The Second Life of Nathan Jones

by David Atkinson

  He’d been so busy in the kitchen that he almost forgot to get Daisy from nursery and had to zoom up the road in his car. He made it just as the last of the parents were leaving the building. When he bustled into the classroom he found Daisy sitting on Mrs Ridgwell’s knee, crying. Mrs Ridgwell, a severe woman in early menopause, always appeared to be mad at everything and everyone.

  ‘Daisy’s been upset all day, Mr Jones. She says her mummy’s leaving – is that true?’

  Nathan frowned. They’d deliberately agreed to limit what they said to Daisy, deciding she would be too young to grasp the reality of their situation. Of course, her older sisters had been subject to no such censor and he suspected they’d been telling Daisy more than she needed to know.

  ‘She’s going to be working down south a few days each week, that’s all.’ He wasn’t willing to share more than that with strangers.

  Mrs Ridgwell looked over the top of her glasses at Nathan and pouted. ‘Daisy is very upset about it. I think your wife should reconsider going if this is the effect it’s going to have on her children.’

  Nathan initially reacted with anger at her poking her nose in where it had no right to be, but then he realised she echoed his own sentiments exactly. So he relaxed and said, ‘I’ll mention it to her, Mrs Ridgwell.’ He prised his daughter free from the clutches of the scowling teacher and guided her to his car.

  Daisy’s demeanour brightened considerably when she arrived home and into the loving circle of her sisters, a relationship so complex, enveloping and at times contradictory that Nathan, as a man and a father, would never completely understand it. However, as he stood and watched Chloe and Millie making a fuss of their youngest sibling he decided, whatever happened between him and Laura, he’d always put his girls first.

  His wife arrived home from work tired and stressed as usual. She said a quick hello to everyone, accepted a glass of wine from Nathan and disappeared to soak in the bath.

  *

  Later, after dinner, Laura and Nathan sat in silence at the dinner table. The plates had been cleared and stacked in the sink and Laura pulled out a notepad from her handbag. She poured the remainder of the wine into their glasses and said, ‘Right, Nathan, you’re going to have your hands full on Monday, so you need to make a list of what needs done and when.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘If you want to have any kind of life you do, yeah.’

  ‘I like my life just as it is.’

  Laura sighed. ‘Well, it doesn’t really matter what you like, does it, Nathan? It’s going to change and you either accept it now, or in a week, or in a month’s time. It’d be easier for the girls if you could at least pretend to be an adult and listen to me.’

  Nathan bristled but checked his anger. He didn’t want the rest of the weekend to be a battleground. ‘I’m listening,’ he said tersely.

  Laura ripped a few pages out of the pad and passed them over; digging into her bag, she produced a pen and handed that over too.

  Nathan picked the pen up and waited. ‘So, I’m your secretary now, am I?’

  Laura smiled. ‘Just for a little while. Now, I know you spend a lot of time with the girls doing the fun stuff. What you also need to do now, is the mundane stuff, like ironing and prepping.’

  ‘I do prepping.’

  ‘You occasionally iron a skirt or fill a water bottle. Right, we’ll start with school stuff. Millie and Chloe need their uniforms washed and ironed at the weekend. I’ll make sure there’s a week’s worth ready but next weekend you’ll need to be prepared. You’ll need five white blouses each, five skirts, and either tights or socks depending on the weather. Probably tights will be the order of the day most of the time.’ Laura paused and nodded as Nathan took notes. ‘Daisy just needs normal clothes for nursery but, if it looks like it’s going to be wet, try and pick older outfits as she’ll end up covered in mud. Before the girls go to school you need to do their hair. Millie likes a little side-pleat and you need to use tiny little hairbands for that—’

  ‘I don’t know how to do pleats.’

  ‘Millie will show you; it’s not difficult. You need to make sure Millie and Chloe have a snack for the morning and a bottle of water each. Yes, before you speak I know you do them, but with all the other stuff going on you might forget so write it down. They both eat school lunches, so you don’t need to worry about that, but Daisy needs a packed lunch every day. She likes ham or cheese in her sandwiches but not both together, despite what she says. She also needs at least three bits of fruit, though she only ever eats two.’

  ‘So why not just put two in, then?’

  Laura glanced up. ‘Because if you put in two pieces, she’ll only eat one.’

  ‘What happens if you put four pieces in?’

  ‘She still only eats two. Now, you also need to make sure you’ve got the list of stuff they do after school and nursery. You already do most of this, but let’s run through it anyway. Monday at 5 p.m. Millie goes to dancing and Chloe to football.’

  ‘Daisy stays with me.’

  ‘She does. Tuesday and Wednesday are free nights. Thursday Chloe has swimming lessons at 4.30 and Daisy goes to Gym Tots; they’re both in the same place so that’s easy but remember Millie’s iPad. Saturday morning Millie and Chloe go to drama but I’m not sure Chloe’s that keen, so you might have to let her drop out.’

  ‘I thought she loved it.’

  ‘She did, but now I’m not so sure. Sunday is free as you know, but instead of watching the football you’ll need to catch up on your ironing and cleaning. Most evenings try and get Millie and Chloe to do their reading and homework before you put the TV on for them because, as you know, otherwise it’s a nightmare trying to get them away from it.’

  ‘It all sounds like a riot.’

  ‘You’ll cope, but I’ll put everything on a list, so you don’t forget. You need to hoover every day, the kitchen floor needs cleaning with the steam mop every night after the carnage that is dinner time is over, but you usually do that anyway, and the fridge needs cleaning at least once a month and sometimes more. There’s loads more, but that’ll do for now. I’ll write everything down on a master list for you, so you have it all handy. I’ll also email it all over to you because, knowing you, you’ll lose the list in a day or two.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘You will. This way you’ll always have a copy.’

  ‘A reminder of how much my wife loves me.’

  Laura sighed. ‘A reminder that, regardless of what you think, Nathan, we need to put the girls before everything.’

  ‘Running away from them isn’t exactly a good example of that, is it?’

  ‘I’m not having this conversation with you, Nathan. It’s pointless, we’ve been there already. I’m doing this for everyone’s benefit. Now, tomorrow I’m taking the girls into town as I need to get some new clothes for work and there’s a sale on at Clarks, so I’ll try and get Chloe some new school shoes because she’s nearly grown out of her last ones. Sunday we’ll try and do something as a family, but we need to try and be civil to each other so that it’s not a total disaster, okay?’

  Nathan nodded. ‘Maybe the zoo if the weather looks nice?’

  ‘Yeah, good idea, that’ll keep everyone busy and we can visit your relatives.’

  ‘My relatives?’

  ‘Yeah, the chimps.’

  He managed to laugh.

  Chapter 6

  I’d just finished working with Sid on what we called a ‘stinker’. Not a nice description but an accurate one. This poor old soul had died about a month ago in her council flat in Leith and had lain undiscovered throughout Christmas and New Year, until a neighbour had phoned environmental health about the ‘smelly drains’.

  We didn’t know much about her, as was often the case with ‘stinkers’. Although the weather had been very cold she’d had the heating set at maximum when she’d died so the decomposition had advanced considerably and bits of her had started to fall apart like an over-cook
ed Christmas turkey – except there would be no gravy, pleasant aroma or feel-good factor associated with this one.

  The cause of death couldn’t be established from our post-mortem and Sid hoped the lab reports would give some clue to any grieving relative that came out of the woodwork.

  I felt a little sad even though I’d worked on dozens of these over the years. It always surprised me that so many people in our digital and fast-moving world died seemingly friendless and unnoticed. Maybe one day we’d all have little devices built into our bodies that sent out a signal when we were about to die. At least then she could have updated her status on Facebook with a message saying: ‘sorry I can’t watch the video of your daughter singing an out of tune song because I’ve just died’. Then she might not have lain undiscovered for weeks.

  We cleaned ourselves up, changed into new scrubs and went for a bite of lunch. When I first started in the mortuary the thought of even looking at food after such a stomach-churning morning would have made me ill but it’s amazing how time and exposure dull your senses. My tummy rumbled at the promise of some watery National Health canteen soup.

  Sid said he’d started a diet, though I wasn’t sure why as he had virtually no body fat at all. I’d asked him about it and he’d replied, ‘I have cellulite everywhere’ – words I’m pretty sure a straight bloke would never utter – and then he ordered a baked potato with no filling. Personally, I’d rather eat cardboard.

  ‘So, Kat, how’s your love life?’ Most of our conversations started this way. He had an unhealthy interest in my love life, which tended to be a short conversation. Occasionally he’d announce, ‘I’m going to a punk reunion gig this weekend.’ I had real problems picturing him among some of the throng of gobbing pseudo-violent psychopaths that must attend those things. Sid always reminded me of Marcus from Nick Hornby’s novel About a Boy, a real fish out of water at the best of times.

  ‘My love life is still going through a dry period Sid. No, that’s wrong; suspended animation would be a better description.’

  ‘You need to get out more, Kat. You have to be seen to be dated. I mean, nobody’s going to turn up at your door, are they?’

  ‘I had two Jehovah’s Witnesses around last night.’

  ‘Were either of them cute?’

  ‘They were both cute, smartly dressed and glowing like someone had just buffed them up with a leather chamois and a bucket of car wax.’

  ‘Maybe you should try the internet.’

  ‘Online dating? My friend Hayley did that. It wasn’t good for her.’

  ‘She’s the hot one?’

  ‘Yeah, so hot she’s on fire.’

  ‘But it might be different for you, Kat; you’re not so …’

  I pointed my spoon, dripping with lethal minestrone, at him. ‘Watch what you say here, Sid.’ I laughed as he struggled to find words.

  ‘Obvious, you’re not as obvious as her, so you would probably attract less weirdos.’

  ‘I’m Goth, Sid, I’m a weirdo magnet.’

  ‘You’re being too hard on yourself. I think you’re very pretty. There’s absolutely nobody on the horizon?’

  The desperately cute image of a sleeping Nathan Jones flashed into my mind and for the thousandth time since I’d met him, I wondered how he’d fared since going home, but as usual I dismissed it. He had a wife and three kids to boot. ‘No, Sid, nobody at all.’

  ‘Maybe drop the Goth thing, then?’

  ‘I don’t think I can. I’ve never felt comfortable in my own skin. Even as a kid when my mum used to cart me off to birthday parties dressed in sequinned silver party dresses, I felt like I stood out like a sore thumb and that everyone would be staring and judging how ridiculous I looked, like a gorilla in hot pants.’

  ‘I bet you didn’t.’

  ‘No, I know that now, but back then, well, that’s how I felt.’

  A few minutes of pleasant silence passed between us as we finished eating before I brought up the subject of family. ‘How’s your folks?’

  ‘Mm,’ Sid mumbled while swallowing a fork-full of potato. ‘They’ve started on a new project. Recreating the Settle to Carlisle line, in 1:64 scale.’

  ‘Sid, that made about as much sense to me as the number eleven.’

  ‘Eleven?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve always thought it should be onety-one. I assume the thing your mum and dad are doing is something to do with trains?’ Sid’s parents were model railway enthusiasts and they’d met at a fair, or whatever they called places where train weirdos got together. He’d regaled me with stories of his childhood, he and his brother foraging in the fridge for food at mealtimes, sitting alone with his teacher on parents’ evening because his mum and dad had become so engrossed in their latest project they’d forgotten all about everything else.

  I noted the bewildered look on Sid’s face as he tried to work out the ‘onety-one’ thing, then he shook his head and said, ‘Yeah, the Settle to Carlisle line is the highest railway line in England and—’

  ‘Yeah, thanks, Sid. I could probably have lived out the rest of my life quite happily without knowing that, thank you very much.’

  ‘Me too, but you did ask.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What about you – have you been home to see your mum and dad recently?’

  I finished chewing on a rubbery piece of bread crust. ‘Not for a few weeks. I’ll need to make the trip next weekend, I suppose, seeing as I’m not working.’

  ‘“Make the trip”? You make it sound like it’s hundreds of miles; it’s only Glasgow.’

  I laughed. ‘Yeah, but a trip home always makes me feel like I’ve entered The Twilight Zone.’

  Sid smiled at me. ‘What’s your dad got in his sheds these days?’

  ‘I dread to think. It’s an ever-changing smorgasbord.’

  ‘Does your mum still have her ironing fixation?’

  ‘Ironing, hoovering, washing her hands, cleaning the light bulbs …’

  ‘Cleaning the light bulbs?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s one of her new ones. A few months ago, the light in the hall needed a new bulb and when she went to change it she felt disgusted, that was her word, “disgusted”, to see how dusty and dirty it had become, so she’s now taken to cleaning all the light bulbs in the house … and other people’s houses.’

  Sid put his cup down. ‘Other people’s houses? I can’t really imagine she goes and knocks on their door and says, “Can I come in and inspect your light bulbs, please?”’

  I laughed. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her, but no, my dad had to take her home from their friends’ house last week because she started doing it there. My dad has his foibles too, but I think my mum is getting worse; we used to think the menopause might be partly responsible but she’s past that now, so we don’t have that excuse. Her latest, apart from the light bulb cleaning, is that she’s got a thing going with the fridge.’

  ‘A thing going?’

  ‘Well, yeah, it’s one of those big American models and she stood for half an hour opening and closing the door.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘She wanted to make sure the light went out when she closed the door.’

  ‘But you—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That’s—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What did your dad say?’

  ‘He took the bulb out.’

  ‘That’ll work.’

  ‘Smart man, my dad, but it doesn’t work in other people’s houses.’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t.’

  ‘They don’t visit much just now.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose they do.’

  ‘That’s why my dad spends much more time in his sheds, looking at sheds online or even better if he can sit in a shed talking online to other people about their sheds. He’s going to enter “Shed of the Year” this year. Actually, that’s not true. He’s entering two of his sheds for the “Shed of the Year”.’

  Sid shook his head and gave me the same loo
k he always did when we talked about my parents, the one that said, ‘How the hell did you make it out of childhood with only a Goth persona and confidence issues?’

  The worry is that one day I’ll end up like my mum. True, I don’t have to go back home three times every day to make sure I’ve switched off the cooker and unplugged the kettle or check seven times that I’ve locked the door before getting in my car and I don’t always need to count to twenty-five when ordering a coffee from Costa or to eighty-one in Starbucks. I know that sounds kind of random, but my mum needs to multiply the number of letters in the coffee shop’s name by itself (Costa – five letters times five letters equals twenty-five). If she ever visits a café in that weird Welsh village with the ridiculous name, I might never see her again.

  Although I’ve not reached that level I have enough issues to know I might get worse and become un-dateable – perhaps I already have.

  Chapter 7

  The plane sat at the top of the runway awaiting clearance from air traffic control. Permission granted, it thundered down the runway and into the air. After watching Edinburgh shrink to ‘Toytown’ proportions then disappear into the distance from her window seat, Laura sat back and felt guilty. She knew she’d be back in a week or two but the pain she suddenly felt at leaving her daughters behind hit her like an unexpected punch in the gut. She stifled a sob, glad she had a row of seats to herself. A few minutes later Lilly, one of two BA cabin crew on the one-hour-thirty-minute flight to Heathrow, poured her a large glass of white wine, which helped numb the pain somewhat.

  Her guilt extended to Nathan as well. Deep down she knew he’d be fine. He had the girls to keep him busy and eventually he’d come to realise it would be the best solution for everyone. He’d pleaded with her not to leave with tears in his eyes and she’d almost caved, before remembering that in the whole of her adult life she’d never had the chance to be by herself.