On seeing Alfie, Nan’s face breaks into a wide smile. ‘Ah, so you’re Alfie! I’ve heard all about you. Would you like some chocolate?’
Alfie nods. It’s a sure-fire way to win him over.
Nan pats her chair. ‘Well, come and sit down and Emily will get you some chocolate buttons. They’re in the cupboard by the fridge, Em.’
Alfie walks towards Nan and, rather than choosing the sofa opposite, sits on her chair next to her.
Nan shuffles along to give him space and pulls him further back from the edge. ‘There you go, perfect. Shall we find you something to watch? What do you like to watch, young man?’
It’s like Alfie’s perfect afternoon. Chocolate and unlimited TV. Alfie takes the remote from Nan and starts typing in ‘Peter Rabbit’.
‘Wow. You’re better with this than me. Peter Rabbit? Do you like that? I used to read that to my little boy. I had a little boy like you once, you know.’
I hate the thought of my dad as a child, just starting out, so full of potential. It makes me so mad that he just threw it all away.
‘I’m six.’
‘Six? Well, you’re a big boy then, aren’t you?’
Alfie smiles proudly, then the Peter Rabbit theme tune starts to play and he jigs in his seat and sings along. Nan giggles and then turns to me. ‘Don’t just stand there gawping at us, Em. Get those chocolate buttons, will you?’
‘Oh, yeah. Sorry.’
Alfie shakes his head. ‘Silly Emily.’ And Nan laughs.
I grab the chocolate buttons from the cupboard, bring them through and hand them to Alfie. ‘What do you say, Alfie?’
He looks up at Nan. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ Nan taps Alfie’s hand.
Alfie starts counting the buttons out into three piles on the arm of the chair. Once he’s finished, he holds a handful out to Nan and one out to me. ‘Here you go.’
Nan looks at him like he’s just offered her a palmful of gold. ‘Oh, thank you, Alfie. No, they’re for you.’
‘Emily?’ I can tell by his face he hopes I’ll give the same response.
‘You keep them, buddy.’
‘What a lovely boy you are,’ Nan says.
‘No, he’s not. He’s a pain in the bum really, aren’t you, Alfie?’ I squeeze his shoulder.
‘No, I’m not. I’m awesome.’ He says ‘awesome’ in an American accent and tries to wink while making a clicking sound with his tongue.
We both start giggling and Nan looks at us like we’re mad. Once we’ve calmed down, Alfie turns his attention to the television and, soon after, there’s a knock at the door.
‘That’ll be his dad come to collect him.’ I stand up to open the door.
‘Oh, good, it’s the right place,’ Jake says, slightly out of breath. Then he looks me up and down like he’s trying to work something out. ‘You look nice.’
I look down, hoping he can’t see the heat flowing into my cheeks. ‘I always look like this.’ I stand back to let him into the flat, then close the door. ‘Anyway, thanks for coming. I didn’t want to leave her on her own, just in case,’ I say quietly.
‘I might be old but I’m not deaf, Em. And I don’t need you to look after me. I’m fine.’
Jake walks past me into the lounge. ‘Lovely to meet you …’
‘Edith.’
Jake grasps Nan’s hand between his own. ‘Lovely to meet you, Edith. I see you’ve met my son. You OK, little man?’
Jake sits on the sofa beside me. Alfie’s so immersed in Peter Rabbit he doesn’t even seem to notice him.
‘Well, I can see where Alfie gets his good looks from,’ Nan says, a cheeky glint in her eye.
‘I could say the same about Emily.’
Nan giggles like an infatuated schoolgirl. ‘Charmer.’
‘Just being honest.’
I’ve not seen Charismatic Jake before. It feels strange.
‘So what is it you do then, Jake?’ Nan asks. ‘Obviously something important with that smart suit.’
‘Oh, I’m just a teacher.’
‘Ooh, very fancy. You must be very intelligent.’ Nan’s of the generation that still sees teachers as higher beings.
‘No, not at all. It’s more that I’m on their wavelength. I hated school so I wanted to try to give the children a better experience than I had.’
Hearing Jake talk, I suddenly feel guilty that I’ve only ever seen him in relation to Alfie. I’ve never considered him as a person in his own right, with a past, interests, a job that he’s possibly very good at.
We all sit and watch Peter Rabbit until the episode finishes. Nan raises her leg on to the coffee table and pulls up her highly attractive support socks.
Alfie gives her a concerned look. ‘How did those worms get in your legs?’
‘Alfie!’ Jake looks mortified.
Nan laughs. ‘It’s fine. I like someone who says what they’re thinking. Everyone’s so politically correct these days. He’s curious, like all good children should be.’ Then she turns to Alfie. ‘They’re veins, love. Give me your hand.’ Alfie holds out his hand and Nan takes it and turns his arm over. ‘Look, you’ve got them too.’ She runs her finger along the veins in his wrist. ‘It’s just that when you get older they sometimes stick out, like mine.’
‘Yuck. I hope mine don’t do that.’
‘Alfie.’ Jake covers his face with his hands.
Nan smiles. ‘Well, make sure you get lots of exercise and don’t get fat like me, OK?’
Alfie nods.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Jake says, standing up. ‘I’ll take the little monkey off your hands.’
Nan waves Jake’s apology away. ‘Not at all. It’s been a real pleasure.’
‘Can’t I just watch one more?’ Alfie says, leaning back in Nan’s chair.
‘No, it’s teatime, but how about we go for a McDonald’s on the way home?’
Alfie leaps out of the chair. ‘Yay!’
Jake leans down to kiss Nan on the cheek. ‘Well, I hope to see you again soon, Edith.’ Jake puts his hands on Alfie’s shoulders and leads him to the door. ‘Say bye, Alfie.’
Alfie looks at me, then turns to Jake. ‘Isn’t Emily coming?’
‘No,’ I say, ‘I’m just going to stay here for a bit. I’ll see you soon though, OK?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Well, no, it’s the weekend tomorrow. And then it’s half-term so you have a week with Daddy.’
‘We’re going to go to the beach, Alfie. It’s going to be awesome,’ Jake says, as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as Alfie.
‘Will you come too, Emily? Please.’
‘Well, I think you’re going to go with just Daddy.’
Alfie runs over to me, climbs on to my lap and puts his arms around my neck. ‘Please, Emily. Please come.’
I look over to Jake, who I can see is getting anxious about the potential colossal meltdown brewing.
‘I’ll call Emily later and we’ll talk about it then, OK, Alfie? Come on. Those chicken nuggets are waiting.’
‘Yeah, quick. You don’t want them to sell out.’
‘OK. But you have to come to the beach.’
I smile. ‘I’ll talk to Daddy about it later. Go on.’
‘Kiss first,’ Alfie says.
It takes me aback – he’s never asked for one before – but I kiss him on the cheek and he pulls me in tight to him. Over his shoulder, I meet Nan’s eyes, but I can’t quite tell what she’s thinking.
* * *
‘How about we go for a drive and park up somewhere with a view? I can stop off and get sandwiches and we can eat them in the car.’
‘Um, I’m not sure really, love. It takes me such a long time to get anywhere these days.’
‘Come on. We’ll steal one of the wheelchairs in the corridor, take it for a joyride.’
Nan pushes a loose grey curl off her forehead. ‘Oh, go on then. You only live once, right?’
We drive
out to Crickley Hill and I park up so we have a view of the valley below us. The sky is clinging on to the last of its pinky-orange glow before the sun retires for the day and the lights in the house windows punctuate the landscape like decorations on a Christmas tree. It’s nearly November and there’s a definite sense that autumn is being left behind and winter will soon be upon us.
I pull the sandwiches out of the plastic Sainsbury’s bag and hold Nan’s out to her. ‘Egg and cress?’
‘Oh, thanks, love. My favourite. What have you got?’
I hold up the packet to show her. ‘Coronation chicken.’
Nan wrinkles her nose like a rabbit. ‘Smells funny. Are those raisins in it?’
I nod, taking a bite.
‘Well, each to their own, I suppose.’
We sit in silence for a while and eat our sandwiches. The cold from outside starts to seep into the car so I switch the engine back on and turn on the heater.
‘That Jake’s a bit of a catch,’ Nan says, removing a piece of cress from her teeth. ‘Clearly got a soft spot for you, as well.’
‘He’s married, Nan. And he definitely has no interest in me.’
‘I thought his wife had left him? Isn’t that why you’re looking after his boy?’
‘It’s a trial separation. I’m not sure when she’s coming back. I don’t talk to Jake much. I leave once he gets home from work.’
Nan nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. ‘Well, Alfie seems like a sweet boy.’
‘He is. He has some … difficulties, I suppose. But he makes me laugh. He’s so funny, some of the stuff he comes out with. He’s such a character. You can’t help but feel brighter when you’re with him, you know?’
Nan offers a faint smile and then, suddenly, there’s a bang and a burst of light as colourful sparks fall from the sky.
Nan’s eyes open wide. ‘Fireworks!’
It’s amazing how fireworks never lose their magical beauty. No matter how many times you’ve seen them, they still make you feel like a tiny kid again, wrapped up in gloves, hat and scarf, standing outside on an ice-cold night, watching them for the very first time.
We sit and gawk at them for a while, oohing and aahing at the pops, crackles and sparkles.
‘I remember when I first took your dad to the fireworks. He was about five. Cried like a baby, he did. The big wuss.’
Nan stares through the windscreen, her eyes suggesting her mind is a long way away.
‘I should probably take Alfie. I don’t know if he likes them or not.’
I might be wrong but if feels as though Nan is stopping herself from saying something. The fireworks finish and I throw my empty sandwich wrapper in the plastic bag. Nan still hasn’t finished hers and, as I watch her eating, I notice her hands are shaking and her face looks drawn. Her hands probably always shake, maybe it’s just more noticeable because she’s sitting so close to me, but I want to bring the sandwich to her mouth for her, as if she were a small child.
‘Are you eating enough, Nan? Are you getting enough sleep? You look tired.’
The crinkles around her eyes bunch together as she smiles. ‘I’m just old, love.’
Sitting in the car, only darkness surrounding us, my emotions feel amplified and I wish I hadn’t brought her out.
‘Right, shall we head back?’ I pull my seat belt over my shoulder.
Nan looks into my eyes. ‘Thanks for bringing me here, love. I haven’t seen fireworks for years. I always hear them overhead but by the time I’ve got out of my chair to look out the window, they’ve gone.’
‘It’s a pleasure. Any time.’
Nan tries to put her seat belt on but she can’t quite reach. I undo mine so that I can lean over and pass hers to her. She holds on to it, then I help to pull it down and click it in. As I do, she grasps my hand. Her skin feels so thin, like she’s down to the last few layers.
‘Just remember you’re not his mum, Em. Eventually you’re going to have to give him back.’
I shrug. ‘Of course. I mean, he’s not mine to give back. It’s just a job.’
‘It’s not like loving another adult.’ Nan continues as if she hasn’t heard me. ‘When you love a child, it’s …’ She shakes her head, as if no words can explain the feeling. ‘And then if you lose them, well, I’m not sure you’re ever quite the same.’
I pull my arm away to put my seat belt back on.
‘I never knew what it was tormenting your dad. Then when I found that photo of you in his wallet and he finally told me the truth, suddenly it all made sense.’
It still hurts that he didn’t tell Nan about me for all those years. Like I was just a dirty secret. An embarrassment.
‘Well, he kind of brought that on himself, to be fair.’
Nan squeezes my arm. ‘Partly. I know it’s hard for you to believe after everything you were told all those years, but he really did love you, Em. You only have my word and I only had his, but I know he tried to see you.’
‘Let’s get back. It’s getting cold.’
It was the first thing she told me when we met. It was at Dad’s wake and I was sitting in the corner of the church hall, drinking a glass of wine and trying to avoid talking to anyone. I really didn’t want to hear people’s condolences for losing my dad when the truth was I’d never really had him. Nan walked straight over and, after a brief introduction, she launched into a spiel about how my dad had tried his best to see me over the years, but Mum had taken a restraining order out on him. Mum said he hit her; Nan says that’s bollocks, that she got the bruises elsewhere. Either way – that, paired with the drinking and petty drug use – he was refused access. Nan says he sent letters, birthday cards, but I never got them. Mum still sticks to her story and I guess I’ll never know the truth.
In the end, it doesn’t really matter. The fact is, from the age of four I didn’t have a father. He turned up to my thirteenth birthday party. I call it a party – Mum subsidized what I’d saved of my pocket money to take Alice and another friend from school bowling. I have no idea how he found out we were there, but he turned up with this silver ‘best daughter’ necklace he probably found on the pavement. He looked a mess, like he hadn’t washed for weeks, and he smelt stale, of fags and alcohol and burgers. When he tried to hug me, Mum must’ve spotted him because she sent Shane over, who swore at Dad, pushing him away and embarrassing me in front of my friends. Dad fought back for a bit but, when he saw that I was in tears, he agreed to leave.
The only other time I saw him was about six months before he accidentally overdosed on pain meds. Somehow he must’ve persuaded Mum to give him my mobile number. I didn’t answer at first, not recognizing the number, but after four calls in a row I picked up out of curiosity.
‘Hi, Emily, it’s your dad.’
I put the phone down. He called back a few minutes later and I rejected the call. Then he called again so I reluctantly picked up.
‘Please just hear me out, Em.’
I hated how he called me Em – as if he knew me, like we had some kind of relationship.
‘Please just come and meet me. If after you’ve spoken to me, you never want to see me again, I’ll leave you alone forever.’
I don’t know why I agreed to go. Because I was intrigued, maybe? Because I wanted to tell him how much I hated him? I’m not sure, but we met about a week later in the park. As I walked over the bridge and saw him sitting on a bench staring at the lake, his face a near reflection of my own, my stomach did somersaults. He had a bunch of flowers in his hand. Gerberas. My favourite. Not that he could possibly have known that. He just got lucky, I guess.
When I got to the bench, he stood up and embraced me, tears in his eyes, and I stood like a statue in his arms. He asked me questions about myself, my life, my hobbies – like he thought showing an interest in who I’d become would make up for never seeing any of the things that had led me there. I gave him one-word answers and didn’t ask him a thing. He said he was finally practising clean-living, that he was
going to put things right, but he never called me again and six months later he died from an overdose so I guess that was just more bullshit.
I still remember the last thing I said to him, as I stood up to leave and he begged me not to hate him.
‘I don’t hate you. I feel no more for you than if you were a complete stranger that I just sat down next to on a bench. Because, let’s be honest, that is all you are.’
He’d looked at me like I’d just stuck a knife in him and twisted it round multiple times. And I walked away wishing what I’d said was true. When Mum called me to tell me he’d died, all I could think about was his face right then, as he sat on that bench.
* * *
We reach Nan’s flat and I grab the wheelchair that I left in the car park, open the passenger door and help to manoeuvre her into the chair. It’s so cold I can see our breath so I race Nan into the flat, turn her heating up and settle her in her chair.
‘Thanks again for taking me out, love. I do appreciate you, you know?’
‘I know, but it’s a pleasure. You never have to thank me, Nan.’
I put the television remotes on the arm of her chair and kiss her crêpey cheek.
She puts the palm of her hand against the side of my face. It’s still cold from outside. ‘Bye, love. Don’t forget I love you.’
I squeeze her wrist. ‘Love you too, Nan.’
‘And just think about what I said about Alfie, will you?’
I nod, offer her a half-smile and head home.
* * *
Despite Jake and I fabricating ingenious reasons for why I couldn’t come to the beach, Alfie picked them apart with the skill of a world-class detective and made it impossible for us to say no. And sitting with the sand between my toes, it actually feels good to be here. The last time I went to the coast was when I was eight and my foster mum took me to Weston-super-Mare and, let’s be honest, the swathes of mud and dingy water there don’t really constitute the seaside.
‘Let’s go and jump the waves,’ I say, attracted by the glistening aquamarine water and deceived by the warmth of the autumn sun on the back of my dark hoody.
Saturdays at Noon Page 19
