Saturdays at Noon

by Marks, Rachel

  ‘You don’t get it, do you? The fact that you could just be friends makes me realize …’ She shakes her head. ‘Forget it. I’m going to go and say goodbye to Jemma. Tell Alfie that I miss him, will you? Actually, just let him forget me, if that’s easier for him.’

  She stands up to leave but I block her way. Not clear about my intentions, I lean my face towards hers so that the tips of our noses touch, like magnets. But then it’s like she flips the magnet over as she takes a step back.

  ‘Take care, Jake.’

  ‘He can’t forget you, Em. That’s the problem.’

  Emily gives me this look, like she can’t find the words that she’s searching for, then turns and walks back up the garden towards the house. Through the kitchen window, I catch a glimpse of Jemma watching us before she turns away.

  * * *

  ‘I think maybe it would be better if Emily doesn’t come over again.’

  I’m washing the dishes and don’t turn around.

  ‘I think it would be less disruptive for Alfie,’ Jemma continues. ‘Less confusing.’

  I nod, knowing full well it has nothing to do with Alfie’s needs. ‘She’s moving away, anyway.’

  ‘Oh, right. Where?’

  ‘South Devon, apparently. So you don’t need to worry; we won’t be seeing her again.’

  As I say it, I feel a pressure behind my eyes and I’m glad that I’m not facing Jemma.

  ‘Probably for the best. Anyway, why don’t you leave the rest of that stuff until the morning? Shall we go up to bed and watch something?’

  The thought of another night lying next to each other but barely touching, both trying to convince ourselves that it’s going to get better but knowing deep down that it’s not – I don’t think I can stand it. I’m so sick of it all. Of hurting people. Of feeling guilty all the time.

  I turn around, dry my hands on a tea towel and gesture for Jemma to come and sit beside me on the bar stools. She does, looking both nervous and weary, her eyes noticeably missing the twinkle they used to have when we first met.

  ‘Are you happy, Jem? In this house? This marriage? Honestly?’

  I know that she’s not. That neither of us are. That the sad truth is we’re not what each other needs any more.

  ‘Of course I am …’ Then she stops, sighs deeply and puts her head in her hands, her elbows propped up on the worktop. ‘No. But I should be. I love you and Alfie so much. Why doesn’t all this make me happy?’

  When Jemma looks up, she has tears in her eyes and I move my stool closer to hers and put my arm around her shoulder.

  ‘I don’t know. But it’s not like we haven’t tried, is it?’

  She slips out from under my arm and looks me straight in the eyes. ‘Are you happy?’

  I look down and shake my head, such a tiny movement saying something so huge.

  ‘So what now?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Considering the technical details of Jemma and I splitting up makes me feel sick. Whenever I’ve thought about it, it’s just been this ethereal idea. I’ve not contemplated the nuts and bolts of it – the living arrangements, the money, the belongings. There’s so much stuff to sort out when you’ve been married a long time. It’s not like when breaking up just meant deleting a number off your mobile phone. And then, of course, there’s Alfie.

  ‘I’ll move in with Mum and Dad until we can sort something more permanent,’ Jemma says, suddenly sitting up tall like she’s organizing particulars in a business meeting.

  ‘I can move out. You stay here with Alfie.’

  Jemma shakes her head. ‘We both know he’s better off with you.’

  ‘You’re a wonderful mum, Jem. Don’t ever think otherwise.’

  Jemma nods, but I can tell she’s mentally pushing the words away, not allowing them to ruin the brave face she’s putting on. ‘I’m sorry, but I’d like to go back to work full-time. Lots of the women at work have nannies so I can get some recommendations.’

  ‘Sure. We’ll sort something out.’

  ‘He can come and stay with me whenever he wants, but it’s probably best to put something more concrete in place. Some kind of timetable.’

  ‘OK.’

  I just want the conversation over and done with. In fact, part of me wants to rewind it and just lie, because surely you can’t end up regretting staying with the person you chose to spend your life with, but there’s a huge, terrifying chance that you might regret leaving them.

  ‘I’ll go and start packing a bag. I’ll talk to Alfie in the morning.’

  ‘There’s no rush, Jem. Stay here as long as you need.’

  Jemma stands up. ‘I think it’s for the best.’

  For a moment, she doesn’t move, and I wonder if she wants me to beg her to stay, but I let her go. ‘OK.’

  * * *

  On my way to our room, I take my nightly detour to check Alfie’s OK. Peering through the gap in the doorway, I see Jemma lying next to him, her arm draped across his waist.

  When she hears me, she looks up. ‘Come and join me for a minute?’

  I lie on the other side of Alfie, place my arm next to Jemma’s, across Alfie’s tummy, and watch how his eyelashes flutter as he sleeps.

  ‘I don’t want him to be from a broken home, Jem.’

  ‘I know. Me neither.’

  But even as I say it, I know that he is. It’s been broken for a long time. Long before Jemma left for Paris, long before everything with Emily.

  ‘We’ll make sure he knows how much we love him, Jake. He’ll have more love. Not less.’

  I hope she’s right. I hope we can put the pieces of our family back together, but just in a different way, like shards of clay made into a mosaic. It’s not the way I pictured it but that doesn’t mean it can’t be beautiful.

  * * *

  ‘So what are you going to do about work?’ Dad wraps his hands around his beer as we sit across from each other at a very small table at the local pub.

  ‘I don’t know. Jemma’s talking about finding another nanny. They’ve offered me a permanent job at school when the maternity leave runs out, but I’m not sure whether or not to take it.’

  ‘I think you should. I think work’s been good for you.’

  He’s right. It has. But I still feel like I’m letting Alfie, and Mum, down if I go back permanently.

  ‘I don’t know. I always thought it was better for Alfie having me there, but watching Emily with him, I’m not sure I was ever very good at it anyway. I’m certainly no Mum.’

  Dad waves his hand. ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself. You know, often I’d get home from work and your mum would be tearing her hair out. She’d give me a look like thunder, hand you straight over to me and go and lock herself in her bedroom for an hour before she could face coming out again. And you were pretty easy, as kids go.’

  ‘Really? I don’t remember that.’

  ‘Of course you don’t. You remember all the wonderful stuff she did with you, the fact she loved the bones of you. And that’s just how Alfie will remember you.’

  I just about manage to get the words out. ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘Why can’t that Emily do it again, anyway? Alfie loved having her looking after him. Every week when you were at your class, he’d go on and on about her.’

  ‘She’s moving away.’

  ‘Oh.’ There’s something about Dad’s expression that makes me think he’s aware of more than he’s letting on. ‘Well, you’ll find someone else to do it. Don’t give up the job, Jake. You were there for the most important years of his life. It’s not going to do him any harm.’

  I take a sip of my beer, then put it back down on the table, feeling a huge weight pressing down on me that I need to remove. ‘I feel like I’ve messed everything up, Dad. My child. My marriage. Alfie has enough to deal with without Jemma and me splitting up. I’ve failed everyone.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t. Some marriages end. It’s not your fault. It’s not Jemma’s. It
just didn’t work out how you wanted it to.’

  ‘But why not? I meant my vows when I made them. We promised we’d stand by each other. I’m sure you and Mum went through hard times, but you stuck at it.’

  Dad finishes his pint, wiping the foam off his top lip with the back of his hand and shaking his head. ‘I didn’t stay with your mum because I’d made a promise to her, Jake. I stayed with her because she made me happy. She was my best friend. She was stubborn as a mule sometimes and, God, she’d argue black was white, but I was a better version of myself when I was with her.’

  It’s almost more than I can bear to look at him, the pain in his eyes is so intense, and I can’t help thinking about Emily and how I’ve lost her and how it’s all my fault and how I wish there was a way I could put it right.

  Dad gathers his wallet and keys and unhooks his coat from the back of his chair, as if he feels he’s revealed too much and needs to get away. ‘Right, I suppose we should be getting back.’

  I finish my pint, put the glass down and pick up my phone. ‘You know, I wish every day that Alfie had got to meet her. He would’ve adored her.’

  Dad stands up and puts on his coat. ‘But you know neither of us would’ve got a look in then, don’t you? She would’ve been so besotted with that boy.’

  I smile, standing up and tucking in my chair, then Dad holds out his hand for me to shake.

  Without considering how he might react, I bypass his hand and wrap my arms around him. At first, he’s stiff; it’s like hugging a mannequin, and I worry that it’s a step too far, but then his arms tighten around me too and I’m so glad I took the plunge.

  Emily

  The flat looks all right in the pictures. When I called, they said it needed ‘a bit of work’, which I know is estate-agent code for ‘it’s a dump’, but it looks spacious enough and it has a bit of outdoor space at the front where I could put a table and chairs. Plus it’s ten minutes drive from the sea, so I have this romantic image of going for a run along the beach every morning, picturing myself as one of the women in Big Little Lies. The reality is, unlike them, I’ll be running into the pelting rain day after day, but it’s good to dream. With the photography business, I can work anywhere, and hopefully, if I can build my client base down there, I can say goodbye to the joys of servitude forever. It’s for the best. The pros list far outweighs the cons.

  I finish packing my case – my essentials, enough clothes to last me the week, my camera, a few DVDs and a book. The plan is to go down and spend a week in a B&B, check out the flat and get a flavour of what it’s like to live there. Then, as long as I like it, I’ll hand in my notice on my flat here.

  I have one last straighten, pick up my things and head out. As soon as I step into the hallway, I notice the large envelope on the floor. It just says Emily on the front, no address. Unable to leave without finding out what’s inside, I go back into my flat, sit on the sofa and open it. Inside is a memory stick. I retrieve my laptop from my bag and insert it. I see it’s a movie file. I swallow hard and double click.

  The backdrop is a picture of the Brooklyn Bridge. Jake’s clearly drawn the outline and, from the rough pen strokes, I can see that Alfie has coloured it in. The Green Goblin enters the shot with Gwen Stacy attached to him with string. Then there’s Alfie’s voice in imitation bad guy: ‘I’ve got you, Gwen Stacy. I’m never letting you go.’ Then Jake, a high-pitched squeak: ‘Spidey, Spidey, help me!’ Spider-Man swings in from stage left and then he and the Green Goblin engage in a huge battle, Jake and Alfie’s hands visible as they smash the plastic figures together again and again, Alfie giggling in the background.

  Alfie puts Gwen Stacy in the Green Goblin’s fist and then launches her so that it looks like she is being thrown from the bridge. In the next shot, suddenly Gwen Stacy is in Spider-Man’s arms. Then the figures’ faces are pushed together, accompanied by a loud and comical kiss sound effect, followed by tinned applause.

  Without realizing it, I’ve started to smile. But then I notice the time in the corner of the screen. I’ve got to go. My appointment with the estate agent is in a few hours and I might hit traffic. I return my laptop to its case, slip the memory stick back into the envelope and stuff that in with the laptop. I pick up all my things and race to the car.

  I head south on the motorway, speeding straight into the fast lane, the film going round and round in my head. What does it mean? Is it from Alfie? Or is Jake trying to tell me something? And if so, what? That he’s sorry? That he wishes he hadn’t hurt me?

  I’m in no fit state to drive so I pull over at the services and park up. Without thinking, I reach into the glove compartment for my half-drunk bottle of vodka and take a swig, shuddering at the taste. I’m not sure why I left it there when I detoxed the house. I’d like to say I forgot about it, but I didn’t. I just couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. I think I always felt that I’d never really escape being a fuck-up. That I could play the part of someone clean-living and successful, but that ultimately, no matter how far or how fast I run, I’ll always end up right back where I started. Maybe I was right?

  I take my laptop out of my bag and retrieve the envelope. I need to watch the film again. I need to try to make sense of it. But as I put my hand in to pull out the memory stick, I feel another smaller envelope that I didn’t notice before. I take it out, open it and inside there’s two of Alfie’s treasured Lego Minifigures stuck to a piece of paper. Next to Spider-Man, Jake’s drawn an arrow and labelled it Me, and next to Gwen Stacy he’s drawn an arrow and labelled it You. I can’t help but smile. Then there’s another piece of paper – a note in Jake’s handwriting.

  I wish I’d caught you.

  As the words sink in, it’s like every fibre of my being starts to break down, my body shaking violently with the force of the tears falling down my nose, into my mouth, off my chin. I catch a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror – my face a mixture of Mum and Dad, and even a bit of Nan around the eyes. It feels like there’s so much darkness in my past, I’m not sure I can ever be free of it. Will this thing with Jake just turn black, like everything else? What if the things Jemma said were true? That Jake jumps into stuff without thinking. That, after the novelty wears off, he’ll leave and break my heart again. I’m not sure I could cope with it. But then, isn’t it broken anyway, sitting here alone, trying to pretend I’m not missing them, running to somewhere I know no one in the hope of finding something I might already have?

  I pull the Gwen Stacy figure off the paper and rub my thumb across it, picturing Alfie putting it into the envelope, panicking about whether it would be safe, would I get it, would he eventually get it back. I re-read Jake’s note, open the car door and pour the vodka out on to the tarmac. Once it’s all gone, I throw the empty bottle on the passenger seat, start up the car and turn around. It’s time to go home. Because, for the first time in my life, I think I might really have one.

  Alfie

  They say I have PDA and a little bit of OCD. I’m not sure why they have funny letter names instead of real names – they don’t even spell anything. Maybe the person who came up with them wasn’t very clever. I’m really clever. In my spelling test, I only got one wrong. I had to put it on the Marvellous Mistakes board. I don’t really think it’s marvellous but at school they say that’s how you learn, and I have learnt my marvellous mistake word now so maybe they’re right. It’s t, r, e, a, s, u, r, e and it spells ‘treasure’. The first time I put s, h because it sounds like there’s a ‘sh’ in the middle. Tre-sh-ur. But I know now that it’s not.

  Emily says what the funny letter names mean is that I have a superhero brain so it works a bit differently to the other children’s and that’s why I get sad if people don’t follow my rules or if they make me do things that I don’t want to. And the OCD bully is the one that puts the horrible thoughts in my brain, like when my brain says I want to kill my friends or Mummy or Daddy. I used to think that I really thought those things and that I belonged in prison, but the O
CD lady that I see after school on a Tuesday says it’s just the OCD bully and I have to tell him to go away. Sometimes, she lets me pretend the cushion on the chair is the OCD bully and I’m allowed to punch him. I like it when she says I can do that. It’s really fun.

  After school, Mummy is picking me up because it’s a Mummy weekend. That means I stay at Mummy’s new house. The rest of the time I stay at my real home. I like Mummy’s house because she has a huge fish tank with three fish and she lets me feed them, and I was allowed to name them. There’s Zippy, because he’s fast, Orange, because he’s orange, and Fishy, because, well, because he’s a fish, of course.

  I prefer my real house, though, because all my stuff is there, like all my Lego models and my real bed and Daddy is there and Emily helps me make Lego films all the time. The film we are making at the moment is a Ninjago one. Daddy’s annoyed that I’ve moved on from superheroes but I still like superheroes too; I just like ninjas better at the moment. Emily always laughs at Daddy when he gets grumpy and then he laughs too and then I laugh so we’re all laughing. It’s really funny.

  If I could choose, I would have Daddy and Emily and Mummy living in my real house, but Daddy said that he and Mummy are happier when they don’t live in the same house and just see each other as friends. I think he might be right because him and Mummy have happy faces more now and I still see Mummy lots because she comes over even when it’s not a Mummy weekend and takes me to really fun places, like the park or the cinema or McDonald’s, where you actually get a toy with your food.

  Emily is taking me back to Legoland next weekend. Daddy kept saying, ‘Do we have to go again?’ and moaning that it’s too expensive, but Emily said he could go surfing and she would take me as a special treat, so we booked it on the computer. She takes photos for her job now so she has a bit more money for things like that. Now that I’ve got the funny letter names, we get a special pass for Legoland that means I don’t have to queue. It’s awesome. Emily says it’s because I’m super-special and unique, which means it’s a good thing not being like other children. I wonder if Emily has PDA and OCD, because she’s unique too and not like other grown-ups. She’s not my nanny any more. She still takes me to school and picks me up and looks after me, but it’s not her job now. She just does it because we’re best bugs.