by Laura Kemp
‘Just a few nibbles to keep us going,’ Spike said, unloading a tray. ‘Olives, hummus, pitta strips and a minty bean and courgette thing I whipped up from the community garden spoils.’
‘I’m having courgette with everything too.’ The plants had become octopus arms, giving a prolific crop already. ‘Courgetti, roasted courgette, courgette pesto. I’ve even made a courgette cake. It was nice but Blod said she’d rather have a doughnut.’ She was babbling to fill the space. ‘This looks amazing.’
‘Eat up!’ he smiled, completely unruffled, pouring them wine. ‘Homemade pizzas for the main course. Viennetta for afters. The only thing better is Arctic Roll.’
She should be hungry – her lunch of a sweaty sandwich shovelled in during a job had been a long time ago. But her stomach was full of apprehension and it was an effort to eat what on any other occasion would’ve sent her taste buds on a feeding frenzy. How was she going to say what she had to? She sipped her wine and then as it hit the back of her throat the heat of alcohol on an empty tummy warned her to go easy.
‘Arthur won’t be long,’ Spike said to Teg, whose ears pricked up and head tilted at the mention of her friend. Annie felt her emotions whirling at his name. Then to her, he said, ‘He’s just popped to Blod’s to get some cheese.’
‘Oh, you should’ve said, I’d have brought some with me. Rather than cheese balls.’ She rolled her eyes to show her embarrassment.
‘I love cheese balls! I’m saving them for when Arthur gets here or I’d scoff the lot.’
Putting people at ease was so natural to him. But tonight he seemed uncharacteristically out of tune with the atmosphere. Maybe he was as nervous as she was? Yet how different their reasons were. She couldn’t stand it any more.
‘Thanks for inviting me. I … er …’ she said, breaking into the speech she’d planned in her head.
But he leaped in. He was out of sync and didn’t catch the tone of her voice. It was so unlike him.
‘Thanks for coming. I know it’s … strange. This is new for both of us, it’s not easy trying to navigate, is it?’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s about him, isn’t it?’ Would he take the hint now? ‘How is he? He must be doing better if he agreed to this.’
She prayed Arthur had bounced back.
‘Erm, it’s a surprise. He doesn’t know.’ Spike shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
‘Oh. Right.’ Oh dear, more like. The stakes seemed even higher now. But Spike was a great dad, he knew his son best, didn’t he?
‘Yeah.’ He scratched his stubble, as if he was doubting himself. ‘I’ve done the wrong thing, ’aven’t I?’
‘No, no, no one knows him like you do, you’d have weighed it up …’ Spike raised his eyebrows at her. He knew she was trying to be supportive. ‘All right, all right. I must admit, I don’t think secrets and surprises are maybe the best way with Arthur right now. But I’m not a parent, don’t listen to me. In fact, it might—’ She had been going to say it might be a good opportunity to talk without him here but Spike was reaching out to her, just stopping his hand before it touched her.
‘Annie, you’re one of those people who’s instinctive with kids. I trust your opinion. You’d make a great mum.’
He had got her wrong – he now thought she was acting weirdly because she was sensitive about not having children. That was a whole other conversation and certainly not one for tonight.
Still he ploughed on. ‘You know, I never wanted you to feel that I was thrusting Arthur on you. And I never even asked you about parenthood … whether you wanted it or not.’
This was veering off on a tangent, a painful one. Because now they weren’t involved, did he have the right to know her most innermost loss? It was private. Not to be shared with him. But she felt she had to give him something.
‘Look, yes, I did, very much, but it didn’t happen for me. That’s not what this is about.’
‘No? Oh Gawd, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’ His shoulders sagged and he rubbed his face. She felt guilty then, for had she sounded harsh?
‘Listen, Spike.’ She tugged on her messy plait to give herself a second to explain.
Again he pre-empted her. ‘Honestly, you don’t need to say anyfing. This is what I meant about new rules.’
He got up and looked around for something to justify it, deciding on adjusting Arthur’s tumbler. She felt her chance slipping away.
‘Where is ’e, actually?’ He looked at his watch. ‘He should be back by now.’
‘Where would he have gone?’ Annie asked.
‘He’s been running off.’ Spike sighed.
‘He might just have got distracted. Met someone on the way. You know what Blod’s like, she’s probably …’ And it hit her. ‘I told Blod I was coming here. You don’t think he’s found out and legged it, knowing I’m here?’
‘That sounds about right. I should’ve told ’im. I’ve fucked up.’
‘Do you want to go and look for him? Take Teg with you?’
‘I don’t know. He’s been so unsettled lately.’ Spike looked in physical pain. ‘Maybe he doesn’t need me chasing ’im? I thought we were getting somewhere but all of this just makes me feel useless. Lucy was good at this stuff. I can’t get it right.’
It was heartbreaking and she knew she had to tell him, even though it’d be pouring misery onto misery. If not now, when? It might explain a lot to Spike.
‘Sit down a minute, Spike,’ she said, taking control. ‘We’ll look for him in a bit, he probably just needs to get his head together.’
Following orders and nodding, he seemed grateful for the direction. But she felt sick with what he saw as a helping hand. She was merely preparing him for worse.
‘I need to tell you something,’ she said, her heart thumping. ‘About Arthur.’
‘Yeah?’ She saw a flash of worry in his eyes – she could only imagine the fear that would be escalating inside of him as his mind raced for answers. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s nothing too awful.’ She felt she had to cushion him. ‘But the community garden, the vandalism. He was involved. It wasn’t Dean.’
‘What?’ His eyes were confused, incredulous and begging her to go on.
‘Lew had been filming from his drone the night it happened. He was editing it and saw Arthur there.’
‘What? So he was there? That doesn’t mean it was ’im.’ She didn’t blame him for his instinctive defence of his son. She’d thought that too when Lew had told her.
‘I’ve seen it with my own eyes.’ Over and over, watching this little boy wrecking everything the group had achieved. That he had been a part of.
Spike immediately held up his hands. ‘Of course, sorry, I didn’t mean to think …’
‘I get it, Spike. I was as gutted as you are. I wanted it to be Dean, it made sense in my head that he’d wanted one last act of revenge on me. But it was Arthur.’
‘That little … I’m going to march ’im down the police station.’
She understood his anger but she had to defuse it. ‘You’d have a job doing that, the nearest one is miles away.’
He shut his eyes and tried to control his breathing, which was hard and fast.
‘Spike, you said you trusted me, yes?’
He opened his eyes, stared into hers and nodded. ‘Yes. Absolutely.’
It all came out – she’d had days to react and process Arthur’s cry for help.
‘Right, so I’ve thought about this. He did it because of us. The garden represented something we’d all made together, it represented stability and safety, and then when things didn’t work out, he felt let down. It’s part of his grief. It’s part of all these confusing emotions going on in his head, there’s hormones kicking in too, there’s the old “boys don’t cry”. I saw it all with my brother. The absolute worst thing to do wi
th Arthur is to go mental at him. It’ll teach him nothing. He was just unable to express himself in any other way. This poor little dab needs love, not a police caution.’
Spike had tears rolling down his face. ‘I don’t deserve you, Annie. You’re heaven-sent. I’d ’ave done exactly what you told me not to do. What an idiot. Me, not ’im.’
‘No, you’re not. It’s natural to feel shocked and sickened.’
‘I did, I do.’
‘But he’s twelve. He hasn’t hurt anyone. The only person he’s hurt here really is himself. He needs help, Spike. Love. It might help you understand, if you watch it …’
‘You’ve got it on you?’ he asked, wiping his face dry with his waiter’s tea towel over his shoulder.
‘Lew emailed it to me. I must’ve watched it hundreds of times. It’s not nice when you see it at the beginning …’ She handed her phone over, hearing the buzz of the drone, hovering here and there, knowing it frame by frame.
She could tell Spike recognised the boy’s lope right from the off by the way he winced. The ripping at plants, the uprooting of veg, the lashing out on the sign. Quickly, she pointed out to watch for when Arthur’s fury ran out, when regret hurtled in, how he’d crumpled to his knees and fallen into the foetal position – this was hurting in action.
‘What are we going to do about this? If you want to go to the police then I’m one ’undred per cent be’ind you.’
‘No. There’s no point. Do what I said, be gentle with him. Show him you’re there for him.’
Teg began to bark and then ran through the garden towards the house.
Could that be Arthur? The two of them exchanged quizzical looks. If he knew Annie was here, then it was a good sign he’d come home. She crossed her fingers, hoping that he did know. But if not, then the sight of Teg’s wagging tail and excitement would lessen the blow of the surprise. Spike got up but Annie told him to sit. ‘Let him come to you, be calm.’
He appeared at the back door, his eyes wary. Teg was in full bounce mode, pawing Arthur’s thigh, trying to get his attention.
‘Blod said you were here.’
Annie gave him a smile which she hoped conveyed how much she loved this little boy.
He was hiding behind his fringe but Teg was having none of it. In a last desperate bid for a smooth, she lay down on her back and waited for a rub. Which way was he going to go? Annie and Spike were waiting.
‘It’s nice to see you,’ he said, shyly, unsure, and he dived onto Teg for a quick wrestle.
‘You too,’ she said, allowing herself a huge beam.
Then he saw his dad. ‘Have you been crying?’ It was how children always said that sentence to a parent. With disbelief because parents never cried. With terror that something unimaginable had happened. Annie instinctively saw Arthur associating it with his mother’s long death.
Annie willed Spike to open up, to show it was okay to be emotional.
‘Yes,’ Spike said. ‘I missed you, that’s all.’
Arthur looked utterly perplexed. He’d only been gone a while.
‘I’ve let you down,’ Spike added. ‘Come here, son, I need a chat.’
Arthur looked unsure. ‘Are you drunk?’
‘No! Come here!’ he laughed. ‘Give your old man a hug.’
Somehow Arthur sensed this was important and made his way to him.
Annie got up. She didn’t need to be here for this conversation.
‘I’m just going to turn the oven on. Your dad said he’ll be in to do the pizzas in a bit.’
‘You’ll stay, won’t you?’ Spike said to her.
Of course she would, if that was okay with them – the answer lay in Arthur’s shining eyes.
As she left the table, she told herself not to look, it wasn’t her business to see what was going to be a difficult heart-to-heart. But when she went in the door, she couldn’t help it – she glanced back and there they were, father and son, hugging the lives out of each other.
34
The worst staycation we’ve ever had. The welcome pack was rather more unwelcome with its strange fruit cake, processed marshmallows – have you heard of sugar-free? – and cheap star-spotting map. The thread count on the sheets was woefully low, we were disgusted there was no coffee machine, smart TV or butler service. Next year, we’ll be back to luxury safaris in Kenya. We don’t expect to see this review on the website!
The Bowler-Parker-Smyths, Buckinghamshire
Campsite Visitors’ Book
A mass of weirdy-beardies had descended upon Gobaith as if it was hosting an anorak convention.
Wanda was being harsh – these ladies and gentlemen who were swarming the village for the official Ordnance Survey measurement of the hill were harmless, resembling retired maths teachers. She hadn’t realised the earth’s lumps and bumps were so fascinating to people. It turned out that where trains had spotters, peaks had baggers who lived to tick off climbs on their lists.
So when word had spread among the elite geeks that the gods of mapping were at work, they’d come mainly as one in a crowd of beige utility shorts, woolly socks and sturdy boots. The exception was a niche bunch of cool young things in Patagonia T-shirts with wraparound bug-eyed sunglasses and watches that she suspected talked to the International Space Station.
Gobaith had reacted quickly: Spike had set out trekking poles, base layers and hydration systems on the pavement, Blod had a rush on protein bars and Sara had taken a punt on ‘Born To Climb’ mugs and stacked them up in a mountain-shaped pyramid in the front window. Up here, Alis had brought her Sunny Side Up van to the campsite to flog cream-peaked ‘snowy mountain’ coffees and themed baps, including the Snowdon roll of egg and bacon and the Everest of sausage, tomato and black pudding. Carys had been permitted to sit at a trestle table to sell mint cake-flavoured bara brith, made under her daughter’s orders by Mam, who had been sceptical of her tampered-with recipe until she’d tasted some and mischievously declared it ‘not bad’.
In the gorgeous summer sunshine, the visitors were keen to share their excitement. As she went about her business, Wanda merely had to catch someone’s eye – or be trapped by theirs, to be more precise – and she was being informed about the differences between the Nuttalls, Hewitts, Marilyns, Munros and P600s. This one had the potential to join the elevated ranks of the Nuttalls, of which there were almost two hundred in Wales, if it hit two thousand feet – or six-hundred-and-nine-point-six metres if she preferred metric.
It was fascinating. To a point. But there was no denying that their enthusiasm was contagious. The school holidays were here and a mixture of locals and campers gathered in the lane as the surveyors unpacked their gadgets.
‘I hope they’ve got a tape measure in there,’ Wanda said to Alis, as she took the chance to grab an elevensies coffee.
‘Actually,’ a voice said behind her in the queue, ‘measuring mountains has come a long way from traditional trigonometry and the calculation of angles.’
Wanda eyeballed Alis then turned around to announce she was only taking the piss. Never mind mansplaining, this was mountainsplaining. But an earnest face was peering up at her through wrinkles as craggy as Kilimanjaro.
‘These days it’s far more sophisticated,’ he said, gently, poking his glasses up the arch of his nose. ‘They’ll be using global positioning technology devices to communicate data to satellites. They’ll need to be in position at the top for several hours, taking thousands of readings, for accuracy. There is another way, photogrammetry, where images are taken from above and then loaded to a computer which puts together a 3D model. Of course, there is the debate over whether any measurement can be truly accurate.’
Wanda smiled. He was only enjoying his moment. And she hadn’t known about the specifics if she was being honest.
‘How long will it take for the decision to be made? Whether it’s a hill
or a mountain?’
‘It’ll have to verified back at HQ. Won’t be long. Then if it’s in the club, you’ll see more like me here. You won’t believe what a difference it will make. I’ve come from Cumbria just for this.’ Wanda wanted to pat him on the head, he was so endearing. She stepped aside to let him order. ‘I think I’ll have the Mont Blanc cheese on toast, please. I’ll be going up behind the OS team. I’m sixty-four, so I need all the energy I can get!’
‘Well, in that case,’ Carys said, ‘I’ll chuck you some bara brith in for free!’
‘It looks like fruit cake but it’s moister, a kind of tea bread,’ Wanda said, unable to resist a bit of womansplaining. It was also because the nightmare of the posh family from Bucks lingered – she’d tried to tell them it was a Welsh thing, but they accused her of racism against the English. Remove their comment from the website? Hardly! People would have a right laugh at it, plus they’d know by the snotty tone that the site would be perfect for the genuine campers out there. It had been a shock to get a bad rating because they’d become a rarity. You couldn’t please all the people all of the time, that was just the way it went. Under A Starry Sky had found its place – ‘cwtchy cool’ had even become a thing in glamping circles after the brilliant write-up in Happy Campers magazine.
Wanda took a sip of her latte and inspected the crowd – anticipation was mounting and then a silence fell. The professionals were putting on their backpacks and inspecting gadgets, discussing what had to be very technical things. And there was someone else with them, deep in conversation. She’d know the back of his dark head anywhere. Lew, his hands talking, gesturing upwards, then he was looking around and damn her laser eyes – they must’ve been burning through him. Her throat went dry and everyone disappeared from her view: it was as if there was only him in the world. Whenever she’d seen him lately, it was the same – her radar always picked him out. Whether it was across the road, driving past or in the village, she couldn’t help but see him – and only him.
