Saturdays at Noon

by Marks, Rachel

  Then the words start falling from my mouth. ‘When I was about ten, my mum met this guy called Shane. He …’

  Why is it so hard to say the word? But I need to. I need to be rid of it.

  ‘He abused me.’ I hear sharp intakes of breath but I don’t look up. ‘The first time it happened, I’d had a really bad nightmare. I still remember it now. Someone had cut off my head and I had to push it around this maze in a shopping trolley.’ I smile at the absurdity of it, but then feel my face fall because I know what’s coming next. ‘I climbed into bed with Mum and Shane. I was in the middle. I’m not sure if I’d drifted off to sleep or not, but the next thing I knew, Shane had his hands down my pants.’ I clench my teeth. ‘So when that guy outside the pub started touching me, I just flipped. It’s not an excuse, but it’s what happened.’

  I look up to see Sharon’s eyes full of tears. She gives me a supportive smile and a subtle thumbs up.

  ‘The thing that hurts the most is that my mum knew about it and she did nothing. This one Christmas, she was taking a photograph of us. She made us stand in front of the tree. Shane put his arm around me and I tried to squirm away from him but he pulled me in tight. Then he started touching my breast, right in front of her. I slipped out from under his arm and ran upstairs. Mum never came up. She never even mentioned it. In fact, if anything, she seemed angry with me. Anyway, because of this group, I decided to confront her. But she wouldn’t accept it. She stood by him. I guess he just means more to her than I do.’

  ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted it to, Em,’ Sam says, after a long silence. ‘But I hope coming here has had some positives.’

  ‘It has. No offence, but I don’t think the calming mantras and the breathing techniques are really going to work for me.’

  Sam smiles.

  ‘But I’m glad I came here. It’s been good to listen to you all. I don’t think I’m exactly fixed yet, but I hope I’m getting there. Thank you all for putting up with me and for being part of my journey.’

  I offer a half-smile and sit back down. Sharon starts the clapping, and then they all join in, until the room is filled with rapturous applause and yelps of support. I can see Jake clapping out the corner of my eye, but I can’t bring myself to look at his face.

  * * *

  ‘Em, hold on a minute, will you?’ Sam says.

  ‘Yeah, course. Not in trouble, am I?’

  Sam smiles, then shakes his head. ‘Actually, it’s a good thing. Well, I hope it’s a good thing. Now I sound arrogant. Sorry, this isn’t going quite as I planned.’

  ‘It’s fine. What is it?’

  ‘I was wondering if you would like to go for a drink with me?’

  ‘Wow, that’s a bit unexpected.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Am I completely out of line?’

  ‘No, not at all. I’m just surprised. Especially after my excruciatingly embarrassing behaviour in your car last week.’

  ‘You don’t have to be embarrassed. I just didn’t want to take advantage of you being drunk. I wanted you to decide while sober if you wanted to go out with me.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So, do you? Want to go out with me, that is?’

  I don’t know what to say. ‘See, the thing is, Sam …’

  ‘You don’t see me in that way? It’s fine, you don’t need to explain. I just thought I’d ask on the off-chance.’

  ‘It’s not you. You’re lovely. I’m just not in any place to start anything new at the moment. It wouldn’t be fair on you.’

  Sam nods. ‘I understand. You’re still in love with Jake.’

  I’m stunned that he’s noticed. ‘No, of course not. Why do you say that?’

  ‘I’ve been in this job a long time, Em. You learn to read people pretty well. I just hoped I was mistaken on this occasion, but seriously, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. Jake’s back with his wife. This isn’t about Jake.’

  ‘OK. Sorry. It’s really none of my business, anyway. Look, I’ll let you go. It was lovely meeting you, Emily. I hope things continue to improve for you.’

  ‘Please don’t think it’s you, Sam. Trust me, you’ve had a lucky escape.’

  Sam shakes his head. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t put yourself down. Whoever ends up with you will be a really lucky guy.’

  He’s so wonderfully kind that part of me thinks sod it, just go for a drink with him. But I’ve spent my life jumping from one doomed relationship to another. I don’t want to do it again, and especially not with Sam. He’s too good for that.

  ‘Thank you. And I can definitely say the same about you – except girl, of course. She’ll be one lucky girl.’

  ‘Thanks, Em. Take care.’ Sam kisses me on the cheek, turns away and starts to tidy his paperwork. When I leave the community centre, I can’t help scouring the pavements for Jake, although I’d have nothing to say to him. But he’s gone and, walking down the busy street, I feel achingly alone.

  Jake

  When I get to my classroom, there’s a parcel on my desk with an envelope attached to the front. At the bottom of the envelope, it reads: Please open me first. I recognize her handwriting immediately.

  There’s only a quarter of an hour before the students come in, so I put the parcel in my rucksack and write the date on the whiteboard. I start to finalize my slide show but I can’t help myself. I shut my laptop, open my bag and pull the letter off the front of the parcel.

  Dear Jake,

  Thank you for the details for Jemma’s friend. I’ve contacted her now, so hopefully something may come of it. Thanks for thinking of me.

  This is your Christmas present, well, yours and Alfie’s, really. Don’t worry, I don’t expect anything in return. I’ve been working on it for a while so I thought you might as well still have it. Don’t open it until Christmas Day, though – it’s bad luck!

  I realized after seeing you and Alfie at the park that I can’t meet up with you for a while. Please explain to Alfie that it’s not because I don’t want to see him. Maybe you could tell him I’ve gone away with work for a little bit?

  I’m sure you know how much I miss him so you should realize how much I just need some space. It sounds like something Sam would say at group, but I really need some time to get my head straight before I can see you both again. I hope that makes sense.

  Have a wonderful Christmas.

  Bye, Emily xx

  I could see it at anger management, the change in her. The way she was shelving her past, us included, and moving on with her life. I wanted to tell her how proud I was of her. For having the guts to stand up and say what she did. I should’ve told her. But there’s no use thinking like that now, because it’s done. I have to let her go. To allow her to find someone who makes her happy, someone without all the baggage and complications. And I have to give Jemma a proper chance. Emily’s right. Not seeing each other makes perfect sense, but knowing that I can’t just makes me want to see her more.

  * * *

  Alfie marches up and down the lounge, constantly glancing at the clock on the wall. He looks like he’s taken some strange concoction of drugs. His eyes are bloodshot and underlined with dark crescents because of the extreme lack of sleep he’s had over the past few days and his movements are jittery, frantic. I want to help him out, but Jemma has this stupid rule that we can’t open any presents under the tree until her parents arrive. He’s had his stocking, which he tore through in record time, and, according to Jemma, that should be enough to keep him going.

  ‘Can I just open one?’ He looks up at me, imploring me to free him from his internal misery.

  ‘They’ll be here in ten minutes, little man. Come on, let’s go and play that cool card game you got in your stocking and then the time will whizz past and they’ll be here.’

  Alfie shakes his head. He’s still pacing the room. It’s making me dizzy. ‘No. I want to be able to see the clock. I can’t concentrate on the clock if I’m playing th
e game.’

  ‘Looking at the clock’s not going to make the time go any quicker, Alfie. Come on, I’ll even let you have that special card you like. The one where you get to swap cards with me.’

  Alfie knits his eyebrows. He’s considering it. I’m on the verge of victory. Then he shakes his head, his feet start stomping and he crosses his arms. We’re on the brink of all the presents being picked up and launched at the walls.

  ‘The big hand’s not moving, Daddy. Why is it not moving? Go and get me Joker clock.’

  I feel myself bristle but I can see he’s not in the headspace for pleases and thank yous right now.

  I go upstairs and hunt for his Joker clock. I spot it on the floor by his bed and, as I pick it up, it changes to 11:01. I know there’s no more containing the situation. I feel like a lone policeman standing against an angry mob of protestors. I don’t fancy my odds. I take the clock downstairs and hand it to Alfie, bracing myself for his reaction.

  ‘You promised they’d be here at eleven o’clock. You lied.’

  Here come the tears, the dramatic fall to the ground, the kicking legs. I leave Alfie fitting on the floor and go into the kitchen. Jemma is sprinkling ‘ho ho ho’ confetti over the dining-room table. She’s wearing a tight-fitting black dress and looks beautiful – every part the Stepford wife celebrating a perfect family Christmas. Except that drowning out the sound of the Christmas carol CD she has playing is the sound of our son screaming, while tears and snot are inevitably being wiped over his neatly pressed Christmas shirt with matching bow tie. She looks up at me as I walk in and smiles, as if she can’t hear him.

  ‘I’m going to let him open his presents. It’s gone eleven. He can’t wait any longer.’

  ‘They’ll be two minutes. Just tell him they’ll be two minutes. Please, Jake.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, Jem, but it’s just not fair on him. He’s losing his mind in there.’

  I don’t wait for her to argue. I walk back through to the lounge and pick Alfie up. He struggles until I plonk him in front of the Christmas tree and hand him a present.

  ‘Go ahead, little man. Time to open your presents.’

  His face is such a mixture of shock and delight, I can’t help but smile. He doesn’t wait for me to change my mind. Instead, he starts ripping off the wrapping paper.

  ‘A book.’ He can’t hide the disappointment on his face, but he tries his best by painting on a big smile and it makes me love him that little bit more than I already did.

  ‘Yeah, I think it’s a mystery. You know you love solving mysteries.’

  ‘Can I open another one?’

  I laugh. ‘Of course.’ I point to a present under the tree. ‘That one doesn’t look very book-shaped.’

  He takes the paper off to reveal a foam sword. His eyes sparkle and he starts swiping at me and saying ‘ah-har’ in his best pirate voice.

  At this point I hear Jemma’s parents coming in through the front door, Jemma subserviently taking their coats and offering them elaborate drinks.

  When they come into the living room, Wendy’s eyes survey Alfie working his way through his pile of gifts, then she turns to glare at me. ‘I thought you might at least wait until we arrived before you started opening presents.’

  ‘I did tell them that,’ Jemma calls from the kitchen.

  ‘Actually, he did wait. He waited really well, even though he was desperate to get started, but you said you were coming at eleven o’clock, so when it got to eleven, he couldn’t wait any longer.’

  Wendy looks at her watch. ‘It’s only ten minutes, Jake. It’s not a big deal to wait an extra ten minutes, surely?’

  ‘See, the thing is, Wendy, for a child with autism, that extra ten minutes is a big deal. It’s unbearable.’

  Wendy lifts her chin and swats the air with her hand, as if autism is a bad smell she wants to waft away. ‘Well, next time we’ll make sure we get here exactly on time.’

  ‘Or perhaps we could just ignore the arbitrary Christmas law and allow the poor kid to open his presents whenever he wants to. That’d save a lot of stress for everyone involved,’ I say, handing Alfie another present.

  Jemma walks in holding a tray of drinks and I can tell from her eyes that she’s overheard everything and is pleading with me to play nice, but I’m done trying to impress her parents. I’ll never be good enough for Jemma in their eyes, but I realize now that they’re not good enough for Alfie in mine.

  The rest of the present opening goes pretty smoothly, as Jemma and I had ensured we got all of the things Alfie has been obsessing about since the end of the summer holidays. Jemma’s parents present me with a bag of gifts carefully chosen to highlight each one of my inadequacies – a smart shirt and tie, a drill, a set of kitchen knives and the last one, the real killer, a voucher for Toni & Guy. My hair is my thing. It’s supposed to look untamed. That’s the style.

  I force a smile and offer over-the-top thanks for the shit gifts. There’s an hour or so of relative calm. When I say relative calm, that does include being shot every few minutes with the Nerf gun Alfie has been badgering me about every day for the past six weeks, but he’s happy and he’s not having a tantrum or demanding stuff of me, so all is well (other than the fact I have to listen to Jemma’s parents wittering on about their amazing house renovations and their latest holiday to Antigua, where they had private waiter service).

  After a fairly brutal attack on me, Alfie turns the gun on Richard. It’s a great shot. Hits him right in the chest. As the foam bullet falls to Richard’s lap, he looks at it like a golden pixie has just tumbled from the sky.

  Jemma comes over to Alfie and grasps his shoulders. ‘No, Alfie. You do not shoot Grandpa; do you understand?’ Then she looks at me and seems to remind herself to be more gentle. ‘You might hurt him, mightn’t you?’

  Richard picks up the bullet and hands it back to Alfie. ‘Now I’m sure you didn’t really aim that at me, little chap, but just be careful from now on, hey? I don’t want to have to take it off you now, do I?’

  His passive aggressive tone makes me want to take Alfie’s gun and shoot him at point-blank range. Alfie looks over to me as if to say ‘shall I do it again, Dad?’ and I have to force myself to be a responsible parent.

  ‘Come on, little man. Just shoot it at me, OK? I can take it.’

  I flex my muscles like Popeye and Alfie laughs. Jemma goes back to sit beside her mum and they coo over the jewellery they bought for each other.

  ‘Why did you get that silly gun for him in the first place?’ Wendy chimes in. ‘It’s not exactly going to help with his aggression.’

  I hate how she talks like she knows the first thing about him. ‘It wasn’t us, Wendy. He got that in his stocking. It was from Santa, so it was out of our hands, I’m afraid.’

  Wendy rolls her eyes at me. I can’t help but take great pleasure in irritating her.

  Alfie lingers in the corner for a moment, loading his gun. He looks a bit crazed, his blond hair sticking out at all angles, his eyes wired, the mixture of excitement and exhaustion finally taking its toll. Time to start damage control.

  ‘How about I look after your gun for a minute and you go and get that special present you made for Mummy at school?’

  Alfie’s reluctant to hand over his gun but excited enough about his surprise to go with it. He runs upstairs and comes charging back in with the clay pot he has made, wrapped in tissue paper.

  ‘Here you are, Mummy.’ He knocks the present Wendy’s just given Jemma out of her hands and replaces it with his.

  ‘Hold on a minute, Alfie. I’m just opening Grandma’s present first.’ Jemma retrieves the extravagantly wrapped present off the floor and begins opening it.

  ‘No, Mummy, do mine first. I made it all by myself.’ Alfie puts his present back on top of Wendy’s.

  ‘Just wait a minute, darling. I’m really looking forward to opening it, but you just need to wait one minute, OK?’

  Alfie barges in between Jemma and Wendy, knoc
king the sherry glass in Wendy’s hand, and the deep-red liquid splashes up on to her pale floral blouse.

  ‘Alfie, what have you done?’ Wendy shrieks, then rushes to the bathroom, with Jemma following behind.

  ‘Mummy, you haven’t opened my present,’ Alfie shouts, heading out the door after her.

  Before he gets there, Richard grabs hold of his arm, tight enough to make Alfie wince, and then he pulls Alfie towards him so that their faces are nearly touching.

  ‘Look here, son,’ he says, his eyes locked intimidatingly on Alfie’s. ‘You need to go and apologize to your grandma right this second. Do you hear me?’

  Alfie wriggles free and runs up to his room, thumping the wall as he goes.

  I stand up. ‘He’s not your son. He’s mine. And if you ever touch him again, I’ll kill you.’

  It’s a little too much, I know, but I can’t stand the guy at the best of times and I know how much his scolding will have upset Alfie. I race up to Alfie’s room, but I can’t get in.

  ‘Alfie, it’s Daddy. Let me in.’

  Alfie hits the door hard, hopefully not with his head. ‘I want to be on my own.’

  ‘OK, but I know it was just an accident. You didn’t mean to upset Grandma. I’m not cross with you.’

  ‘Just go away.’

  I know that he’s feeling scared and confused and that he just wants to shut the world out, but I suddenly think of something that might help. I go into my bedroom and pull out the box under my bed. It’s my man box, full of old surf mags, cufflinks and watches that no longer work – a place I know Jemma will never look. I extract Emily’s parcel and take it with me to Alfie’s door.

  ‘Emily sent us a present. Do you want to open it with me?’

  There’s a shuffle of things on the other side of the door and then it opens.

  ‘Come on, little man. Let’s sit on your bed and open this.’

  We pull the cover up over our legs and I let Alfie rip off the brown paper. Underneath, there’s a layer of Christmas wrapping paper.