I push the screen down and place my laptop on the bedside table. ‘It was a lucky shot.’
Jake gives me an I-wasn’t-born-yesterday look. ‘That was not a lucky shot. I’ve managed to get some lucky shots in my time and they do not look anything like that.’
I pick up my wine. ‘Look, I’m sorry I freaked out and didn’t spend the day with you guys today. I feel like an idiot.’
Jake shrugs. ‘Starting to really care about someone is a scary thing. It must be even worse if it’s a child. With a partner, if they leave, you can kid yourself you’re better off without them and they’re not worth it. But it’s not like that with a child, is it?’
‘Thanks for getting it. For not thinking I’m crazy.’
‘Woah, hang on, I didn’t say that. I still think you’re crazy.’
I jab him in the ribs and he laughs. Perhaps it’s because we’ve both had a few drinks but things feel so much easier between us, and I realize that I’m actually really enjoying his company.
‘So is that what you are trying to do? Kid yourself Jemma’s not worth it?’
‘Maybe. Or maybe she’s actually not. I haven’t worked that bit out just yet.’
‘Well, imagine you got back tomorrow and she was there waiting for you. Would you take her back?’
‘After my last conversation with her, I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. But, hypothetically, if it did … I just don’t know. I still love her. Of course I do. But is that because she’s Alfie’s mum and because of all the great times we had together? Am I still in love with her or am I just clinging on to what we once had? I mean, we haven’t been happy for a very long time. I know that. How do you know if you’re still in love with someone, anyway? If you’re fucking miserable every day, does that mean you’re not in love with them?’ Jake shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I’m sure you have no interest in any of these internal meanderings.’
‘I asked.’
‘True. You did bring it on yourself.’
Alfie sniffs and rubs at his face and I put my index finger to my lips.
‘So how about you?’ Jake whispers. ‘You over your ex?’
Alex’s face pops into my head. The thought of him no longer makes my stomach hurt.
‘Yeah, I’m pretty sure I am.’
I think, with distance, I can see what we had wasn’t real. I allowed myself to get swept up in it for a while, but deep down I always knew it wasn’t going anywhere. Maybe that’s why I chose it.
‘Any other victims in line?’ Jake’s face when he’s teasing me is exactly the same as Alfie’s when he lies about how many biscuits he’s had or the fact that Daddy lets him eat his tea in front of the television.
‘Why are you always so mean to me?’
‘Take it as a compliment. I’m only mean to the people I like.’
I raise my eyebrows.
‘Honestly, taking the piss out of someone is how I show we’re friends. Thinking about it, maybe that’s why I don’t have many friends.’
‘Possibly worth considering.’ I fluff up the pillow and prop it behind my back. ‘No, currently no victims in line. I’m too busy looking after your son to have time to start a relationship.’
‘Oh, I do apologize for getting in the way of your sex life.’
‘I said no time for a relationship. I’m still getting plenty of sex.’
Jake coughs, a small amount of beer shooting out of his nose. ‘At least one of us is.’
‘You should get back out there. You’re not completely hideous. I’m sure someone would want to sleep with you.’
Jake smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘As utterly ridiculous as it sounds when my wife is probably getting boned daily by French blokes, I’d feel like I was being unfaithful.’
‘Yep, sounds totally ridiculous to me.’
As we both laugh, Alfie turns over and we simultaneously cover our mouths.
‘It’s funny, when I see him in profile like that, I just see my mum.’
‘Did you get on with her? Your mum?’
Jake runs his finger along his bottom lip. ‘She was the best. Like all young lads, I probably didn’t show her very much, but I worshipped the ground she walked on.’
‘I’m sure she knew.’
‘I hope so. How about you? You get on well with your parents?’
When I’ve been drinking, I always feel like blurting out everything, like passing on a hot potato – it’s a relief to be rid of it. But Jake already thinks I’m common as muck; I don’t want the details of my shitty background to enhance that perception.
‘Oh yeah. They’re great. Happily married for twenty-seven years. It’s incredible, really.’
Jake’s eyebrows twitch, like he’s confused about something, but then he appears to shift whatever it was he was thinking.
‘You thought I was one of those people who has seven siblings all with different surnames, didn’t you?’
Jake shakes his head forcefully, his mouth full of beer. ‘No, I don’t know where you get this impression of me. Anyway, what kind of person is that? At this rate, that could be Alfie in a few years. Well, maybe not seven siblings. I’m not sure I’m quite that prolific.’
I smile.
‘Seriously, though,’ he continues, ‘my dad worked in a factory. He eventually worked his way up to manager level, but we never had much money. We didn’t go abroad until I was fourteen. My mum stayed home with me. The big house, the fancy things, it’s all Jemma’s.’
The more he opens up with me, the more I wish I’d been honest with him. It’s like I can feel the lie wedged between us, making everything less comfortable than it was before.
I look at my watch. ‘I suppose I better get back to my own room. Busy day of Batcave building tomorrow.’
‘OK. Well, thanks for coming. I know it means the world to Alfie.’
‘Thanks for letting me. I’m sure you can think of better ways to spend your half-term.’
Jake sticks out his bottom lip. ‘Not right now, no. It’s a sad state of affairs, isn’t it, when going to the freezing-cold English seaside with your infuriating son and his emotionally stunted nanny is as good as it gets?’
I punch his arm and he grabs on to his bicep dramatically, then I push myself up off the bed. ‘Right, I’m off to my room.’
‘See you bright and early. Seven, three, zero. We’ll pick you up from your room on the way down.’
‘I might be there. If you’re lucky.’ I grab my jacket off the back of the armchair and root in the pocket for my room key. ‘And I am not emotionally stunted.’
Jake laughs. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to let that pass. Night, Em.’
* * *
Jake sits out at sea on his board, patiently waiting for another set of waves to roll in. When he sees one in the distance, he manoeuvres on to his stomach and starts paddling towards it, then turns his board, waits, and then frantically sweeps his arms through the water, jumping up on to his board and riding the wave all the way to the shore. When he surfaces, I can hear him yelping. It makes me laugh.
I take a few photographs of Alfie studiously working on his Batcave, which he has been creating for the past hour and a half. ‘You done yet, buddy?’
‘No. It’s not right yet.’
‘It looks pretty good to me,’ I say, watching him through the viewfinder.
‘It has to be perfect. It’s OK. I’ll get there eventually.’
Sometimes Alfie is so patient, so meticulous, it’s easy to forget he’s only six years old.
‘I’ve got no doubt about that. Good for you.’
I feel a splash of water on my back and Jake appears behind me, placing his board on the sand. ‘Ah, that was amazing. Thank you so much. I’d forgotten how good it feels.’ I can’t believe how different he looks. Like Alfie when he’s hurtling down a slide.
‘No problem. Just glad you enjoyed it.’
Alfie stands up and puts down his spade. ‘Can I come, Daddy? Will you show me how
to surf now?’
Jake goes over to him, picks him up and swirls him around. ‘Of course! I’d love to.’
Jake puts Alfie down and he rushes straight to the bag we’ve brought with us, pulls out his wetsuit and starts putting it on. ‘Awesome. Will you come too, Emily?’
I look at Jake. ‘No, it’s OK. I haven’t got a wetsuit. I’ll just watch.’
‘I’ve got a spare one in the car. Come on, it’ll be fun. Alfie and I can laugh at you when you fall off.’
Alfie giggles at his dad’s joke.
‘Charming.’ I gaze out at the sea. ‘I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to show you up.’
Jake smiles, pushing his wet hair off his face. ‘I’ll take that chance. I’ll go and get that wetsuit.’
‘But I want to go in now, Daddy,’ Alfie says, folding his arms in front of him.
‘I’ll go and get it,’ I say. ‘You guys go in. I’ll join you in a minute.’
‘OK,’ Jake says, widening his eyes. ‘As long as you promise not to chicken out.’
‘I promise.’
I watch them run towards the water, both with an extra bounce in their step, then I go back to the car to get changed and dash into the waves after them.
Jake
School holidays are supposed to be the major perk of being a teacher. Oh, and obviously making a huge difference to the lives of young people, I shouldn’t forget that bit. BA (Before Alfie), Jemma and I would’ve spent October half-term exploring a European city or lying by a pool in Morocco. We’d always have great sex on holiday, as if somehow being away from it all made us infinitely better lovers. But now, half-terms are not a perk. Now, half-terms are a survival challenge that could rival Bear Grylls dumping you on a deserted island with a few measly preparatory lessons, like how to make a fire or catch a crocodile. Luckily, it’s Friday. Nearly there.
Today’s gem is a trip to Legoland. It’s a rite of passage for every parent. With its overpriced food and overcrowded pathways, it’s something that has to be endured at least once in a lifetime. I’ve managed to avoid it thus far, using the excuse that Alfie wasn’t big enough to go on a lot of the rides. But after Alfie making me measure him twice a week for the past two years, the dreaded day has come when he has grown beyond the required one metre and Emily has insisted that we take him.
As we drive past the large welcome sign made out of thousands of tiny bricks, Emily and Alfie can barely contain their excitement. It’s a side to Emily that still surprises me, considering her default setting when we met was bite-your-head-off. She’s jigging around in the seat next to me, gasping at every new model that we see. I can’t help but chuckle to myself. That is, until we reach the car park.
‘Five pounds? Seriously? We have to pay five pounds for parking on top of the extortionate ticket prices?’
‘I’ll pay for it. Take a chill pill.’
I shake my head. ‘I’ll pay. It’s the principle, that’s all. We’ll probably be ripped off in the shop too when I could get all the stuff cheaper on Amazon.’
‘Aah, but where’s the magic in that? Come on, grumpy, let’s get going. We want to go into Legoland, don’t we, Alfie?’
‘Yeah, come on, Daddy.’
As we walk towards the entrance, Alfie’s eyes look up at the huge Legoland sign as if it’s the Angel Gabriel leading him to Jesus, and he starts running.
‘Alfie, wait.’
Emily puts her hand in the middle of my back and pushes me forward. ‘No, come on, let’s run after him.’
I know there’s nothing in it from her side and she’s definitely not aware of the effect it’s having on me, but it’s something she’s started doing – this touching me thing. It’s only a punch in the arm here, a jab in the ribs there, usually in response to me teasing her, but whenever she does it, it causes this feeling in the pit of my stomach. If it didn’t sound so downright ridiculous, I’d say it feels like butterflies.
Reluctantly, I jog to keep up with them. The queuing process is as painful as I expected – four questions on a continuous loop: how much longer is it going to take? (we are going as quick as we can), is the dragon ride open? (yes), am I tall enough to go on all the rides? (yes), can we go in the splash park? (no: too cold). After what feels like a lifetime, we enter the park. As I feared, Alfie looks utterly overwhelmed and begins pacing back and forth.
‘I want to go on the dragon but I want to go to the shop too. The dragon might get really busy if we don’t go straight away but the shop might sell out of all the make-your-own Minifigures. Oh, I can’t decide.’
The torment on his face is palpable. I shoot a look at Emily. I told her he wasn’t going to cope with this trip, but she assured me we’d have a great time.
She crouches down and holds Alfie still. ‘They have thousands of Minifigure parts. Whenever the boxes run out, they just keep refilling them. So I promise they will be there. Let’s go to the dragon ride because, you’re right, that could get busy soon.’
Alfie’s eyes dart back and forth between the shop and the rest of the park. ‘Are you sure? Are you sure they just keep refilling it?’
Emily nods.
Alfie turns and looks at me. ‘Is that true, Daddy?’
It’s rare for him to seek my opinion. I’m strangely touched. ‘Absolutely.’
‘But what if the box they’re using to refill the other boxes runs out?’
I shake my head. ‘It never does. It’s magic.’
Large dents form at the top of Alfie’s nose and he turns to Emily. ‘Is it really magic?’
Emily glances at me, then nods. ‘We’re in Legoland, Alfie. Of course it’s magic. Now come on, let’s get to that ride. You need to hold my hand, though. I’m scared.’
Emily grabs hold of Alfie’s hand and pulls him along.
‘I’m not scared. I’ll look after you,’ he says, running to keep up.
When we arrive at the dragon ride, I’m glad to see that the queue isn’t too long. Still long enough to cause a huge meltdown, but better than I’d expected after reading the reviews on TripAdvisor. As we wait, Emily plays game after game of I spy and manages to keep Alfie in high spirits. I enjoy the break and just watch, marvelling at Emily’s endless patience and her ability to know just what to say and do to keep Alfie calm. It used to piss me off, the fact that she was so much better with him than I am, but now I feel grateful that he’s found someone who seems to make life easier for him and, besides, I treasure the respite.
We get to the front of the queue and Alfie’s ecstatic because he gets to be in the front cart with Emily. I sit in the cart behind them and lean forward to whisper in Emily’s ear.
‘How come you’re so good with him?’
Emily shrugs and remains facing forward, but I can tell from her coy expression that she’s happy to receive the praise, if not a little uncomfortable. It’s actually quite endearing. She came across as so cocksure when I met her, but now I can’t help feeling I might have got her all wrong.
After the ride, we go to the booth to see the photograph of ourselves caught in mid-fall. I hate this kind of thing. Another way to rip families off. Some hideous over-saturated photo of everyone looking demented to stick on the fridge.
‘It’s not there, it’s not there.’
Alfie’s climbing the desk at the photo kiosk, his eyes searching for the image of us.
‘Don’t worry, it will be.’ Emily puts her arm around Alfie, but he wriggles away and continues climbing and falling, climbing and falling, much to the annoyance of the miserable lad behind the desk.
‘Look, there it is.’ I point to the picture as it appears on the screen.
We are all clearly in shot, smiling manically with our hair shooting up into the sky. I want to hate it, but Alfie looks so happy, so free from the usual stresses that cause his face to crease and contort into strange expressions. He just looks like a normal boy having fun.
‘Shall we buy it?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Alfie jumps up and down.
‘Are you sure you want a photo of my ugly mug stuck on your fridge?’ Emily asks.
‘I’ll just get one of those stickers from an apple and put it over your face.’
‘He’s teasing, isn’t he?’ Alfie asks.
‘Yes, I’m teasing.’ I pat Alfie on the head and go to buy the overpriced print.
Alfie won’t let go of the photograph all day. Even when he goes on the rides, he puts it behind his back and leans against it to make sure it doesn’t slip out. At lunch (fifteen pounds for a cold burger and a few burnt chips), he puts it on the bench and sits on it so that it doesn’t get covered in ketchup.
Alfie spends the day ordering us around the park like a mini army sergeant and Emily casts me a look whenever she notices my irritation building. Like she told me on the phone last night, it’s his day and I need to take a back seat and let him rule it.
And by allowing Alfie to be in charge, we actually have a great day. The expected major breakdowns never come. They threaten occasionally (when we have to deviate from Alfie’s plan to stop for lunch, go to the toilet, or when I suggest we visit the Star Wars exhibition) but Emily skilfully negotiates with Alfie and brings the outbursts down from a ten on the Richter scale to a less dangerous four. After I’ve sulked for a good twenty minutes about the Star Wars exhibition (like father, like son), Emily takes Alfie to his next destination without me so that I can indulge my inner geek and witness the Millennium Falcon made entirely from Lego.
Finally, after Alfie asking so many times it feels like the words ‘can we make the Minifigures?’ are forever stamped into my brain, we reach the shop. Alfie rushes straight over to the boxes of decapitated bodies, heads, hair, helmets, legs and accessories. He rummages through, oohing and aahing whenever he finds a piece he’s not seen before.
‘Right, Alfie, you get to make three figures, OK?’ Emily says. ‘There’s the special box they go in when you’ve chosen. See, it’s got three spaces, so that’s three figures, OK?’
I know that narrowing down his creations to only three is going to take Alfie quite some time, so I grab a seat next to him and begin building my own strange crossbreeds: a pirate with a witch’s hat, a tennis player with a peg leg, a ninja with a wand.
Saturdays at Noon Page 21
