Saturdays at Noon

by Marks, Rachel

  I smile. ‘Awesome.’

  ‘And Mummy lets me use the timer in the morning. I beat it every time.’

  The compression starts somewhere in my tummy and then spreads up through my chest to my throat.

  ‘You’re super-speedy.’

  ‘Like the Flash.’

  ‘Just like the Flash.’ I put my arm around Alfie’s shoulders. He doesn’t lean into me but he doesn’t pull away. ‘How’s the new film going?’

  Alfie sits up, suddenly animated. ‘It’s awesome. I got Clayface the other day, so he’s in it now. Can you come and see it?’

  ‘How about you send me it?’

  ‘OK, I’ll get Daddy to send it the second we get home. Shall I go and tell him now?’

  ‘It’s OK; you can tell him in a minute.’

  ‘I’ll just run and tell him now.’

  I know better than to argue. Alfie runs over to Jake, who is circling the field beside the playground. After a few minutes, he runs back and gives me a thumbs up.

  ‘He says that’s fine.’ He climbs back on to the bench.

  ‘Great.’

  I stroke his soft blond hair. I want to stroke his hair every night and watch him slowly falling asleep, asking questions until the second he drops off.

  ‘This might not make a lot of sense, Alfie, but I want to thank you. Becoming your friend has made me very happy. It’s like before I met you, everything seemed a bit cloudy, and then you made the sun come out.’

  Alfie looks up at the sky. ‘But it’s cloudy today.’

  ‘I know. That wasn’t a very good explanation, was it? I mean … I was quite sad before. Then you made me happy, like the sun makes me happy. Because it makes everything bright and more colourful and warm.’

  Alfie wrinkles his forehead, then he props his hands on his waist and smiles. ‘Best bugs.’

  ‘Huh?’

  Alfie’s intense brown eyes peer up at me from underneath his fringe. ‘We’re best bugs, aren’t we?’

  I suddenly realize what he means and it hits me like standing in the middle of oncoming traffic on the motorway. ‘Oh, best buds. Yeah, of course we are. Always, Alfie.’

  Alfie wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head on my chest, and I use the back of my finger to wipe away the tears escaping from the corners of my eyes.

  After a minute or so, Jake wanders over. He’s wearing his navy peacoat and his hair keeps blowing into his eyes. It looks like he hasn’t shaved for a week or so and I wish it made him look worse, but it doesn’t. In fact, he looks lovelier than ever.

  ‘Can Daddy have a quick chat with Emily now, little man? You could go and show us how awesome you are on the monkey bars?’

  Alfie sits up and the cold bites into my side where his body was keeping me warm. ‘As long as you both watch me the whole time. I can do the whole thing now, Emily.’

  ‘Wow, that’s amazing. Go and show me.’

  It hurts. The thought of all the ways he’s changing that I’m missing. He runs off, turning back every few steps to check we are watching. Each time he looks, I wave.

  Jake sits beside me but keeps his eyes on Alfie. ‘So have you found a new job yet?’

  ‘No. But I don’t need you to pay me. I’ve got enough money to keep me going for a while and then I’ll find something.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure if you’d be interested or not, but I mentioned to this family at Jemma’s work that you are a really great photographer and they’d like you to do some family shots for them.’ Jake takes a piece of paper out of his pocket and hands it to me. ‘Here are their contact details. They’ve got loads of money and a lot of important friends so, who knows, maybe it could be the start of something for you.’

  I feel at once grateful and patronized. ‘Thank you. You didn’t need to do that for me.’

  ‘It’s the least I could do.’

  We sit in silence for a minute or so. There’s so much I want him to say, but I know that he won’t.

  ‘Oh, and thanks so much for the details of that consultant. We’ve been emailing back and forth and he actually gets it. It’s amazing. We’re taking Alfie to meet him in a couple of weeks so maybe, this time, we’ll get some answers.’

  ‘I’m really glad it went well.’

  ‘It’s all thanks to you.’

  I love you.

  ‘Happy to help.’

  Jake nods slowly. ‘Those cast-iron walls are firmly back in place, I see.’

  I wish they were. I wish I’d never let them down.

  I take my gloves out of my pocket and pull them on. ‘I better get back.’ I stand up and put my rucksack on my shoulders. ‘I’m just going to go and say goodbye to Alfie.’

  I go to turn away but Jake grips on to my hand. ‘Come on, Em, give me something. Don’t just go.’

  I wriggle my hand free. ‘What do you want from me, Jake? Do you want me to say you’re forgiven? You are. I forgive you.’

  Jake shakes his head.

  ‘Do you want me to say I’m happy? That you and Alfie meant nothing to me? Would that make you feel better? Or do you want me to say I’m heartbroken and pining for you? Is that what you want? Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it.’

  ‘Well, are you? Are you heartbroken? I never know what you’re feeling.’

  His words feel like needles trying to penetrate my skin, but I can’t let them. I won’t let them.

  ‘You have a beautiful family, Jake. Go home.’

  I leave him sitting on the bench, his head in his hands, and go to say goodbye to Alfie.

  * * *

  When I arrive home, I take the piece of paper Jake gave me out of my pocket and start to draft an email. I don’t expect anything to come of it, but like Alfie always tells me, if you don’t try, you won’t succeed.

  I go to the kitchen and collect the various half-drunk or full bottles of alcohol. Collecting them together, I can’t believe how many there are. I tip them down the sink, lamenting the wasted money as the liquid gurgles down the drain. It’s a powerful concoction. I expect it will do wonders for the grimy pipes that emit the smell of rotten eggs every time I run the tap.

  The cigarettes take a battering too. I chop them into tiny pieces over the kitchen bin, knowing that if I just cut them in half I’ll find myself rooting through there later, pulling out the ends with the filter on and smoking them.

  With the flat cleansed, I open my box of prints and start to put them in chronological order. I only spent a couple of months with Alfie, but it feels so much longer, like the first photographs from in the park the day it was raining were taken a lifetime ago. It doesn’t even feel like it was me who took them.

  It’s funny how a single choice can have such a knock-on effect on the rest of your life. Like a row of dominoes. I don’t think you can ever get back to the very first push that set everything in motion, but I know if I hadn’t attacked that guy then my life would’ve taken a very different path. I still regret what I did. I still wake up drenched with sweat sometimes, the image of his bleeding neck glued to my eyelids and the terrifying feeling of not being in control pulsing through me, but it seems sometimes beautiful things can come out of even the ugliest of actions.

  I stick the photos, in order, into the album I’ve bought. As I get to one of Alfie hung upside down from the monkey bars – his fingers made into glasses and his tongue sticking out – I giggle. Then there’s one of Jake and Alfie when neither of them knew I was looking. Jake’s telling Alfie a story about Captain America and, in typical Alfie fashion, unable to sit still, he has his legs twisted into a strange shape up against the wall, but his hand is resting just lightly on top of Jake’s and his face is fixed in fascination as he hangs on Jake’s every word. There’s Alfie completely absorbed making one of his Lego films, Alfie proudly holding up his box of conkers, Alfie and Jake in matching Spider-Man costumes, Alfie tirelessly working on his sand Batcave until every bit of it was exactly as he had envisaged.

  When I get to the one o
f Alfie holding his map at Legoland, pointing to the ride he insisted we go to next, Jake standing behind him trying his best not to look exasperated, I start sticking them in at speed, barely looking at them until I get to the last photo. I debate whether or not to include it, but in the end decide to. I close the album and wrap it, first in Christmas wrapping paper, then in brown paper. I write a note to Jake, stick it in an envelope and attach it to the front of the parcel. Before I can change my mind, I walk into town and take it to the post office.

  * * *

  I get to the pub early the following evening and order a Diet Coke, then sit at a table in the corner, near the open fire. Even with the heat coming from the flames, I can’t stop shivering. When the door slams, I look up to see Mum, wearing a long white puffer jacket that makes her look like the Michelin man. Her permed hair is dragged back into a ponytail, a few strands escaping around her face, and instead of her usual brightly coloured make-up, she’s wearing subtle nude shades. Her skin is dull and her cheeks gaunt, but there’s no denying she’s beautiful.

  She looks around the room, all twitchy like a mouse, and I stand up to go and put her out of her misery, but then she notices me and hurries over. When we hug, I can feel her bones through her clothes, like if I held her any tighter she might snap. She slips her coat off and puts it next to mine.

  ‘Nice top,’ I say, sitting down.

  Mum runs her hands down her black sparkly T-shirt, her face glowing at the compliment. ‘Oh, thank you, love. Primarni’s finest. Three ninety-nine. Can you believe it? I don’t know how they manage the prices in there. I’m glad you like it. I bought it especially for today.’

  Sometimes I envy how completely lacking in pride she is. Other times I feel sorry for her.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’

  ‘It’s OK, love, I’ll go and get one.’

  I stand up. ‘It’s fine. I’ll get it. What do you want?’

  ‘A lemonade would be great. Thanks, love.’

  I go to the bar to get Mum a drink, trying to formulate in my head what it is I want to say, and then anxiously return to the table.

  Mum takes the glass from me. ‘Thanks for this. And thanks for asking me to meet you. It made my day to get your text. Well, it made my year, to be honest.’

  I nod, touched by her appreciation, but finding it hard to squash the resentment that resides permanently in my stomach.

  ‘Look, I invited you here because I want to ask you some stuff. I want to hear things from your side.’

  Mum’s eyes anxiously survey the room. ‘What is it, love?’ She fidgets in her seat.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about when I was little. When you …’

  I can feel Mum’s leg jigging under the table.

  ‘Mum, are you OK? Are you listening to me?’

  ‘Of course I am.’ But she doesn’t look like she is. She looks distracted, her eyes repeatedly glancing over at the door.

  ‘I want to talk to you about …’

  Just before his name leaves my mouth, I see him coming into the pub. His hair’s now densely peppered with grey and his face seems to have sagged, like all his features have fallen further down his face. He’s still as fat; his beer belly hangs disgustingly over his corduroy trousers, which are being held below his hips by a brown leather belt.

  My heart starts racing and I can’t help it, as much as I hate to admit it, I feel scared. A huge part of me wants to sprint out the door, but I won’t run away from him. He’s not winning this time.

  I look at Mum, unable to stop the tears forming in my eyes. ‘Why would you bring him here?’

  Mum reaches out and tries to grab my hand, but I pull it away. ‘He wants to see you. To apologize. He just wants to help put things right between us.’

  I can see in Mum’s eyes that she really thinks this is going to make things better. I bet she begged and begged Shane to apologize until he reluctantly agreed just to shut her up. But she doesn’t get it. It’s not just him I hate for what he did.

  When Shane arrives at the table, he looks me directly in the eye and smiles. It’s the same obnoxious arrogant smile he’s always given me and I know he hasn’t changed one bit.

  ‘All right, Em?’ he says as he sits down next to Mum. He leans across to kiss me on the cheek but I swiftly move my head away. ‘Well, nice to see you too.’

  Shane puts his arm around Mum and kisses her on the lips, and she looks at him like he’s a bloody newborn. All sappy-eyed. I want to slap her round the face. She nudges Shane in the side with her elbow.

  ‘All right, all right, let me just get a beer first, will you?’ He gestures to the waitress and she comes over. ‘A pint of Stella, if you don’t mind, gorgeous.’ He flashes her his most charming smile and I realize I would feel no remorse if I killed him barehanded.

  The waitress goes to get his beer and he turns his attention to me. ‘Look, I am sorry I used to be a grumpy bastard and shout at you and shit. I was drinking too much, you know? I know it wasn’t great. I wasn’t as good to your mum as I should’ve been, I’ll accept that, but I am now, aren’t I, sweetheart?’

  Mum nods repeatedly. ‘He is. He really is, love. He really looks after me.’

  The waitress comes over and puts Shane’s beer on the table. He winks at her. The same stupid wink he used to give me when he sat across the dinner table from me or when he was sat on the opposite sofa with Mum. Like he was trying to make me complicit. Trying to make this our secret. But it wasn’t my fucking secret.

  ‘I’m really happy for you both.’ I spit the words out, then grab my stuff and stand up. ‘Take care, Mum.’

  Mum clings on to my wrist. ‘Please don’t go yet. Let’s just talk about it. Please, love.’

  ‘Come on, Em,’ Shane says. ‘It was all just a laugh. There wasn’t any malice in it.’

  I sit back down, look directly at Shane and speak in a low voice. ‘Turning around in the shower to see you staring at me and wanking off wasn’t very fucking funny.’

  As the words leave my mouth, it’s like jumping into the sea, the waves washing over me and cleansing my skin.

  Shane grabs my arm. ‘Em, that’s enough. You’re talking bollocks.’

  I yank my arm away from him. ‘Don’t you dare fucking touch me. You do not get to touch me any more, do you understand?’

  ‘Look, you want to make stuff up about me, go ahead. I don’t care if you don’t like me. But you owe your mum some respect. None of this is her fault.’

  I contemplate throwing my glass at his head. ‘You seriously think you can play the noble protector? You’re a joke. You want to play happy families, go ahead, but leave me the fuck out of it. I’ll tell you what’s her fault. Choosing you. That’s her fault. She could’ve stopped you. She could’ve told you to get the fuck out of our house. But she didn’t.’

  Shane sighs and shakes his head. When I look over at Mum, she has tears streaming down her face.

  I look her right in the eyes and suddenly everything feels so much clearer. ‘And you lied about Dad, didn’t you? He didn’t hit you.’

  She looks down at her hands and I know that I’m right.

  I turn my attention to Shane. Just looking at his vile face makes me sick. ‘You wanted to keep him away from me because he would’ve killed you if he’d found out. So you gave her the bruises and then said it was him. He wanted to be my dad, didn’t he?’

  At this point I look back at Mum, but she won’t meet my eyes.

  Shane swipes his hand out in front of him. ‘Oh, give it a rest, Em. That useless bastard didn’t give a shit about you. You’re lucky I stepped in and took you on. You should be thanking me.’

  Mum’s eyes are so fucking sad that somewhere beneath the rage I can’t help but pity her. I want her to stand up, to scream at Shane to get away from her daughter. I want her to finally choose me. But as Shane puts his arm around her and she takes his hand in hers, I know that she never will. And that this will be the last time I ever see her.

  ‘
I do love you, Mum. I always will. Even after everything. But you will never accept what you did, so I can’t ever forgive you.’

  I walk to the door. I can hear Mum crying and calling my name but I don’t turn around. The cold air hits my face and the tears feel warm as they slip down my cheeks. It’s like jumping out of a plane. Now I’ve taken the leap, there’s no looking back.

  * * *

  ‘Firstly, I want to say sorry for my little outburst the other week. I’m not sure half a bottle of vodka on an empty stomach really agreed with me. I wouldn’t advise it, by the way.’

  I’m relieved when everyone smiles.

  ‘So, as it’s the last session, I thought it was about time I tell you all why I’m here.’

  They look like a circle of rabbits, ears pricked up in anticipation.

  ‘I should’ve told you all earlier, but the truth is I was scared. And ashamed. I kept trying to tell myself that he deserved it, that me being sent here was this great injustice, but I think, deep down, I just felt guilty.’

  I pause and Sam catches my eye. ‘No one’s going to think any less of you, Em. You’re safe here.’

  I chew my lip. ‘I used to work in a pub. This guy was trying it on with me all night. Then I went out the back for a smoke and he followed me. He started trying to touch me and I told him to leave me alone but he didn’t. He wouldn’t stop.’ I shake my head, unable to tell them exactly what I did. ‘Anyway, the kid who washes the dishes came out and said I looked like I was about to kill him. In the end, it was my word against his and they concluded that I had an anger problem I needed to work on. So they sent me here.’

  ‘No wonder you were angry about coming here,’ Bill says, visibly incensed. ‘They should’ve given you a pat on the back and a well done for what you did.’

  I can’t help it. I feel my eyes pricking with tears. ‘Thank you, Bill. I’m starting to accept that it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t deserve it. But I did take it too far. And I was angry. They were right about that bit. You see, the thing is …’

  I pause, and Sam and Jake both look at me as if they’re wondering how much more I’m going to say. I’m not even sure myself.