by Calvin Wade
Joey waved his empty pint glass at me, to indicate that I had to drink up and go and buy the next round.
“OK, I’ll go in a minute,” I acknowledged before Joey contentedly returned to the main conversation.
“Simon, you’re only fooling yourself, mate, no-on else. The only reason that you and Nicky talk so much is because you’ve both lost people close to you. Death is your common denominator.”
I finished my brown bitter. I stood up to go to the bar before arguing back,
“We were friends before that. Before it became our common denominator, anyway.”
“Only because you knew me, Simon. Do you think Nicky is a good looking girl?”
“She’s stunning.”
There was no debate about this. Everyone thought this, me, Joey, Jason McLaren, everyone.
“And do you think you’re good looking?”
This too was a question that did not require a great deal of thought.
“No.”
“I tell you what, Simon, you stick to chasing after Nicky and I’ll stick to chasing anything half-decent in a skirt and let’s see which one of us ends up with a smile like a Cheshire cat and which one of us only ever smells fish when he’s smoking kippers.”
I didn’t say another word to Joey before heading over to the bar to be served by the rosy cheeked, overweight landlord. I hated Joey for saying that. He was brash, cocky, sexist, disrespectful but ultimately I hated him because I understood that more than likely he was probably right.
ARTHUR MOYES –April 1992
I could hear Nicky sobbing in her bedroom, really sobbing. I had been watching Rumpole of the Bailey and had just nipped upstairs to get my slippers from the bedroom. At first, I thought the strange, high pitched noise was a cat that had managed to get in via the front door and sneak up the stairs. Cats are a bloody pest and I was ready to shoo it out. I wasn’t used to hearing our Nicky crying. She has not had the easiest of childhoods and has developed a steely resolve, so tends to soldier on regardless. She is not one for unnecessary dramatics, that’s for sure. Anyway, I was all set to deal with the cat. My hand was on Nicky’s door handle, when I heard sniffles accompanying the high pitched noise. I stopped dead in my tracks. I am aware that some people see me as a cold, offhand man, but not Nicky, she understands me better than anyone. Nevertheless, my head was filled with uncertainty. Should I go in and see what this commotion was all about or should I give my daughter some space? I decided to head back down and put the kettle on whilst I thought it through.
By 1992, I had been a single parent for nine years and I can honestly say that at no point prior to Angela being diagnosed with and subsequently dying from cancer, did I ever envisage myself as a single parent. I had always expected Angela to outlive me. Once I became one though, I had to learn fast. There were the practicalities of raising a daughter that I had previously left to Angela to sort out, such as doing Nicky’s hair, buying her clothes and decorating her bedroom. I wasn’t a natural. I took advice from family friends, especially Gill Neill, but also listened to the wishes of my daughter. I asked Nicky how she wanted her hair, her clothes and her bedroom, then would check with Gill whether such things were appropriate for a child of her age. If everything had just been left to me, I knew full well that she would be teased relentlessly for looking like an odd ball. Over time though, I became better at it and turned to Gill for advice less and less.
As Nicky grew older, and became a teenager, I anticipated trouble and defiance, but other than growing older and her body adapting to womanhood, nothing changed, her personality remained as warm as ever. I had dreaded talking to Nicky about women’s things, I am sure that sort of thing would have been difficult for any man with a daughter, but especially a man as old fashioned as I was. I was never even aware of Angela’s women’s troubles unless I placed a suggestive hand on her thigh and was warned off by a simple, ‘Not now, love, maybe in a couple of days. It’s my time’.
When Nicky was eleven, I asked Gill Neill to discuss the ‘birds & the bees’ with her. I did not feel I would deal with the matter adequately or respond to any questions Nicky may have in the correct manner. Gill had always been close to Nicky and I knew there was a mutual trust. Following that conversation between them, Nicky and I did not discuss ‘women’s things’ at all, she sorted out all that business herself, I would just give her fifteen pounds on the first day of every month for ‘toiletries’, what this involved, I did not know, nor did I care to ask.
Despite shirking sensitive issues in the past, my love for my daughter has always been at the forefront of my decision making process and to hear her crying like that was not a scenario I could avoid confronting. Whilst downstairs, I decided this time I must investigate the issue full on, so made a pot of tea, placed it on a tray along with two china cups and carried them up.
“Nicky, can you open the door, please? There’s a cup of tea here for you.”
The door opened without a word and Nicky immediately turned her back on me, wiping her face and sniffing once more, before sitting on the bed and looking up at me through tear filled eyes. Her face looked red and blotchy, a consequence, I concluded, of a prolonged bout of tears.
“Nicky, what on earth is the matter?”
Nicky was sixteen now and even through the tears and reddened nose, it was strikingly clear that she had inherited her mother’s beauty. Every time I looked at her, I was reminded of Angela. Angela would have been so proud of how she looked and the person she had become. So, so proud. Without Nicky, I don’t think I would ever have coped with my loss. She began to speak but the words didn’t come out right, she cleared her throat.
“Dad, I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot. I’ve done something that. I’m ashamed of. I know I’ve let you down. I feel like I’ve let everyone down. You, Mum, myself, everyone. God, Dad, it’s a right mess. I’ve been so stupid!”
Inspector Clouseau could probably have pieced this mystery together. I am, probably due to the experiences I had previously endured, a glass is half empty type of man. I fear the worst. So when your sixteen year old daughter is in floods of tears, telling you that she has been so stupid, there is only one conclusion that you can jump to. Even at that point, I could have begun to rant and if it was anyone else but Nicky, I probably would have done, but Nicky is the exception to every rule I have ever made.
“Look Nicky, just gather yourself together.”
“I wish gathering myself together would make everything alright, Dad, but it won’t.”
“I know that. Listen, you and I have been through difficult times before and we got through them. Now, I don’t know yet what stupid thing you’ve done, but whatever it is, together, we’ll get through it. Have you killed anybody?”
“No, Dad, of course I haven’t!”
“Are you ill?”
“Sort of, but not really.”
“Nicky, are you dying?”
“No!”
“So you aren’t going to prison for life and you aren’t heading to heaven just yet, whatever else it is, believe me, we can deal with it.”
Nicky just looked at me with her big, puppy dog eyes, then reached out her arms to hug me. I swept her up into my body and she began to sob heartily again.
“Dad, I’m pregnant.”
“I know you are love. I know.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. That baby inside you is our family, Nicky. It doesn’t want us to be sad that it’s joining us. When your mother told me that she was expecting you, I was the happiest man alive. OK, ideally this would all be happening in ten years time, but life doesn’t always work out perfectly. Your mother and I could never have any more children after you, turns out her body wasn’t healthy enough. What happened to your lovely Mum was a tragedy, Nicky, this is just a challenge.”
Nicky came out of the hug, took a step back and looked at me once more.
“What if I’m not ready for a baby, Dad?”
“I wasn’t ready to d
eal with a seven year old daughter on my own, Nicky, but we adapt.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean, what if I get rid of it? Would you hate me if I got rid of it?”
I could see her eyes welling up once more.
“Nicky, whatever you decide to do about this baby inside you, I will always love you unconditionally. We have probably not discussed my feelings on abortion, but in my opinion, it is a last resort, it should only happen in the most extreme of circumstances. If you think about everything long and hard and ultimately you decide the best thing for all concerned is an abortion, then that is your choice. It will not stop me loving you, Nicky.”
“But part of you will hate me for doing it. For killing your grandchild.”
“Shh, shh, shh, don’t be making decisions based on what people will think of you. Think everything through, think about the implications and then make a decision....
Does the father know, Nicky?”
“Not yet.”
“I’m presuming the father is the young man who’s called around here a few times recently, the boy with the muddy knees. Jon?”
“Jason. His name’s Jason, Dad.”
“That’s right, Jason.”
I hadn’t even attempted to remember his name. I thought he’d just be a two minute wonder. Probably was just a two minute wonder, that’s probably why Nicky was pregnant.
“I’m going to tell him soon, Dad. Jason’s ambitious, I’m not sure he’s going to react very well.”
“Nicky, you’re ambitious. Having a baby shouldn’t thwart ambition.”
“He’s very sporty. He wants to go to Loughborough University. How would he be able to do that if I had this baby?”
I felt like saying, ‘well, he should have thought about all that during your tomfoolery,’ but I just squeezed her hand and said,
“Don’t second guess him, Nicky. Speak to him and then take it one step at a time.”
Nicky hugged me again.
“God, Dad, I love you so much! I was so scared about how you’d react. Thank you, Dad! Thank you!”
I kissed her forehead.
“I will always be here for you and my grandchild, Nicky, always. Now let me pour us a cup of tea whilst you dry those tears.”
I smiled half-heartedly at her and after pouring the two cups of tea. I took one and left Nicky with the other. There would have been no point insisting that she have the baby, I thought it wiser to be more subtle in my approach. Having said my piece I needed to leave her alone. Not that the news of Nicky’s pregnancy was something I was delighted about, anything but. I felt like going back to my own room, falling on to my bed and crying myself. The blame for this lay squarely with me. How could I blame a sixteen year old girl, who I had given no sexual guidance to, for falling pregnant? It felt as though Angela was looking down from heaven and shaking her head. I had neglected my duties as Nicky’s only parent. I had no idea what Gill Neill had discussed with Nicky when she had spoken to her about sexual relations, I should have checked. I should have stated exactly what I thought she needed to know. Instead, I buried my head in the sand and completely left her to it. Without a doubt, this was my fault. Well, mine and that Jason’s anyway.
‘Wait until I see him,’ I thought, ‘I’ll kick his backside all the way to Loughborough myself.’
ARTHUR MOYES – April 1992
I’d heard rumours about Jason’s parents from Nicky. Unpleasant rumours. Admittedly, I didn’t take much notice. When I was a teenager, if my actions had resulted in a sixteen year old girl becoming pregnant, I am sure my mother would have called that sixteen year old girl more than a few unpleasant names. I imagined with an unplanned pregnancy, that it was natural for a ‘blame game’ to be played out, I understood that. I blamed Jason McLaren for taking advantage of my daughter, Mr.& Mrs.McLaren no doubt blamed Nicky for enticing him. We protect our own, that’s human nature and when we fail to protect our own, we look for a scapegoat. Irrespective of where the blame should be distributed, I thought we all needed to act like adults, so I suggested to Nicky that we should invite Jason and his parents around to discuss how things should move forward. Nicky wasn’t enamoured by this idea, but when prompted could not come up with an alternative solution herself, so eventually reluctantly agreed.
So, at five thirty, one Saturday afternoon, Jason and his parents, Derrick and Margery were sat on my settee in the lounge, looking pained and uncomfortable, whilst Nicky and I sat on the two chairs, trying at the very least to be amiable hosts. The McLaren’s visit had been arranged for late in the afternoon, so Derrick could pay his fortnightly visit to the inappropriately named Victory Park, home of Chorley Football Club. They had lost again which may have contributed to his unfriendly mood. I hoped tea and biscuits may brighten his spirits a little. A teapot and five china cups and saucers were on the coffee table in front of them, with a selection of Club biscuits on a large china plate. I asked Nicky to do the honours and once everyone had a biscuit and a drink and the initial pleasantries were out the way, it was time to deal with the matter in utero.
“Right then, you obviously all know why I invited you around this afternoon, I wanted to discuss....”
“...the unfortunate mess our children have made,” Mrs.McLaren interjected abruptly.
I had no intention of referring to the matter as an ‘unfortunate mess’. I was about to refer to it as ‘my daughter’s pregnancy’. I hadn’t taken to Mrs.McLaren’s appearance, she wore rather too much make-up and jewellery, and in my mind, no part of a lady’s breasts should be on display to all eyes, irrespective of how ample those breasts may be. This is particularly true when a lady is beyond a certain age, which Mrs.McLaren certainly was. I wish her son had made a mess, but unfortunately the boy had been rather accurate.
“Mrs.McLaren...”
“Please, call me Margery.”
“Mrs.McLaren,” I continued, ignoring the request to address her in an informal manner, “I agree our children have created a situation that has put us all in an unfortunate position, but what they have also done is create a child, now what...”
“Not yet, they haven’t,” Mr.McLaren pointed out, his enormous beer gut made me think back a few years to the Saturday afternoon wrestling on ‘World of Sport’.
“I beg your pardon.”
“They haven’t created a child as yet, Arthur. At this stage all they’ve created is a cluster of cells.”
“A baby, Mr.McLaren, they have created a baby.”
“Arthur,” Mrs.McLaren joined in, “at this stage, I have to agree with my husband. It is not a child or a baby or anything right now. The thing inside your daughter is just a tiny, tiny collection of cells, smaller than a pea. Now, don’t get me wrong, if we don’t act quickly this thing will become a baby, we know that, don’t we Derrick, but that’s why we are here, isn’t it, to act quickly.”
It was at this very point, with Mrs.McLaren referring to my grandchild as a ‘thing’, that I came to the conclusion that Nicky’s unpleasant rumours were not rumours at all, they were facts. Mr.&Mrs.McLaren, to put it mildly, were not nice people. Not nice at all. I was very tempted to sarcastically congratulate them on their understanding of biology, but I bit my lip.
“The reason I invited you both here, along with your son, Mrs.McLaren, was to discuss what is best for Nicky and her baby.”
“And we’re guessing, Arthur, given it takes two to tango, that you are looking for us to stump up half the money for the abortion,” Mr.McLaren didn’t even have the decency to swallow his mouthful of Club Fruit before saying this. I think he may even have inadvertently spat out a raisin. Nicky re-adjusted her bottom on her chair, both his eating habits and his views on her pregnancy were obviously making her feel uncomfortable.
“Who mentioned an abortion?” I queried.
“I wasn’t being funny, Arthur,” Mr.McLaren went on, “we’re happy to pay half. We understand it’s as much Jason’s fault as it is Nicky’s.”
“I wouldn’t say that,”
Mrs.McLaren argued, “we didn’t say it was as much Jason’s fault, did we Derrick? When we discussed it, what we said was that Jason was partly to blame. Not equally to blame. Partly to blame. Nevertheless, Derrick is right, we are more than happy to give you half.”
Nicky, who until this point had hardly said a word, was not prepared to accept the lion’s share of Mr & Mrs.McLaren’s blame.
“What do you mean, Margery?”
“Nicky, love, I was once a girl of your age. I was an attractive girl, like you. Now us girls know what boys are like, don’t we? They are only after one thing. It’s in their design to want to screw whatever they can get their hands on, but it’s up to us girls to be smart, isn’t it? It’s up to us girls not to let them have their way or, if we do, to be clever about when in the month we let things happen. I was always very good at that.”
Nicky was too polite to be argumentative or rude to Mrs.McLaren.
“I thought it was a safe time. My periods are irregular.”
Mrs.McLaren smiled smugly.
“Well, you see that illustrates my point perfectly, doesn’t it? You knew your periods were irregular. Did Jason know? Of course he didn’t, he’s a boy. So, knowing your periods were irregular, a sensible girl would have made sure she was on the pill or made sure her boyfriend was wearing protection. This is why, Nicky, that it is partly Jason’s fault, but not equally his fault.”
Mrs.McLaren was almost Thatcherite in her delivery.
“Margery, Jason was wearing a condom.” Nicky stated firmly.
“He was?”
“Yes, it came off.”
Mrs.McLaren immediately became flustered. She began playing with her pearl necklace.
“Well, you should have made him stop!”
“He didn’t tell me it had come off until after he had finished. I was worried, we both were, but I did think we would be OK because of the timing. Obviously, I was wrong. I don’t just jump into bed with people you know, Margery. I love Jason. Love him very much.”
With Mrs.McLaren a little lost for words after hearing about her son’s condom fiasco, Mr.McLaren took up the baton. Thankfully, he had now eaten his Club Fruit, as well as a couple of Club Oranges.