own company.’

  Sam gives him this look – I’m not quite sure what it means but there’s a definite sadness behind it. Then he turns back to the rest of us. ‘Anyone else?’

  Jake shakes his head, as if disagreeing with his own thoughts. ‘When you said it, the first thought that came to mind was that I’d change my son. That makes me a right arsehole, doesn’t it?’

  Yes, actually, it does.

  ‘It doesn’t make you an arsehole,’ Sam says. ‘But often with parenting, we need to change ourselves in order to see changes in our kids.’

  ‘I know. I’m trying. I really am. But it feels like everything I try, the behaviour never gets any better.’

  I sigh loudly. I can’t help it. He says he’s trying to change it, but he’s not. He’s too pig-headed to even consider a different approach.

  ‘Emily?’

  ‘I don’t know, I thought I might take up yoga. That’s supposed to chill you out, isn’t it?’

  Jake rolls his eyes and I notice Sharon looking over at him approvingly, sensing an ally in her crusade against me.

  I hold out my hands. ‘What? What’s wrong with yoga?’

  Jake looks like he can’t be bothered to explain it to me. ‘Nothing.’

  Sharon, however, is more than happy to grab hold of the baton. ‘What he’s trying to say is that we’re all here baring our souls and it feels like you’re just taking the piss.’

  ‘I’m being serious. Yoga is supposed to be very cleansing. At least my suggestion is focused on changing myself. You’re all just blaming other people.’

  Sharon laughs bitterly. ‘According to you, it’s someone else’s fault you’re even here.’

  As she says it, the whole group looks at me, waiting for an explanation, but I drop my eyes to the floor. I sense Sam surveying me, weighing up whether or not I want to take this conversation any further, but I’m not going to give Sharon the satisfaction of being the one to force it out of me. Sam seems to take the hint, standing up and clapping his hands.

  ‘OK, everyone, coffee time. After the break, I’ll show you some clips about people who did decide to change something big in their lives and the impact it had. Ten minutes.’

  I thank Sam with a flick of the head and then hurry outside for a cigarette.

  * * *

  ‘So, tell me all about this strange new job of yours?’

  Alice pours two large glasses of wine and joins me on the sofa. The late-afternoon sun shines through the patio doors, giving the room that soft orange glow you only get at this time of year.

  ‘I’m a nanny for this little boy called Alfie. He’s six.’

  ‘So did you say on the phone you met the mum at anger management or something?’

  ‘Well, the dad, but yeah.’

  ‘Ah, now it’s making more sense.’ A broad smile fills Alice’s face.

  ‘Oh, give it a rest. It’s definitely not like that at all.’

  ‘Like what? I didn’t say anything. I can’t imagine what you might think I was insinuating.’

  I smile. ‘I just happened to bump into him a couple of times with Alfie. He’s an unusual kid. He’s not easy. For some reason, he seemed to take a shine to me. I have no idea why. Probably saw a kindred spirit.’

  ‘So how’s it going? You enjoying it?’

  I hold up my empty glass.

  ‘That good, eh?’

  Alice tops up my wine and I notice she’s not even halfway through hers. Note to self: must stop drinking it like water. I know she’d be supportive if she found out my penchant for an alcoholic beverage or two had become a bit more intense recently, but, truth be told, I don’t want her to try to stop me. I like drinking. It makes me feel better. I’m not ready to be saved.

  ‘He’s challenging, you know? He finds rules tricky.’

  Alice looks at me as if I’m stating the obvious.

  ‘I know no kid is going to be thrilled at being told what to do but he seems to really struggle. If things aren’t fair, he just doesn’t get it. And Jake, that’s the dad, he makes me stick to all these bloody rules, like he’s not allowed a biscuit when he gets home from school and he can’t take the dining-room chairs into the lounge to make a den because they make a mess. And every time he does something he’s not supposed to, I have to make him sit on the sodding thinking step for five minutes.’

  Alice laughs. ‘I like it. The considerate parent’s naughty step.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous. Calling it a thinking step doesn’t suddenly make it a place for great enlightenment. It’s age-old dictatorship. Do as I say or I punish you.’

  ‘I didn’t realize you were such a politician, Em.’

  Alice opens a bag of sweet-chilli crisps and empties them into a bowl. I tuck in and realize I’m starving.

  ‘It just makes me mad, you know? I’m the one who has to deal with him every day and yet I have to abide by these stupid laws. Thinking about it, perhaps I’m not the best influence on this kid.’

  ‘Seriously though, Em, how would you deal with him? If he was your son?’

  I think it over for a second. ‘I’d let him have the bloody biscuit when he gets home from school, because I’d sure as hell want one after a day stuck in a classroom. I’d let him build his den – we can tidy it up. I wouldn’t force him to sit on the sodding thinking step, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Then do it your way.’

  ‘But my kids would probably be completely wayward and end up in prison aged sixteen. What do I know about parenting? I’ve never even had any real parents to learn from. I’ve got no nieces or nephews. No experience. Plus he’s paying me and it’s his child. I can’t just change everything.’

  ‘But like you said, you’re the one who has to cope with him every day. Try it your way. If it doesn’t work, go back to the old way. If it does work, you’re the genius nanny who learnt how to deal with his son. You might even get a pay rise. Plus I can steal all your ideas when Billy turns into a little brat.’

  I smile. ‘We both know that’ll never happen.’

  ‘So anyway, come on, is he hot?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Em – the dad, silly.’

  I shake my head. ‘A hot mess, more like.’

  Alice strokes her chin like a wise professor with a slightly sinister glint in her eye. ‘I knew it. He’s a hotty.’

  ‘He has a pleasing face, I suppose.’

/>   ‘A pleasing face? Ha! You’re classic, Em, you really are.’

  ‘It’s really not like that, though. We can’t spend more than five minutes with each other without falling out.’

  Alice smiles, a crisp paused at her lips. ‘It’d never work, anyway. Different parenting styles.’

  Alfie

  When I grow up, I am going to be the man that made the Lego Batman film. Emily says if I do that I’ll be able to have a massive house with a swimming pool. I don’t want to live in a different house. I want to live in my house forever with Daddy and Mummy and Emily, but I do want to make the films. Daddy says Emily can’t live with us because there’s not room and she has her own house but I don’t think that’s true because we have an extra bed and she can just have two houses. I would like a swimming pool but we will just have to put it in my garden next to the climbing frame. I think it would just about fit.

  Emily says I’m super-clever because I’ve made a film already and I’m only six. I took some of the pictures but I didn’t like the camera because I couldn’t see through the hole. Emily kept putting her hand over one of my eyes but then I just saw a pinky-grey smudge and not my figures. So Emily took the rest of the pictures and I moved all the figures around. I love making my films. I get to choose exactly what happens and what to do and no one tells me off for being bossy. Emily said I was the most patient boy in the whole world because it took a long time making all the changes and I didn’t mind waiting for all the pictures to be taken. But Daddy says I’m rubbish at waiting so I’m not sure Emily is right that I am the most patient boy in the whole world. Maybe just in our land but not other lands like when we go on holiday.

  Mummy is in a different land at the moment but I think she will be coming home soon because it’s been a very long time and she always says ‘see you soon’. I hope if Mummy comes home, Daddy will still go to work and Emily will still be my nanny. I like having Emily looking after me. When I have my funny hand day and I can’t do stuff like my shoes or my seat belt, she just does them for me. And she lets me choose whether I have my twenty minutes on the iPad before my reading or after. When she lets me choose how we do things, I don’t feel so cross.

  Emily bought me a timer for when I get dressed. It’s really cool. It’s got orange sand, my favourite colour, and when the sand all goes from the top to the bottom, it means three minutes are up. We play a game and I have to get dressed before the sand is at the bottom. I always beat it. It’s really fun.

  I have to go and do my teeth now. I have a special chart with all the things I need to do in the morning and it’s got Velcro on like my shoes so I can stick the things on when I’ve done them. I’ve already stuck the getting-dressed one on, next is my teeth, then my book bag, and then there is a special chart down in the hall for the picture of my shoes because I was worried about getting mud on the carpet running back upstairs.

  Jake

  After a day dealing with a teen pregnancy announcement, a fight in the canteen that resulted in a broken nose and a drugs raid because one of the kids had been spotted with MDMA in the common room, the last thing I need is another awkward encounter with Emily. Before the end of last week, a friendship between us had seemed a possibility. But with Emily, it’s always one step forward and two steps back.

  When I get to Alfie’s bedroom, he and Emily are sitting on his bed with her laptop in front of them, falling about laughing, tears spilling down their cheeks. I can’t help it, there’s a flash of jealousy that there’s stuff I’m missing out on now. That I don’t share absolutely everything with Alfie like I used to. But, in general, returning to work has been easier than I thought it would be. Having that breathing space definitely makes Alfie’s intensity easier to deal with. And it helps that he’s clearly happy.

  When Emily notices me, her face immediately becomes more serious. ‘Oh, hi. Sorry, we just got the giggles about our voice-over.’

  ‘Daddy, have a listen, have a listen. It’s so cool. It’s actually us on the film.’

  I sit down on the bed and Emily starts their stop-motion film. It’s jerky, there’s very little continuity between scenes and Alfie’s hands are apparent in most shots, but I can just make out some sort of story. Spider-Man’s fighting with an array of baddies, there’s a car chase and a lot of smashing figures together, then Gwen Stacy appears, stuck in the Hulk Lab Smash jail until Spider-Man rescues her in his helicopter. The voice-over is hilarious: Alfie attempts a gruff voice for the baddies and an American accent for Spider-Man, and Emily is a posh Gwen Stacy. Then it becomes clear why they’re wetting themselves. Right in the middle of the kissing scene, there’s a squeaky parp and then Alfie suddenly blurts out, ‘Oops, I farted,’ completely unaware that it’ll appear on the film. I can’t help but laugh along with them.

  ‘Did you hear me, Daddy? I said, “Oops, I farted.” Did you hear me?’

  ‘Yeah, I heard you, little man. Silly billy.’

  ‘Do you like our film?’

  ‘I think it’s the best film I’ve ever seen.’

  Alfie examines my expression. ‘Really? Are you teasing, Daddy?’

  I sweep Alfie’s fringe out of his eyes. ‘No, I’m not teasing. I love it. I can’t wait to see the next one.’

  ‘Can we make another one, Emily?’

  Emily’s face suggests this creation has been a little bit more taxing than she expected. ‘Yeah, we’ll do another one soon.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘No, not now, buddy. Soon though, I promise.’

  ‘When? Tomorrow?’

  ‘OK. We’ll start doing the photos tomorrow. Why don’t you plan another story?’

  ‘Will you help?’

  Emily looks like a drooping flower. I’d say no, do it yourself. Let me breathe. But Emily seems to have an endless well of patience with Alfie that I just don’t have. Maybe if she lived with him, she’d understand that if you let him he’d suck every last drop of blood out of you like a leech. That’s why I have to shut him down sometimes. It’s a survival technique.

  ‘OK, the deal is you choose the figures you want to include and I’ll help you with the story in the morning. Daddy’s back late tonight because he had a meeting. Time to get ready for bed.’

  ‘But I want to do it now.’

  ‘It’s a great deal, Alfie. I’d take it,’ I say.

  Alfie contemplates his response and looks at Emily. ‘Only if you stay and read me my bedtime story?’

  ‘I think Emily’s tired, dude.’

  Emily rubs her eyes. ‘It’s fine. I’d like to do that, I mean, if you don’t mind me staying a bit longer?’

  ‘No, it’s fine.’

  Alfie climbs on to the desk and begins selecting figures off his shelf and Emily tidies away some miscellaneous Lego into the boxes. Clearly already indoctrinated, she makes sure to sort each piece by its colour.

  ‘We’ve already eaten,’ she says. ‘Yours just needs zapping in the microwave.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry, my meeting went on and on. Thanks for tea.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll get him ready. You go and eat.’

  I wonder if it’s her way of calling a truce or whether she just wants rid of me. I suspect the latter.

  * * *

  Once I’ve finished eating, I go upstairs, stand in the hallway and peer through Alfie’s door. Emily and Alfie are lying in his bed, under his Avengers quilt. He has his head on her chest and is staring intently at the story she is reading, while she strokes his hair. It’s the Disney Storybook version of Peter Pan, one of Alfie’s favourites. He is so still, so calm, so focused – it’s hard to imagine this is the same child who can’t stay on his chair for more than fifty seconds at mealtimes or who often chases around so manically that he damages either furniture or body parts.

  ‘Why don’t they stay in Neverland forever with Peter Pan?’

  It’s the same question he always asks me when we get to the end of the story.

  ‘Well, because they miss home. They miss their mummy.’ E
mily’s answer is the same answer I always give.

  Alfie looks deep in thought.

  ‘Do you miss your mummy, buddy?’ Emily asks, lifting her head to meet his eyes.

  I quietly crouch down and sit outside the door with my back to the wall. I probably shouldn’t be listening in but I’m fascinated to hear what Alfie says.

  ‘I’m not sure. Daddy says he misses her but I’m not really sure what “missing” feels like.’

  It’s at times like this I want to freeze Alfie so he doesn’t get any older, any more worldly-wise.

  ‘That’s a very good point. It’s hard to describe. I guess it’s a feeling in your tummy, like you really want to see someone and show them your new toys or tell them something you’ve done, and I suppose you feel sad that you can’t.’

  There’s a pause and I picture Alfie giving this serious consideration. ‘I think I miss you sometimes, then. Because I want to show you my Lego and stuff and I feel sad when Daddy says no. Like at the weekend, because Daddy says you’re not working then so we can’t invite you over.’

  Another pause.

  ‘I do miss Mummy’s porridge,’ Alfie continues. ‘She used to make it for me on a Saturday and a Sunday and it was super-yummy. Daddy’s not very good at porridge.’

  ‘Exactly. I think you’ve got it there, Alfie. I think sometimes we miss the things they did. How about my porridge? Is it OK when I cook it for you?’

  ‘It’s not as good as Mummy’s but better than Daddy’s.’

  I smile at his honesty.

  ‘I’ll take that. I’m sure it’s a bit strange having me looking after you so much now and not Mummy and Daddy. That’s OK. I don’t mind.’

  ‘I like having you looking after me. Mummy always says “in a minute” and then I’m sure I count one minute but she still doesn’t come so I ask again, but then she gets cross because she said in a minute but I’m sure I’ve waited like a hundred minutes and she still doesn’t come and help me.’