by Linda Green
‘Hey, school’s out,’ says Dad, ruffling my hair. He seems to think I will be happy about this, but I don’t feel happy about anything right now.
‘How did it go?’ he asks, smiling.
‘Fine,’ I say. I catch Rachel looking daggers at Dad. It’s like sometimes she gives him the looks he needs on Mum’s behalf.
‘Right, better get you home then,’ he says. ‘I’ve got celebration pizzas in the car.’
I manage a little smile. I hope he has got the one I like. Mum knows the one I like but I’m not sure Dad does.
Rachel comes up to me and gives me a big hug.
‘You did so well, today,’ she says. I’m right proud of you. I’ll be in touch with your dad to sort out the first summer holiday meet-up.’
I nod because I still haven’t got any words. Lottie is standing there. She doesn’t seem to have any words either. I think for a moment I am going to leave without us saying anything but at the last second, she throws her arms round me and says, ‘See you soon, good weird boy.’
*
Dad hasn’t got me the pizza I like, but I eat it anyway because it is supposed to be a celebration pizza, so it seems rude not to. I don’t say much but he talks about stuff, I am not sure what, as I am not really listening. I only start listening when he mentions the holiday club.
‘I’ve got you booked on this for three days next week,’ he says, sliding a leaflet onto the table. It says ‘Halifax Holiday Club. Fun activities for school-age children’ and underneath it lists lots of activities, like football and gaming and other things I hate.
I look up at him. ‘But I don’t want to do this,’ I say.
‘You’ll enjoy it when you get there.’
‘I won’t. I don’t enjoy things other kids think are fun.’
‘Come on, Finn. It says you can do baking.’
‘Yeah, that will be for little kids and they’ll all be girls.’
‘And you get on well with girls.’
‘Not girls I don’t know. Anyway, I don’t like baking.’
‘You used to love making those muffins.’
‘That was because it was with Mum.’
Dad sighs. He stares out of the window and doesn’t say anything for a minute before he turns to look at me. ‘I’m sorry, Finn. I can only work from home two days a week. I had to find something for you to do for the other three days and this is the only one that had places. It might be better than you think. There might be kids you know there.’
‘That’s what I’m worried about.’
‘Well, let’s just give it a try. You never know, you might enjoy it.’
I look at Dad. He really doesn’t get it. I think he must have been a pretty normal kid at school. He’s good at sport too. Being a boy is easy when you’re good at sport.
‘I won’t,’ I say. ‘But I’ll go as long as you tell them it’s OK for me to read by myself and I don’t have to join in with things.’
Dad shuts his eyes for a second.
‘I’m sorry, Finn,’ he says. ‘I’m doing my best but I’m struggling a bit, just like you are.’
I finish the last piece of my pizza in silence.
*
In the morning, when I come downstairs, Dad is in the kitchen cooking breakfast.
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Just in time.’
‘What are we having?’
‘Your favourite; veggie sausages,’ he says, putting a plate down in front of me. There are beans and toast on the plate too, but I don’t see them. I just see the sausages. They are the same ones we never got to eat on our camping trip.
‘No!’
Dad looks at me, frowning.
‘What?’
‘I’m not eating them.’
‘Why? I thought they were your favourite?’
I think about telling him, but I can’t get the words out. They are stuck in the place where all the hurt is.
‘Not any more,’ I say, standing up and running upstairs to my room.
AFTER 6
6
Kaz
‘What are you clock-watching for?’ asks Marje, as I glance at my watch again during a quiet spell at the café. ‘Anyone would think you were waiting for a hot date to turn up.’
‘Maybe I am,’ I say, smiling as I give the counter a quick going-over with the dishcloth.
‘Oh, aye. It’s a young man you’re expecting is it?’
‘It is, as it happens. A lot younger than me.’
‘Blimey, am I supposed to think there’s life in an old girl yet?’ asks Marje.
‘Just you wait and see, if you don’t believe me.’
I serve an elderly couple who want a pot of tea and one scone to share between them, then busy myself drying some cutlery, before finally looking up to see Finn standing on the other side of the counter smiling at me.
‘You’ve got your sheep apron on,’ he says.
‘Yep. Different café, same apron. I’ve washed and ironed it specially for you, mind.’
Martin, who is standing behind Finn, nods at me. ‘Hi Kaz, good to see you. I’ll have a coffee, please. Finn, what about you?’
Finn looks along the counter, contemplating the options. I point to the hygiene rating sticker on the wall behind me.
‘Proof of the five-star rating,’ I say.
‘I know. I wouldn’t be getting anything otherwise.’
I laugh because I know it’s true.
Someone joins the queue behind Martin. I am momentarily reminded of Fag-ash Lil.
‘Take all the time you need, Finn,’ I say.
‘I’m between the chocolate brownie, the millionaire shortbread and the carrot cake,’ he says.
‘Well, if you’re looking for a recommendation, I’d go for the brownie.’
‘OK,’ he says. ‘Can I have an orange juice too, please?’
‘Coming right up.’ I turn round to see Marje looking at me. She shakes her head.
‘Told you,’ I say.
‘Yeah, you didn’t say how young, though. That’s a bit of a cheat.’
‘Had you going though, didn’t I?’ I reply with a smile.
I pop the chocolate brownie on a plate and pour the orange juice while Marje makes the coffee.
‘Is he family?’ asks Marje.
‘No, just a friend. His name is Finn. We met a few months ago. He’s been through a tough time. Needs all the friends he can get right now.’
I haven’t told her about what happened. As much as I get on well with her, it still feels like too big a thing to share. Besides, I don’t want to be talking about it here. It’s bad enough that it keeps me awake at night sometimes, I don’t want to be thinking about it when I’m supposed to be serving customers as well.
Martin pays me and carries the tray over to an empty table, with Finn following him. Marje looks at me.
‘What you waiting for?’
‘I don’t knock off for another twenty minutes.’
‘Don’t be daft. You were in early this morning. You’re all done for day. Go and sit down with lad.’
I take my apron off and go and join Finn and Martin at the table.
‘How’s the chocolate brownie?’ I ask.
‘Good,’ says Finn, wiping the crumbs from his mouth and looking around. ‘It’s a nice café.’
‘Thank you. Glad it meets with your approval. Haven’t you ever been here before?’ I ask.
‘No, not to the café, only to the garden centre with Mum. We used to come at weekends sometimes when Dad was on his bike rides.’
Martin shifts in his chair.
‘So, how’s the first week of your summer holidays been?’ I ask, sensing that the subject needs changing. ‘What have you been up to?’
‘Not much,’ replies Finn.
‘You’ve been to holiday club, haven’t you?’ says Martin.
Finn nods.
‘Right, what did you get up to there?’
‘The other kids mostly played football and computer games and I did some reading.’
He falls silent again and eats the rest of his brownie while scuffing his shoe on the leg of the table. I look at Martin. He is drinking his coffee and staring down at the table.
‘Kaz,’ he says, as he puts his mug down. ‘I need to get some wood stain for the garden fence and a few other bits and bobs. Are you OK staying here with Finn for a few minutes?’
‘Course I am,’ I say. ‘We can have a good natter, can’t we, Finn?’
Finn nods and Martin stands up. I get the idea he can’t get away quickly enough.
‘So,’ I say as Martin disappears round the corner. ‘On a scale of one to ten, how bad were holiday club?’
‘An eleven,’ replies Finn.
‘Oh dear.’
‘Ryan Dangerfield from school was there. I thought I’d got rid of him.’
‘Was he one of mean kids?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did he say owt to you at holiday club?’
‘Not to my face but he was whispering things about me to the other kids. I think he told them about, you know.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. And I’ve got to go there three days a week for the rest of the summer. Apart from the week when we’re on holiday.’
‘Have you tried talking to your dad about it?’
‘There’s no point. He said it was the only holiday club that had places and there’s no one else to look after me.’
‘What about your friend Lottie?’
‘Her mum’s working most of the holidays so her auntie’s looking after her and she’s already got three kids.’
I screw up my face. ‘What would you like to be doing instead of holiday club?’
Finn answers without a moment’s hesitation.
‘A gardening club.’
‘Now there’s a surprise,’ I say, with a smile.
‘I’ve got a newspaper supplement from the Mail on Sunday called “Create Your Dream Garden in Just 4 Weeks” by Alan Titchmarsh. I asked Mum if we could buy it when I saw it in the newsagents and she said usually she wouldn’t buy that newspaper because it wrote nasty things about some people, so I asked if we could pay for it and just take the supplement and leave the newspaper as a protest and she said that was a good compromise.’
I nod. Life sounded complicated in Finn’s household.
‘And is that what you want to do? One of those garden makeover things?’
‘Yes. And I’d like to do a trip out to another garden for inspiration, because that’s what Alan does. I have his book Alan Titchmarsh’s Favourite Gardens, but I have only ever been to two of them and there are a lot more to go to.’
‘Right,’ I say. ‘Only problem is, I don’t suppose Alan Titchmarsh is available to do all that with you.’
‘No but you could help me. Your mum used to have an allotment.’
I look at him. He means it too. That’s why I’m struggling to know what to say in response.
‘You don’t want to be spending your summer holidays with an old codger like me, pottering around in back garden.’
‘I do. It’s why I’m weird.’
I smile at him. I can’t help thinking how much he reminds me of Terry at his age.
‘What days do you go to holiday club?’ I ask.
‘Mondays to Wednesdays. And when Dad works from home on Thursdays and Fridays, I could just carry on doing jobs in the garden, which would mean he’d get more work done.’
I nod. It would fit in with my work and I could still go and see Terry in the evenings, as usual. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than be with Finn all day, to be honest.
‘You’d be a good lawyer, Finn,’ I say. ‘You’re very good at persuading people.’
‘I don’t want to be a lawyer, though, because there are only nasty ones who send people letters that make them cry, or boring ones like my dad, who have to do lots of searches of old documents so people can sell their houses.’
‘I didn’t know that’s what your dad does.’
‘It’s called conveyancing and I don’t think it sounds very interesting. You have to work in an office.’
‘I wouldn’t like that, either,’ I say. ‘I can’t sit down for five minutes, me.’
‘I can,’ says Finn, ‘but only if I’m reading a book by Alan Titchmarsh.’
I am still laughing at this when Martin returns, carrying a bag of things.
‘Right, that’s me done,’ he says.
I look up at him. I have no idea if he’ll go for it, but I owe it to Finn to try.
‘Finn would like a little look around outdoor plant section,’ I say.
‘Sure,’ he replies. ‘Have you finished work now, Kaz?’
‘Boss says so,’ I reply, nodding towards Marje.
‘Great. Shall we all have a look around together then, before we take you home for some tea?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I say.
I wave goodbye to Marje, and we head off, Finn leading the way. When we get there, Barry, who is in charge of the outdoor plant section, is putting out some more hanging baskets.
‘Hiya, Kaz, are you coming to give us a hand?’ he says with a smile.
‘Just having a look around with my young friend here,’ I reply, putting my hand on Finn’s shoulder. ‘He’s a budding Alan Titchmarsh.’
‘Is that so?’ says Barry, wiping the sweat from his bald head with his arm as he turns to Finn. ‘What’s your favourite flower?’
‘Roses,’ he replies.
‘Right, well would you like to come and have a look at ours and I’ll give you a few tips while you’re at it.’
Finn looks round at Martin, who nods.
‘Thanks Barry,’ I say, as he heads off with Finn.
I glance across at Martin.
‘Seems like you’ve got friends in all the right places,’ he says.
‘It’s least I can do for him,’ I reply.
‘Seriously, I can’t thank you enough, Kaz,’ says Martin. ‘Finn looks forward to seeing you so much. It really is the highlight of his week. Certainly much better than being with boring old me.’
I look across at Martin. His face suggests he knows he’s making a pig’s ear of parenting but doesn’t want to admit it. Which is something I can relate to.
‘It’s not easy,’ I say, ‘looking after a lad that age on your own. I remember how hard it were with our Terry.’
‘Was your mum a single parent?’
‘She weren’t really any kind of parent. Too busy drinking herself into an early grave once me dad had buggered off. It were me who brought him up.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Martin, his brow furrowed. ‘I hadn’t realised.’
‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘It were easier once she’d gone, to be honest. Terry were certainly safer without her.’
I notice Martin glancing at me out of the corner of his eye, but he obviously decides not to probe any further on that one. Which is good, because I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about what happened.
‘So how old were you then?’
‘Eighteen and our Terry were ten. Same age as Finn. That’s why I know how tough a job it is, raising a lad that age on your own.’
‘Well, it sounds like you’ve done a very good job of it.’
I smile but don’t say anything. Perhaps if I told him I’m still waiting to hear from the police if Terry is going to be taken to court, he’d think differently about that.
Martin says nothing for a moment. I can see Finn in the far aisle with Barry; peering closely at some rose bushes, reading the labels, writing things d
own in a little notebook he produces from his pocket.
‘The thing is,’ says Martin. ‘Everything I do seems to be wrong.’
‘I got plenty wrong,’ I said. ‘I still do but you learn from every mistake.’
‘It’s difficult because Finn’s nothing like I was at his age. I was always on bike rides or fishing trips with my brothers but everything I suggest to Finn is wrong. He’s so different to me and I feel so bloody clueless.’
‘He’s been through an incredibly tough time,’ I say. ‘He misses his mam. You must miss her too.’
Martin stares into the distance. His eyes are glistening.
‘I do but I know it’s nothing compared to what Finn’s feeling. He was always so close to her. And he’s still mad at me about what happened. He blames me, I know that. And he’s got every right to, of course.’
He looks down and wipes at the corners of his eyes. I read what they said in the papers about the background to what happened, just like everyone else did, I expect. I’m not going to judge him, though. Enough people have done that to me. And I know how much that hurts. I put my hand on his shoulder.
‘Hey, come on. You mustn’t blame yoursen. Believe me, I know what that’s like, and it’s a mug’s game.’
‘I can never take back what happened, though, can I? It hangs over us the whole time. I simply want to make him happy, even if it’s for one day, but I don’t know how.’
‘Look,’ I say, stopping and turning to face him as we reach a big display of geraniums. ‘He’s been talking to me, telling me what sort of holiday club he’d like to go to.’
‘Has he?’
‘Yeah. He wants to do a gardening club at home. Do one of those makeovers, like they do on telly.’
‘But how could he do that? I looked into getting a childminder, but they work from their own home and look after several children at once. He wouldn’t like that. He’s not good with other kids. And I don’t suppose you can get a nanny for three days a week in the school holidays. And certainly not one that gardens.’
‘Well,’ I say, seeing that I am going to have to spell it out to him. ‘I’m not Mary bloody Poppins but I’d be happy to look after him, help him do his gardening club.’
Martin’s face visibly brightens. ‘Would you? I mean I’d pay you the going rate and everything.’