by Fiona Gibson
‘Life’s not so bad, is it?’ I ask Scout, as he jumps up onto the sofa with me. He just blinks at me, and stretches out on my lap as I try not to think about Sinead and Abby enjoying her birthday evening together, and how it should be me who’s with her right now.
*
Still, my newly single life fills itself, somehow. I have a quick drink with Paolo on Sunday lunchtime, who reckons the baby will bring us back together: ‘Definitely,’ he states firmly in the Wheatsheaf’s sun-dappled beer garden. ‘Babies make everything all right.’ He chuckles. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’
‘Who’d have thought what?’ I ask, genuinely perplexed.
‘That you still had it in you …’
‘I’m only forty-three,’ I remind him, laughing now – but, yes, I am quite amazed too. All those months and years of trying, then it’s happened now. I like to believe it’s fate.
‘She’ll soon be back home with you,’ Paolo adds.
I shake my head. ‘I really don’t know. I mean, God, I hope so. But these days, you know …’ I pause, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face. ‘Well, I don’t want to take anything for granted anymore. But it’s … well, I suppose I’m just willing to wait and see. I mean, what else can I do?’
We part company and I head home, meandering through town on this warm afternoon, having declined Paolo’s well-meaning invitation to a family dinner. Things are looking better, I try to reassure myself. Obviously, I’d prefer to know that she still loves me – or is at least prepared to give me another chance. However, even if Sinead doesn’t want us to get back together, at least she does want the baby … so perhaps there is hope for us after all.
Later that afternoon, I clean the kitchen and then try again to immerse myself in that wretched Berlin book. When that fails to grip me, I walk Scout for miles along the towpath beside the canal. One benefit of being left by one’s wife is that you end up with a very fit dog.
That evening, following a flurry of persistent calls and texts on her part, I have Mum over for a bite to eat. Once I’ve made it clear that my marriage isn’t up for discussion, we actually manage not to snap at each other. However, I decide not to break the news of the pregnancy to her, and asked Flynn not to either – at least, not just yet. Plenty of time for that further down the line when I have a clearer idea of how things will pan out with me and Sinead.
‘Well, you seem to be coping quite well,’ Mum says, arching a brow as I make her an after-dinner coffee. Like she expected rubbish to be cascading out of the kitchen bin all over the floor.
When she’s gone, I manage to resist the temptation to tap on Flynn’s bedroom door and ask if he fancies a jam on guitar with me, just for fun, like we used to. Not a lesson – definitely not a lesson. I even get so far as to hovering, needily, at his closed bedroom door. Fortunately for both of us, his mobile rings, and I take this as a cue to retreat back downstairs and leave the poor boy alone.
So, yes, life is continuing in a rather curious way. However, while I am still conscious of odd spaces all around the house where Sinead’s things used to be, I am managing, as Mum so rightly observed. And next morning, when I show up at the Solway test centre to start the working week, it seems my fortunes have taken a turn for the better.
Sitting there, on my desk, is my father’s watch.
I look over at Liv, who is grinning at me. ‘You found it?’ I pick it up and examine it, at once soothed by its weightiness in my hand.
She comes over and perches on the edge of my desk. ‘I’d like to take credit, but it was actually a neighbour of mine. Well, not a neighbour exactly – they live way down the lane in a little old cottage. Her bloke floored our kitchen. Bit of a creep, to be honest. The kind of guy who stares at your boobs and thinks you don’t notice …’ Her green eyes glint with amusement. ‘I hadn’t realised he lives with Tanzie Miles, the one who’s failed, what, nine tests—’
‘Eleven,’ I correct her.
‘Poor woman!’
‘Yeah – on both counts …’ Baffled now, I turn the watch over to check for damage – but it seems perfect. ‘But how did she manage to find it?’
‘She was out walking her dog and we got chatting in the street,’ Liv explains. ‘She asked if she could have a quick look around in the garden for it. Apparently, she knew all about you losing it at my barbecue …’ Clearly, Liv is struggling not to grill me about this. ‘She wasn’t at my party, though. They were invited, but didn’t turn up—’
‘Er, no, we just sort of ran into each other,’ I say quickly, grabbing a wad of paperwork from my desk in order to convey my keenness to get on. Eric strolls in, shortly followed by Nadira, and there’s a brief exchange of greetings. I’m keen to wrap up this conversation without everyone being involved.
‘Apparently, you’re friends?’ Liv ventures, regarding me with rapt interest.
‘Erm, sort of,’ I bluster, sensing my face glowing.
‘Who’s friends?’ Eric asks.
‘No one,’ I say quickly. Thankfully, he and Nadira fall into a conversation of their own.
Liv smirks. ‘Anyway, it wasn’t so much a quick look,’ she adds. ‘She was out there for ages. I offered to help, even though I’d already had a good search. She said no, she’d be systematic and it’d be easier to do it on her own. She seemed pretty determined …’
‘Amazing,’ I say, fixing the watch onto my wrist now.
Liv nods. ‘She found it stuffed in the privet hedge. Well, in a nest, really—’
‘In a nest?’ I exclaim.
‘Yeah.’ She laughs. ‘But it hadn’t been put there by a bird. Guess who’d been amusing herself by making a nest for magpies, when my party was going on?’
‘Ava?’ I know Liv’s youngest is an inventive child.
‘That’s right.’ She shakes her head in mock exasperation. ‘And she’d found your watch, lying in the long grass by the Wendy house. Instead of bringing it into the house, like any sensible child would, she put it in her nest for the birds …’
‘Thank you so much. Honestly, I thought I’d never see it again—’
‘I can’t believe it still works,’ she adds, ‘after all the rain we’ve had!’
I smile. ‘It’s good quality, I guess …’
‘Oh, so your watch turned up?’ Eric remarks, glancing over. ‘That’s brilliant!’
‘Yeah.’ I fix on a broad smile as the sound of chatter filters through from the waiting room; looks like my first candidate has arrived.
Liv gives me another bemused grin as Eric fills the kettle. ‘I think Tanzie’s the one you really need to thank,’ she adds with a smirk. ‘Don’t you?’
However, Tanzie isn’t at Bill’s when I drop by on my way home. ‘She had to leave in a hurry,’ explains a younger waitress, carrying a tray laden with ice cream desserts.
‘Oh, wasn’t she feeling well?’ I ask.
‘No, it was something to do with school,’ the girl says briskly, sending the clear message that she doesn’t have time to chat.
‘Right. Well, thanks,’ I say, stepping outside and deciding to text her instead. However, when I pull my phone from my pocket, I discover it’s out of charge; in the excitement of being reunited with Dad’s watch, I hadn’t thought to check it. Still, I can charge it at home and send a message then. As I climb into my car, I picture Tanzie, combing Liv’s garden, astounded that she took the trouble to do that for me. I’m also wondering if she’s found an occasion to wear the silver dress yet.
Apparently, you’re friends, Liv said, arching an eyebrow. Well, yes, we are. We might have stumbled across each other in bizarre circumstances, but I value her being in my life now – and not just because of the watch. I’m formulating a thank-you message in my mind as I pull up outside our house and step into the hallway.
‘Nate?’ My wife’s voice rings through from the living room.
‘Sinead?’ I am surprised – but delighted – that she’s here, until she strides through towards me and I see her
stricken face.
‘I’ve been trying to call you!’ she blurts out.
I blink at her. ‘What’s wrong? Is everything okay?’
‘No, it’s not,’ she declares. ‘It’s really not okay, Nate. Christ. Why was your phone off?’
‘It was out of charge. I’m sorry. Come here, tell me what’s wrong …’ I go to embrace her, but she shrugs me off.
‘I’m fine. It’s nothing to do with the baby. At least, not the one in here …’ She jabs at her still-flat stomach. ‘Come through.’ I follow her into the living room where Flynn is curled up on the sofa, earphones stuffed in, glued to his laptop.
‘Hey, Flynn, everything okay?’
‘Um … not really.’ He resolutely refuses to look up. It’s as if he is trying to block out the world.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask, but he merely looks at Sinead.
She looms over him, hands plonked on her narrow hips. ‘Honey, please take those earphones out. We need to talk about this now that Dad’s home.’ She bobs down and squashes onto the sofa beside him.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, lowering myself on the armchair opposite as Flynn pulls out the earphones and tosses them to his other side.
‘I was called into school this afternoon,’ Sinead remarks tersely.
‘What for?’ Tanzie had to go in too. I try to shake off a creeping sense of unease that these events might be connected.
Sinead’s eyes are watering, and she wipes at them impatiently with the back of her hand. ‘Mrs Wrightson called me. Said there’d been an unfortunate incident – some graffiti sprayed on the back wall, the one overlooking the playing field …’
That feeling of unease is growing stronger now. ‘What kind of graffiti?’
Sinead glances at our son. His lips are pursed, his dark eyes lowered. ‘I’m sorry to have to say it again, darling,’ she murmurs, at which he shrugs. She looks at me. ‘It said, “Flynn Turner is a spastic”.’
‘What? That’s disgusting!’ It feels like a punch to my gut. Spastic: a word we detest, obviously, and one I’d assumed – optimistically, I suppose – had almost faded into obsolescence. Those taunts on the bus that Flynn endured seemed so long ago – but that single word propels us right back.
‘Yeah, I know,’ Sinead murmurs. ‘Charming, huh?’
I exhale. ‘Flynn?’ He raises his gaze to meet my eyes. ‘Are you okay, son?’
‘Yeah, s’pose so,’ he drawls, clearly trying to shrug it off.
‘I’m really sorry this has happened to you. Do they have any idea who did it?’
He shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’
‘It does matter, Flynn,’ I say firmly. ‘My God – they have to make it clear that this is completely unacceptable. What on earth possessed someone to do that? It’s so hateful—’
‘Nate, listen,’ Sinead cuts in. ‘They said a girl called Kayla Miles had a can of red spray paint in her bag.’
‘Kayla Miles?’ I gasp. ‘Are you sure?’
Sinead frowns at me. ‘D’you know this girl?’
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘No – I’ve never met her. But I do know her mother.’ I look at Flynn, who has now gathered up his earphones and is tipping them from one hand to the other. ‘Remember Tanzie, the waitress in Burger Bill’s?’
‘Yeah?’ Flynn says with a nod.
‘Well, I’m pretty sure this Kayla is her daughter …’
‘Is that the Tanzie who’s failed her driving test about a zillion times?’ Sinead’s blue-eyed gaze is fixed on me.
‘Yes, it is,’ I reply, feeling quite heady with anger now.
Flynn scrambles up and makes for the door. ‘Look, I’ve had enough of this today. I don’t want to make a massive thing about it, okay?’
‘But it is a massive thing!’ Sinead exclaims.
‘Yeah, well – it’s happened and it’s all going to get cleaned off the wall by tomorrow. They can get special stuff.’
As if that makes it okay, I reflect bleakly as he stomps upstairs. The words will be gone, but everyone will have seen them and discussed them endlessly. They’ll linger in people’s minds, long after the ‘special stuff’ has been used to scour them away.
I look at Sinead who is regarding me oddly, perhaps still angry that she couldn’t reach me by phone – or because I am somehow acquainted with this girl’s mother.
‘So, Tanzie Miles works in the Burger place?’ she remarks.
‘Yes, that’s right.’ I watch Sinead as she takes this in. Although there’s no visible bump yet, she has that ‘thing’ about her already; a certain glow to her, the suggestion that there is another life inside. It still feels like nothing short of miraculous.
‘D’you know her quite well, then?’ she asks.
‘Our paths have just crossed,’ I reply, aware that I am understating things somewhat. However, now doesn’t feel like the right time to go into the vodka watermelon scenario, or the fact that Tanzie has scrutinised my wife’s extremely personal list and advised me on how to proceed. I can’t even contemplate telling her about our shopping day in York, convulsing with laughter over the guinea pig dress, or our foray to an eighties night.
Sinead rests her chin on her clasped hands. ‘I didn’t know you even liked burgers these days.’
I clear my throat. ‘We just got chatting the night of Liv’s barbecue, and I’ve popped into the restaurant a couple of times. She’s a nice person. She’s just been friendly—’
‘You want to hang out with someone whose daughter—’
‘No, of course I don’t,’ I say firmly. ‘But do we know this for sure? That it really was Kayla, I mean?’
‘I think the evidence was pretty damning, Nate!’ she snaps.
‘Okay, okay. I’m not saying it wasn’t her. I just think we have to be certain—’
‘Are you sure?’ she barks, eyes flashing. ‘Because it sounds as if you’re pretty tight with her mum!’
My heart pounds as we glare at each other across the living room. It feels terribly sparse now, following the removal of my records and the shelves that housed them.
‘That’s ridiculous,’ I say, keen to curtail this exchange. Flynn will be able to hear everything – his parents rowing is the last thing he needs – and it’s not getting us anywhere. I worry, too, that it can’t be good for the baby, Sinead being so het up. ‘I’ll go into school myself,’ I add, ‘and ask for a meeting with Mrs, Mrs uh—’
‘Mrs Wrightson.’
I clear my throat. ‘Yes. She’s the year head, right?’
‘The deputy head.’
‘Okay.’ Bloody hell – it feels like I’m the one on trial here.
‘I don’t think that’ll help,’ Sinead adds, her tone softening.
‘Well, it might.’
She purses her lips. ‘I knew that Tanzie woman had a thing about you. That’s why she keeps failing on purpose, just for an excuse to see you over and over again—’ Her eyes well up.
Christ, I thought we were talking about the trouble at school? ‘Don’t be crazy,’ I murmur. ‘No one would do that. Anyway, she hasn’t always had me. When someone applies for a test there’s no guarantee who they’ll get as their examiner. You know that …’
‘Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m just upset, that’s all …’
‘So am I. Christ, Sinead, don’t you think I care?’
Tears are rolling down her cheeks now. I step towards her, wrap my arms around her and pull her close. I expect her to edge away, to announce that she’s going upstairs to try to talk to Flynn, or that she’d better get back to Abby’s. But she doesn’t. Instead, she presses herself even closer: so close I can feel her heart beating. There’s the patter of Scout’s approaching feet on the floorboards. Without looking down, I can sense him standing there, waiting to be included in the hug.
Sinead pulls away from me and scoops him up into her arms. Immediately, he settles into her embrace, as if she has never been away. She looks up at me. ‘Nate, I’m so sorry – about
everything.’
‘Darling, it’s okay.’ Something seems to have caught in my throat.
‘I think I made a mistake,’ she adds.
My heart seems to stop. Does that mean she wants to come home?
‘Look, I know I’ve been a bit rubbish,’ I say quickly, ‘and you were right, to bring up all that stuff – about how crap I’ve been, how unsupportive—’
‘Hey,’ she says gently, setting Scout back down on the floor, then winding her arms around me. ‘Please, none of it matters now. I just need to be here with you and Flynn and Scout. Is it okay if I come back home?’
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tanzie
She didn’t do it. I know my daughter, and she’s far from perfect – but she’d never even think of doing such a terrible thing. Spraying anything on a wall, I mean, let alone something as vile as that. Kayla doesn’t like to stand out or be noticed. She’s a quiet girl, and works hard enough to scrape through her exams. Her dad knows that too – not that she sees him that much.
It annoyed me, as Kayla and I sat in Mrs Wrightson’s miserable little office, that Neil wasn’t there to support her. Silly, I know, as I hadn’t even texted him about it. I knew there was no point. I mean, what could he do, down in London? Anyway, he’s fully occupied with his new family now, his two little boys. I’d stand up for her, though, I decided as soon as I got that call. Stef was good about letting me dash off like that. It just felt wrong – the spray can poking out of Kayla’s schoolbag, in full view of everyone in the changing room. If she was guilty, she’d have done a better job of hiding it. Even Mrs Wrightson couldn’t argue with that.
‘Well, I’m sorry,’ she said, looking at me levelly across her cluttered desk, ‘but we still have to follow procedure. It’s a serious incident—’
‘I know it is, but Kayla’s saying it wasn’t her,’ I shot back, willing my voice to stay strong and not wobble.
Mrs Wrightson nodded. She was wearing a grey dress and particularly unattractive earrings shaped like bow ties. ‘Kayla?’ She looked at my daughter, who was sitting all hunched beside me. ‘Are you sure you don’t know anything about that can of paint?’