'Watch it, pal,' I say in a dark tone as he almost backs right into me.
Terry looks around. 'Sorry mate!'
'I'm not your mate, Terry. I suggest you go away now - quickly.'
The old hippy doesn't need telling twice. He hurries off down the driveway and out into the street, turning back for a final time to give Laura a wave. 'I'll see you tomorrow!' he calls to her, before he flips the hood of his old coat up again, and wanders back towards the main road.
I carefully approach my wife where she stands watching him go. She catches sight of my expression. 'Don't say it, tomato boy.'
'Don't say what?'
'What I know you're thinking.'
I sigh. 'I don't think this is a good idea, baby. But he's your father. I'll go with whatever you say.'
Her eyes turn flinty again. 'He's not my father Jamie... at least not yet.'
Terry does indeed turn up the next day, bright and early. Discretion being the better part of valour, I decide to take Poppy down to the park for a few hours so Laura can bash things out with her father in private. Besides, I'm not that keen on Poppy hanging around the old codger, and getting her away from him suits me just fine.
By the time we get back home, Terry is thankfully gone, and I find Laura standing in the kitchen with a coffee in her hand looking deeply contemplative.
'How did it go?' I ask cautiously.
'I'm not sure. He certainly says all the right things. I don't think I've ever spent so long in the company of someone who felt the need to apologise to me over and over.'
'Blimey, and this is coming from a woman married to me,' I respond, trying to add a little levity to the situation.
'Quite,' she says with a half smile. 'I'm going to see him again,' she adds.
'Okay,' I reply, keeping things nice and neutral.
One eyebrow arches. 'I thought you'd be mad.'
'Oh, I'm mad, Laura. Just not at you. If you want to give him a chance, then I'm not going to stop you. Just understand that I'm not going to embrace the old sod as my father-in-law any time soon either.'
'Fair enough.'
So begins an extremely tentative campaign of father/daughter reconciliation.
Over the next few weeks Laura starts to see Terry more and more. They go for coffee together in town, she visits him in the flat he's renting a few miles away. He continues to apologise profusely for all the wrongs he's done her, she continues to listen and evaluate how honest he's being. I continue to not trust him as far as I can throw him - which of course starts to cause tension between Laura and I.
This tension only grows when, after a month, things between them have thawed to the point that she asks me if she can bring him along to my 40th birthday party on Friday.
Which, my friendly, happy reader, brings me to the second reason for why the Newman household has been so fraught recently.
I am turning 40.
Let me just repeat that in bold capital letters for added effect: I AM TURNING FORTY.
How the fuck have I allowed this to happen?
How the hell can it have come to pass that Jamie Newman has reached the fourth decade of his life on this little blue planet?
It's inconceivable.
What's made the whole thing ten times worse is that I didn't realise it was happening until about four weeks ago.
Oh, of course I knew intellectually that I was going to turn forty very soon, I'm not that forgetful. But on an emotional, visceral level, I'd managed to block the horror of the whole thing out, right up until the point my mother tells me she's arranged for a fortieth birthday party at her house one afternoon over coffee.
'What?' I splutter at her, looking up from my task of intently picking off a small bit of peeling skin from my arm. The sunburn had gone down nicely by this point, but I did resemble a snake in the middle of an annual shed, unfortunately.
'A birthday party, Jamie. It's your fortieth. You can't let that go by without a party.'
'My fortieth,' I repeat in a stunned voice. 'I'm going to be forty.'
'Yes son, you are. And I thought it might be nice if I arranged things for you, instead of Laura. The poor girl sounds like she's got her hands full with her father returning out of the blue like that, so I'm sure she'd appreciate it.'
'Yes. Yes, she probably would,' I say in a light, sing song voice. For some reason the world has gone a bit grey around the edges.
'Are you alright?' Mum asks.
'Oh, oh, I'm fine mother. Absolutely fine.'
She rolls her eyes. 'You're turning forty Jamie, not dying.'
'Yes, yes. Turning forty. Not dying.' I sit there slack jawed for a moment. 'It's just a little... a little bit of a shock, that's all.'
'A shock? It's not like it's a surprising turn of events, Jamie.'
'No. I'll concede that. But, there's been a lot going on. What with the books, and Terry, and sunburn, and... ' I can't actually think of another 'and' off the top of my head, but surely those three things are enough to distract anyone from their slide into old age, aren't they?
'Well, it's coming. And we should celebrate it properly.'
'Okay. Can we all wear black and play the funeral march?' I ask, only half joking.
Mum snorts and slaps me gently on one arm. 'Oh, you think turning forty is bad, do you? You wait until you get to my age!'
I wisely choose not to respond to that.
'It'll be fun, Jamie,' she continues. 'We'll make sure your brother and sister are here. You can invite some of your friends too, if you like.'
'Just family is fine!' I hurriedly respond. Mum might want to make an event of this, but I'd rather keep it as low key as possible, with the minimum number of people present. Frankly, the ideal number of people present would be zero, but I know better than to argue with my mother when she's planning something, so I just smile and nod as she starts to list what wonderful methods we can employ to mark my descent into frail dotage.
I'm happy with her suggestion of a nice meal and a bit of cake, but draw the line at the outdoor bunting and over-sized gazebo.
Mum inevitably looks upset. If there's one thing she loves to do, it's organise a party. 'Okay Jamie. Whatever you want,' she says, in something of a huff.
When I return home and tell Laura that Mum has volunteered to organise the party, I expect fireworks. Laura has never been keen on my mother stepping into roles that she thinks are fixed firmly in her domain as my wife. It's a testament to how preoccupied Laura is with her father's return that she doesn't put up any kind of protest whatsoever. 'That's very nice of her, baby. I'll look forward to it.'
'So, you're fine with this, are you?' I ask warily.
'Yep. Why wouldn't I be?'
'Oh. Okay.' I have to confess I am both surprised, and I'll admit, a little hurt.
I know Terry's reappearance has been a huge deal for my wife, but I can't pretend that it doesn’t sting when Laura displays a complete lack of interest in my birthday celebrations. I just have to hope things settle down in the not too distant future and I can go back to being the centre of Laura’s attention, as is my right as a complete and utter selfish bastard.
There's tension to be had in spades as we get closer to the day of my birth, and the day of the party.
As the days, hours and minutes go by, I get increasingly waspish and irritated with just about everyone. I snap at Laura, I'm dismissive of Poppy, I have at least two arguments on the phone with our agent Craig, and complete strangers in cars are treated to my middle finger being thrust at them every time they so much as dare to drive in a way I do not find one hundred percent acceptable.
'Jamie,' Laura says to me on the couch two days before the main event, 'just tell me this. After your birthday has passed, is there any chance you're going to stop acting like a complete arsehole? Only, if you think this personality swing is more permanent I'm going to have to consult our solicitors, and get papers drawn up that you really aren't going to want to sign.'
I sigh. 'I'm sorry sweethe
art. I'm sure I'll be fine afterwards. I'm just not having a particularly good time dealing with this. I just see this horrible thing coming towards me that I can't avoid.'
'You're turning forty. You haven't been diagnosed with a terminal disease.'
I shake my head ruefully. 'My mother told me much the same thing.'
'Well, you should listen to us both and stop being such a mope. Look forward to the party.'
I look horrified. 'You do remember that my mother is organising it, don't you?'
'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means that Mum is not one for the small, subtle gestures Laura. I dread to think what she's got in store for me.'
And before I know it, the terrible, terrible day dawns.
Disappointingly, it turns out to be warm and sunny. I was rather hoping for a hurricane, or the type of electrical storm that causes wild animals to leave the area six hours beforehand; either would have felt more appropriate. Having to wade your way through such a horrendous occasion should not be accompanied by twenty three degree warmth, with the sound of happy birdsong in the background.
It's 11.30am before I manage to get off the couch. As I rise, I make a grunting sound that I swear I didn't make this time yesterday - when I was still thirty nine and young.
Laura suggests a walk for the three of us in the nearby forest, which I half heartedly agree to. It's very hard to spend your time sighing and feeling sorry for yourself when you're walking through sun dappled woods under a bright blue sky.
Poppy seems extremely keen on the idea though. Mind you, she's a seven-year-old girl, so the chance to go outside and play is always met with huge enthusiasm, even if it took place during the aforementioned hurricane.
Twenty minutes into the walk and I'm feeling a little better - and a little more philosophical - about the aging process.
'It's not so bad, I suppose,' I tell Laura, as we both watch Poppy picking up pine cones.
'What isn't?'
'Turning forty.'
'Why the change of heart?'
'Well, it's better than the alternative, isn't it?'
'Which is?'
'Not turning forty.'
'Eh?'
'It's either keep getting older, or go six feet under. There are no other choices available.'
'I see.'
'In a way, every birthday should be greeted with a degree of relief. It means you've managed to avoid getting yourself killed for another year.'
'Which for you is something of a miracle, of course.'
'Very funny.'
We continue to walk in silence for a few metres, gazing on in parental satisfaction as our only child cartwheels her way along the path, giggling every time she does one full rotation.
'Jamie?' Laura says.
'Yes, sweet?'
'Do you mind if my father comes to your birthday party?'
I stop dead in my tracks. 'What? You want him to come?'
'Yes... well, at least I think so. We're getting along far better than I ever thought we would. And your whole family will be there, and I just thought... I just wanted... '
'To have your own family there too, for a change?' I finish for her in a soft voice.
Damn it. I was all ready to be angry at her for suggesting that Terry the grey hippy attends what should be a family occasion, but the catch in her voice and the look of sadness in her eyes are just too much for me.
Laura grabs my hand. 'Please don't misunderstand, Jamie. You and Poppy are my family, and you're both all I'll ever need, but I haven't had a parent by my side for most of my life. And even though I'm still not convinced my father isn't a complete idiot, I do want to keep trying. He's the only dad I've got.'
I lean forward and give my wife a gentle kiss. 'Of course he can come, baby.'
I'm not happy about it. You're not happy about it. But what else am I supposed to do?
Sometimes you just have to bite the bullet and put somebody else's feelings first.
'Evening Terry,' I say as cheerfully as I can when the old man gets into the back seat of the car.
'Hi Jamie!' he replies, and passes me a rather battered looking envelope. 'Happy birthday!'
'Thanks.'
'Hello Terrygrandad,' Poppy exclaims from her booster seat beside him. This is the name she's settled on for her grandfather. You get the feeling that she's as unsure about the man's intentions as I am, and wants to keep her options open on the naming front.
'Hello Poppy!' Terry replies. 'Doesn't your mum look beautiful this evening?'
For once I can agree with the old hippy. Laura does indeed look stunning in her new blue evening dress. I also got a glimpse of the lingerie set she's wearing underneath it earlier - which my forty-year-old penis was delighted about, let me tell you.
'Thank you Dad,' Laura responds. 'You look nice too.'
If you can call a faded black and red tie dyed shirt, and twenty year old chinos nice, I suppose.
I immediately feel disgusted with myself. I sound like a bitchy drag queen. The sooner we get this evening over and done with, the sooner I can return to being the happy go lucky, carefree Jamie Newman that everyone knows and loves.
Hmmm.
It is with a mounting sense of terror that I park in Mum and Dad's driveway. While I can see no gigantic gazebo peeking out from the back garden, or hoards of unlikely well wishers crowded around the front windows, I can't quite shake the feeling that my mother has got something planned that I don't know about.
The feeling goes away a little as we enter the house to be greeted by members of my extended family - and nobody else. Okay, I could have done without Uncle Fred and Auntie Kathy being invited, given that I haven't seen hide nor hair of them for seven years, and pulling my poor old 92 year old grandmother Enid out of her nursing home for the night is cruel and unusual punishment for one so frail - especially given that it's bridge night. Apart from that though, Mum has stuck to her word. She's managed to resist the urge to invite everyone I've ever met, and pack the house to the rafters. This party might not actually be as bad as I was fearing.
In fact, once we've got all the birthday kisses and present fondling out of the way, I'm feeling decidedly good about myself. The large Jack Daniels and Coke I have gripped in one hand is no doubt helping matters. I'm not even mad that Terry appears to be going down a storm with my family. The old sod may be the worst father in the world, but he's a charming bugger, and no mistake. Fred and Kathy seem delighted by every word he says, and even my cynical and world weary sister Sarah seems to approve of him.
'He's very funny,' she tells me as she sips her Bacardi. 'You should ask him about living in Goa. It sounds like he had a wonderful time.'
'The wonderful time he was having when he should have been a father to Laura, you mean?'
Sarah lays her hand on my shoulder. 'You're having a hard time with this, aren't you?'
'Do you blame me?'
'No. But Laura seems happy.'
I sigh. 'Yes. She does, doesn't she? I guess if she can get over it, I can as well.'
Sarah blinks a few times in surprise. 'Bloody hell! You actually sounded like a mature adult for a second there, bruv. You want to be careful!'
'Piss off.'
'Attention everyone!' I hear my mother's voice call from across the broad expanse of the country kitchen. 'It's time for the cake!'
On cue, my father appears from the walk-in pantry, carrying what looks like a giant copy of Love From Both Sides on a silver platter. As he draws closer though, I can see that the book is actually a cake. The cartoon versions of Laura and I have been replaced by real pictures of us both, and the title has been changed to read 'Happy Birthday Jamie'. In every other respect though, it looks identical to the book that has changed our lives so much in the past couple of years.
I actually feel a little choked up. The time, effort and thought my mother must have put into getting this made is unbelievable.
'Wow,' is all I manage to say.
'Happy
birthday, my son,' Dad says to me as he puts down the cake.
My mother joins him, and places a single candle in the middle of the intricate icing. She lights it and stands back. 'Time to sing everyone!' she says. 'One, two, three... happy birthday to you,'
And so everyone joins in with the time honoured - and very expensive to use in a book, if you include more than one line of the lyrics - theme of a million birthdays throughout history.
It's all jolly nice. Even my sainted old grandmother Enid is singing along, though there's every possibility she thinks she's singing happy birthday to Winston Churchill.
There's even a spontaneous round of applause at the end. It's all enough to give me a warm fuzzy, forty year old glow. Though that may also be the Jack Daniels.
'Blow the candle out!' Sarah demands with a laugh. I duly oblige, which grants me another round of applause. Birthdays are very strange things. In no other circumstance in normal human social interaction would a group of people clap the simple task of puffing out a candle. It's rather like everyone giving you a cheer every time you sneeze into a hankie, or walk through an open doorway without tripping up and falling on your arse.
'Thank you, Mum,' I say, like the indulged child that I am. 'Thank you everyone. You've made the horror of turning forty just that bit more beara - '
DING DONG!
Mum and Dad's comically loud doorbell interrupts my impromptu birthday speech.
'Aha!' Mum cries in excitement. 'That'll be my special treat for you, Jamie!'
Special treat?
Special treat?
But I already have a cake in the shape of my book, and am already surrounded by my loving family (and Terry). What on Earth else could I want right now?
'Come on everyone, out into the hallway! Chris!' My mother points a finger at my older brother. 'You wheel Enid out!'
Chris rolls his eyes, but accepts his job as designated Enid carer, and grabs the handles of her wheelchair.
Nervously, I shuffle out into the broad expanse of Mum and Dad's entrance hall, along with everyone else. Mum is already at the front door, and is swinging it open to reveal four men dressed in waiter’s outfits. They each have a fake twirly moustache, slicked black hair, and neat black waistcoats over their pristine white shirts. They also all wear large, floppy bowties and have the shiniest shoes I've ever seen.
Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) Page 10