Saturdays at Noon

by Marks, Rachel

  My heartstrings feel like they’re about to rip.

  ‘I guess it’s tricky being a mummy when you’re super-busy.’

  ‘And Daddy is a bit of a grumpy-pants. Especially at bedtime and in the morning. I don’t like Daddy at bedtime and in the morning.’

  It’s a fair criticism, but it’s still hard to hear.

  ‘Shall I tell you a little secret?’ Emily says in a hushed voice. ‘I’m really grumpy in the morning too.’

  ‘Not when you get to my house. You always smile and that’s not grumpy.’

  ‘Ah, but that’s because I’m seeing you.’ I hear Emily kiss Alfie, and it feels odd that this stranger has been getting so close to my child without me even realizing it.

  ‘My mummy used to get cross with me when I kept asking her for stuff too,’ Emily continues. ‘You know it doesn’t mean they don’t love you more than anything in the whole world, don’t you?’

  ‘And what about your daddy?’ Alfie asks. ‘Was he grumpy in the morning?’

  ‘I didn’t really have a daddy.’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone have a daddy?’

  I hope this isn’t going to turn into a conversation about the birds and the bees, although Emily would probably do a much better job of explaining it than me.

  ‘Well, yes, everyone has a daddy, but my daddy went to live somewhere else when I was little and I didn’t see him again until I was a big girl.’

  I realize this is probably the most I’ve learnt about Emily in all the time I’ve known her.

  ‘Big like me?’

  ‘No, much bigger than you. Thirteen.’

  ‘I’m six.’ I can almost see Alfie pushing out his chest with pride.

  ‘I know you are. So I was a lot bigger than you.’

  ‘One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. Wow, that’s really big.’

  ‘I know.’

  Alfie goes quiet for a while and then asks, ‘Why didn’t you see him until you were thirteen?’

  ‘Some daddies, and some mummies, I suppose, just don’t see you. I don’t know why, Alfie, but what’s important is that your daddy sees you all the time. So even if he is a bit grumpy sometimes, he still always wants to see you. That’s what matters.’

  ‘So like my mummy doesn’t want to see me any more?’

  I feel a lump in my throat.

  ‘No, gorgeous. Not like that at all. Your mummy has to work away at the moment, but she still wants to see you. That’s why she rings you on the telephone and you talk to her on the laptop. That’s because your mummy wants to see you lots and lots. And it won’t be long before she comes to see you properly again.’

  ‘Like in real life?’

  ‘Yes, in real life. Now go to sleep, buddy. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  I hope Emily’s right. I don’t want Alfie to be the product of yet another fractured marriage. I want my family back. Because although it wasn’t perfect, it was better than this.

  ‘Emily?’ It’s his question voice and I wonder, anxiously, what he’s going to ask her. ‘Do you have a little boy?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘Only if he was just like you.’

  I expect Alfie to question this, about whether it’s possible for anyone to be just like him, but he doesn’t so he must be tired. After a few minutes of silence, I guess Alfie’s drifting off so I sneak back downstairs before Emily catches me.

  * * *

  When Emily finally surfaces, I’m sitting in the lounge with a beer and a tub of Ben & Jerry’s, watching an old episode of Game of Thrones.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then,’ Emily says, peering around the door, her jacket draped over her arm.

  ‘Hang on, come in for a minute.’

  Emily keeps hold of her jacket, a signal to me, perhaps, that I’m on borrowed time, and sits on the other sofa.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ I ask, putting off my apology.

  ‘No, I’m OK, thanks.’

  ‘Ice cream, then? Come on, I’ll even get you your own spoon.’

  Emily starts to put her arm through the sleeve of her jacket and I know I can’t put it off any longer. I have to be the bigger man. After listening to Emily and Alfie’s conversation, I know he needs her in his life right now. So whether or not I agree with some of the stuff she says, I’ve got to try to make this work.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about last week. I seem to have an uncanny knack of pissing you off.’

  ‘You can’t help it.’

  I’m not sure if she’s joking or not at first, but then the corners of her mouth turn up.

  ‘I don’t have all the answers with Alfie,’ I continue. ‘Far from it. I’m just trying to follow the recommended strategies. Supernanny made a lot of money coming up with these miracle cures. I can’t have the only child in the world who can’t be trained.’

  I’m being flippant but Emily flinches and I know it’s my use of the word ‘trained’. But surely that’s part of my job as a parent? To mould Alfie into someone who can function in society?

  ‘Look, if you think you’ve got some better strategies, I’m willing to listen to alternatives. All I ask is that we’re on the same page. Alfie needs consistency, so whatever methods we choose, we both need to be using them.’

  Emily’s finger circles her temple. ‘I get that. I do understand he needs consistency, Jake, but you need to understand I’m trying to survive.’

  I can’t help feeling I misread her the other night. That it wasn’t an ‘I know better’ attack, it was a cry for help.

  ‘I’ve not got any magical solutions either,’ she continues. ‘I just wonder if we tried not sweating the little stuff, like the biscuit, maybe he’d be more receptive to the important rules, like not smashing into the glass doors. But I’m not an expert. I’m not even a parent, so feel free to ignore me. I just find it hard to enforce the naughty step. It drains me. And it just feels a little pointless, but I might be wrong.’

  When I really listen to Emily and I’m not caught up with being a defensive idiot, what she says makes quite a lot of sense.

  ‘OK. No more thinking step. And one biscuit. Just one.’

  ‘OK. As Alfie would say, it’s a deal.’

  ‘Ice cream?’ I hold out the tub.

  Emily looks at it as if she thinks it might be poisoned, then goes out of the room and comes back with a spoon. She sits at the other end of the sofa. ‘Hand it over then.’

  She digs around, then eventually spoons out a huge chunk of cookie dough.

  ‘You can’t just eat the cookie dough, you know? You have to eat the ice cream too.’

  At first, Emily looks like she’s about to throw the spoon at my head, but then she laughs. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not used to sharing. I usually just dig the cookie dough out and throw the rest away.’

  I hold out my hand. ‘My turn.’

  Emily hands me the tub and I spoon some out. ‘See,’ I say, modelling the process, ‘you just dig in randomly and see what you get.’

  Surveying the room, her eyes stop on the CD rack. ‘Interesting collection.’

  I study Jemma’s selection of cheesy dance compilations and her comprehensive history of boy bands, starting at East 17 and going all the way up to 5 Seconds of Summer.

  ‘They’re Jemma’s. Mine are relegated to the study.’

  Emily looks like she’s trying to find the thumbprint embedded into my skin. ‘So what sort of stuff are you into then?’

  ‘Nirvana, the Foos, anything heavy.’

  ‘Seriously? Mr Clean-cut is into grunge?’

  I dishevel my hair with the palm of my hand. ‘I’m not clean-cut.’

  ‘OK. Sensibly middle-class.’

  ‘I’m a radical surfer and snowboarder, thank you very much.’

  Emily looks softer tonight. Her hair is a little longer and she’s bleached it white blonde.

  ‘You growing your hair out?’

  Emi
ly rubs her head. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I guess I just haven’t had a chance to shave it again.’

  ‘It looks nice.’ Emily visibly baulks at the compliment so I change the subject. ‘So, while we’re not arguing for a nanosecond, tell me something about yourself. It’s dawned on me that you’re looking after my little boy every day and the only thing I know about you is that he thinks you’re the best thing since sliced bread.’

  At the mention of Alfie’s affection for her, Emily’s eyes sparkle. Her face is always brighter when she’s around him. It makes me feel bad that he doesn’t have that effect on me. Like I’m so caught up with the trials of looking after him that I’m missing the magic.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘I don’t know. Do you live with anyone? What films do you like? Anything. You’ve seen my house, met my son, you know my wife walked out on me, you know I couldn’t cook a decent roast if my life depended on it. I know nothing about you.’

  ‘It wasn’t that bad. The roast, I mean.’

  ‘You’re avoiding the question.’

  Because Emily doesn’t smile very often, when she does, it’s more rewarding, like getting an A from the teacher who consistently gives out Cs.

  ‘OK, I live on my own in a flat at the bottom of town. And it’s embarrassing to admit, but I like romcoms.’

  I nearly choke on my beer. ‘No way do you like romcoms.’

  ‘I know, I know, it’s hard to believe that the girl with the shaved head who wears hoodies and biker boots is a romcom fanatic, but it’s true.’

  ‘It’s not because of how you look. You just seem too …’ I search for the word.

  ‘Much of a bitch?’

  ‘I was going to say cynical. Sorry, that’s really rude of me, isn’t it?’

  Emily shakes her head. ‘It’s a fair description.’

  She’s so much more easy-going than she was earlier. She reminds me of Alfie. You never quite know which version you’re going to get.

  ‘Well, I know all about your brilliant job. What else is there? Are you with anyone?’

  Emily sucks the ice cream off her spoon. ‘No. We split up a few months back.’ Then, by way of explanation: ‘He was a prick.’

  ‘Seems there’s a lot of us around.’

  That smile again. Bonus points.

  ‘Any hobbies?’

  ‘What is this? A job interview?’

  ‘I’m just being polite.’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never had much free time because of working so much, I guess. I used to do a lot of photography. It was the only thing I’ve ever really felt passionate about. God, I sound really boring, don’t I?’

  I shake my head. ‘There’s quite a few words I’d use to describe you, but “boring” isn’t one of them. So how come you used to do a lot of photography?’

  Emily bites her nail. ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Fair enough. I get the feeling there are a lot of “long stories” in your life.’

  Emily stares out of the patio door and I worry I’ve said the wrong thing again.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a negative way. I just mean there seems a lot to you.’

  ‘It’s fine. You’re right about the long stories. But I’m not so sure that makes me interesting. Just hard work.’

  It’s the most she’s ever opened up to me and it makes me want to know more. She hands me back the tub of Ben & Jerry’s and there’s a fleck left at the bottom.

  ‘Well, I’ve also discovered that you’re a terrible person to share with. Jemma only ever had a few spoonfuls and then left the rest of the tub for me.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  I scrape out the remains and put the tub on the coffee table. ‘Truth be told, it used to drive me mad. It’s hard to properly tuck into your food when you’ve got someone picking at theirs like a sparrow opposite you.’

  ‘Much better when someone gobbles it down like a pig?’

  ‘Exactly. Except when we’re sharing, then I’d choose the sparrow every time.’

  Emily puts her jacket on. ‘Right, now I’ve eaten all your ice cream, I better get home. I’ve another exhausting day looking after your son tomorrow.’

  ‘True. So, are we calling a truce? For Alfie’s sake?’

  Emily stands up with a smile. ‘OK. For Alfie.’

  With most people that I meet, I can figure them out within a few minutes. I know almost immediately whether they’re someone I’m going to get on with or someone I’d rather avoid. But Emily’s so all over the place, so Jekyll and Hyde, that I can’t get the measure of her. But, for the first time ever, I’m not in any desperate hurry for her to leave and, when she does, the clunk of the door closing echoes around the empty house.

  * * *

  I grab another bottle of beer from the fridge and, because I no longer have anyone to answer to, take it up to bed with me. I remove most of my clothes and sit on top of the covers in my boxers. I power up my laptop to peruse the latest articles on Den of Geek! and it opens on my Skype page. I notice that Jemma’s online. Without thinking, I click on her name and select ‘call’. It rings for a minute or two and then her face appears on the screen. She’s standing in her sister’s spare bedroom wearing a skimpy red dress. The laptop must be on the bed because she leans down to look into the camera.

  ‘Is everything OK, Jake?’

  She says it with a why-the-hell-would-I-want-to-speak-to-you expression and I suddenly feel stupid.

  ‘Yeah, I just saw you were online so I pressed call. I’m not sure why.’

  Jemma sits down on the bed and pulls the laptop on to her knees. ‘How’s Alfie?’

  ‘He’s good. Exhausting. You know, he’s Alfie.’

  She offers a sad smile. ‘I almost booked a flight home the other day. I got right to the bit where it says pay now and then I shut my laptop down.’

  My shoulders tense, the anger flooding back.

  ‘So why did you stop yourself?’

  How can you call yourself a parent?

  ‘He’s better off without me right now.’

  It’s an easy excuse. A way to make the really shitty thing you’re doing sound less shit. But it doesn’t wash with me. What she’s done is still the shittiest of the shit to me.

  ‘Of course he’s not better off without you. You’re his mum. Every child needs his mum. But he’s doing OK. We’re making the best of a bad situation. Emily’s been making these stop-motion films with him and it seems to have really captured his imagination.’

  ‘That sounds good,’ she says, but her face says something very different.

  ‘Yeah, it is. Turns out he’s pretty creative.’

  I don’t think I’m saying this stuff to hurt her, but I might be. I’m on a roll, so I continue.

  ‘Emily thinks we’ve got too many rules. That if we had fewer nos it’d be easier to stick to the ones we do have. We’re going to drop the thinking step for a while – see if she’s got a point. I’m not sure, but I reckon it’s worth a go.’

  Jemma nods. Her mouth’s clamped shut and I know I’ve pissed her off but I don’t care. She’s not here, so why should she get a say in how I’m dealing with Alfie?

  ‘Emily this, Emily that. This Emily seems to be having a big impact on both your lives.’

  ‘Seriously? You want to go down that road?’

  Jemma shakes her head. ‘No. Sorry. It’s just hard to be so far away sometimes.’

  So come home.

  ‘Where have you been tonight, anyway? You look very swish.’

  ‘Oh, we’re just about to go out.’

  ‘Now? It’s ten o’clock. Where are you going?’

  ‘It’s just a few drinks with some of Laura’s workmates.’

  ‘Male workmates?’ Naively, up until this point I’d not even considered that Jemma might be spending time with other men.

  ‘Jake, it’s really not like that.’

  ‘So they are men?’

  ‘It’s a group of people. Male and female. Th
ere’s nothing going on.’

  But it suddenly dawns on me that even if she’s telling the truth on this occasion, in the not-too-distant future, there could be another man. Jemma’s stunning. I’m sure there are hundreds of suave French twats dying to get their hands on her.

  Jemma pushes a strand of hair off her face and checks herself out in the camera. ‘I’ve got to go. Tell Alfie I love him.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘I haven’t got time for this now, Jake.’

  ‘Of course not. When do you ever have time?’

  Jemma sighs. ‘Look, I didn’t want to have this conversation right now. I was going to call you when we had more time to talk properly, but since you’re pushing me, I might as well say it. I hate missing out on stuff with Alfie. I hate the thought of you two starting a new life without me. But I don’t miss this shit between you and me, Jake. I don’t miss the arguing, or the scoring points, or feeling like a terrible person. Being here, I finally feel like myself again.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

  ‘I think maybe we’re better apart.’

  I shut my laptop. I can’t listen to any more. I imagine her in some sophisticated Parisian bar, dressed up to the nines, free and happy in her new life, and I feel sick. I naively thought that time away from us would make Jemma realize what she had, but instead it’s made her realize what she wants. And that’s clearly not me any more.

  Emily

  ‘Come on, Alfie, it’s this way.’

  I drag Alfie down the corridor until we get to Nan’s door. I don’t want her to have to get up, so I let myself in. Alfie shuffles along beside me, hiding behind my leg. Nan’s watching the Some Mothers Do ’Ave ’Em box set I bought her last Christmas and laughing like a drain.

  When she hears the door click, she looks up. ‘Oh, Em, you really didn’t need to come. I’m fine. They make such a fuss here sometimes. It was only a little fall.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s fine. Alfie here wanted to come and meet you anyway, didn’t you, buddy?’ I put my arm around his back and manoeuvre him out from behind me. ‘Come on, don’t be shy.’