by Luke Allnutt
“Anything else?” I said.
“No, no,” she said, “that will be all, although you could do my back before you go?”
Anna sat forward and handed me the cream, and it was nice to touch her again, to feel the soft purchase of her skin.
“So nice,” she said, sighing a little too hard, as if we were alone after Jack had gone to bed.
“It is nice.”
“But you should stop, otherwise I might do something inappropriate.”
“Okay,” I said, laughing and rubbing in the last bit of sun cream.
“Right, matey,” I said to Jack. “Shall we get some ice cream?”
“Again?” Jack asked. “Is it the weekend?”
“We’re on holiday, Jack. We can have ice cream every day.”
We walked along the beach to the bar, Jack running ahead with a stick he had found. His camera strap was slung over his shoulder, and it reminded me of how Anna used to carry her viola case around campus.
As the beach curved into another bay, we stood on a little outcrop and looked out to sea.
“It’s beautiful here, Daddy.”
“It is, isn’t it? Look, can you see the little fish jumping in the water?”
I pointed to the ripples and bubbles on the surface. “Fishies, fishies,” Jack said, hopping up and down. “Why are they jumping, Daddy? Are they playing?”
I tried to think of an answer but didn’t really know why. “I think so, or maybe they’re looking for food.”
Jack began to take his camera out of the case.
“You going to take some pictures?”
Jack nodded, carefully holding his camera with two hands as we had shown him. He then pointed it toward the fish and started snapping away.
I watched him, crouching down, getting as close to the water as he could. The weather was perfect, the sun beating down, not a cloud in the sky. In the distance, there were yachts out on the open sea, their masts twinkling in the sunlight.
“Daddy, Daddy, look,” Jack shouted excitedly. He was holding out his camera. I looked at the little screen, and there was a close-up of a fish jumping out of the water, its silver skin shining, its mouth agape.
“Wow, Jack, that’s amazing. That could win a competition or something. You’ll have to show Mommy.”
Jack beamed. “I’m going to show my teacher when we go back to England.”
The bar was a little round shack, Hawaiian-style with palms and wicker, reggae blaring out from a little speaker. I lifted Jack up onto one of the bar stools and sat next to him.
“Hello,” the bartender said, in what sounded like a Jamaican accent. “Let me guess. Two beers, one fizzy orange and nothing else.” He winked at me and then bent down into the freezer. “And definitely no ice cream or anything for this little boy.”
Jack giggled, as he did every day with the ice-cream man. The bartender took out a cone and scooped out some vanilla and chocolate and then held it behind his back.
“Definitely no ice cream for this young man...” he said again, shaking his head from side to side, and then suddenly he produced the ice cream, now covered with sprinkles and a Flake, and Jack squealed, and we still had no idea how he did it.
We sat for a while at the bar, the sun on our bare backs, nothing more important in our little world than the beach and the sea. I watched Jack as he ate his ice cream, methodically, just like Anna would, evaluating where the drips and flows were the most precarious.
“Can we go and see the fishies, Daddy?” Jack said, as we were walking back to Anna.
“Of course. We’ll just take this beer back to Mommy and then we’ll go, okay?”
I could see Anna was watching us from behind her sunglasses, waiting for us to emerge on the grass that backed onto the beach.
“I thought you’d got lost,” she said.
“Ice-cream emergency,” I said.
“And Daddy drank a beer. That’s his second one.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
“You’re welcome, Daddy,” Jack said in a singsong voice, and I dug him gently in the ribs.
“Sorry we took so long,” I said, handing Anna her beer.
“It’s okay. I was happy with my book to be honest.”
She closed her book and put it down on her towel. Anna had always been a reader. On those long, empty African days, when her parents were busy with the church and her school friends lived a few villages away, she sat on the veranda and read. She devoured Gerald Durrell and Willard Price. She could recite passages by heart from James Herriot novels because she had read them so many times. After she had worked her way through her parents’ collection, she found a library in a nearby township and began to read through the centuries: Jane Austen, Daphne du Maurier, Virginia Woolf.
We finished our beers and then walked along the shoreline, past the big hotels and discotheques, until we came to the public beach, a wide expanse of unsullied sand. There were just a few local families, sitting up closer to the road and grilling lamb on a little barbecue.
The three of us waded into the rock pools, where Jack liked to see the fish.
“Be quiet, Daddy,” he said, standing very still. “Look, there’s the fish.” Jack had his bucket and was trying to catch the little minnows, but they moved too fast, their reactions too quick, changing direction before even a fingertip touched the surface of the water.
“There they are,” Jack shouted, pointing and kicking up clouds of sand. So we tried and tried, first targeting the lone ones that had become separated from the pack. Then we tried the schools, dipping the bucket like a dragnet, but they always evaded us, and we waded back to the beach empty-handed.
“They’re too fast swimming,” Jack said, shaking his head. “They’re turbo fish.”
“Right, I’m going to show you how it’s done,” Anna said suddenly, adjusting her bikini and taking off her sunglasses.
“Mommy! You’re going in the water?” Anna wasn’t much of a swimmer. She always said she preferred dry land.
“Yes, and I’m going to catch all the fish.”
“Noooo, you won’t,” Jack said.
“Just watch me,” she said, picking up the bucket.
Anna waded slowly into the water, a look of concentration on her face, as if she were a hunter spearing fish. She pounced and Jack squealed, but the fish were too fast and she just scooped up a bucketful of sand.
She wasn’t to be deterred and assumed her pose once again, staring down into the rock pool, waiting for her moment. Just as she was about to strike, she lost her footing on a rock and went under, kicking up mushroom clouds of sand.
We couldn’t stop laughing. “What are you doing, Mommy?” Jack shrieked, as she tried and failed to get up out of the water. Finally, she managed and wobbled back to us, drenched, wet sand caked over her face.
“It’s not so easy, is it?” she said, wiping the sand away and catching her breath. “I think that’s enough for now.”
The three of us sat sunning ourselves on the edge of the rock pool. Sandwiched between me and Jack, Anna gently stroked our legs with her fingertips. “Look at you both. My beautiful bronzed boys.”
I smiled at Anna, as we watched Jack making spiral patterns with his toes in the sand.
“Although I’m putting sunscreen on both of you, the minute we get back to our towels,” Anna added.
I didn’t know how long we sat there, staring out across the azure sea, the mountains looming in the haze. The only sounds we could hear were the shouts and cries of children playing, the distant whir of Jet Skis. What we had, what we so nearly lost, suddenly crushed me, as if someone was standing on my chest. I took a deep breath and looked at them both, Anna counting out seashells into Jack’s palm. The life we had now was sacred. I could never let myself forget that.
* * *
Anna was readin
g and Jack was napping on the sofa, so I sat outside on the terrace and went through the email on my phone.
Subject: Hello again
Sent: Wed Aug 13, 2014 12:16 pm
From: Nev
To: Rob
Hi, Rob. It’s Nev from Hope’s Place. I messaged you a few weeks ago. Don’t worry, I’m not here to bug you about Dr. Sladkovsky’s clinic. I just wanted to ask how Jack’s operation went. I know what a horrible time that can be and sometimes friends and family don’t get it, so if you ever want to talk... I hope everything went well.
Take care,
Nev
Nev, the crank from Hope’s Place, who was promoting the shady clinic. I was just about to swipe and delete his email, but for some reason I hit Reply. Perhaps I had misjudged him. At least he had made the effort to ask about Jack.
Subject: Re: Hello again
Sent: Wed Aug 13, 2014 2:26 pm
From: Rob
To: Nev
Hi Nev, thanks for the note and for getting in touch. Very kind of you. Actually, some very good news. Jack had his operation about a month ago now and had a complete total resection. The neurosurgeon managed to get it all and no further treatment is needed. He will obviously have to have it monitored but for now the news is good. We’re actually on holiday in Greece at the moment. Thanks again for being in touch and I wish you and your son well.
Sent from my iPhone.
Nev’s reply was almost instant.
Subject: Re: Hello again
Sent: Wed Aug 13, 2014 2:27 pm
From: Rob
To: Nev
Hi Rob,
That’s so great to hear. Big congrats from me, I’m sure it’s a huge relief. Have a great holiday.
Cheers,
Nev
Jack had fallen asleep holding his camera and it looked like it was about to fall to the floor, so I crept into his room, pried it out of his hands and took it outside. I sat down and began to scroll through his photos. His first shots from the holiday were pictures of the seahorse-patterned floor tiles, his little sofa bed, his Spider-Man suitcase. Then the choppy sea, the beach at night, and an abandoned ice cream covered in sand.
It was fascinating to see how Jack saw the world. A picture of a plant, but not the flowers or the stem, but the soil, the cracks on the pot. A garbage can on the heath he thought looked like R2-D2. A picture in a magazine of a cow sitting down.
As I scrolled on, I saw some pictures Jack had taken from our terrace here in Greece. At first I thought they were simply repeats of the same shot, as if the camera was stuck on burst. But then, when I looked closer, I saw that each shot was taken from a slightly different angle.
I clicked through them, and then I saw what Jack was trying to do. Standing on a chair, he had rotated himself like a tripod, methodically going around 360 degrees, capturing the sea, the sky, the mountains rimmed with wisps of cloud. Shot after shot—endless photos of the sky. I smiled, a little awestruck. Jack was making a panorama.
* * *
Jack had woken, and Anna was sitting by his side, stroking his hair.
“Hello, sleepy,” I said.
“Hello,” Jack said drowsily. “Is the holiday finished?”
“No, not at all. We’ve got five more days.”
Jack perked up, wiping the sleep from his eyes.
“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Five days,” he said, counting on his fingers.
“Exactly,” I said, sitting down next to him on the sofa. “I saw your photos, by the way, on your camera. All the ones you took of the sky outside. They’re really good. Do you want to take some more with me? I can show you how to use my big camera.”
Jack nodded solemnly. “I was trying to make a circle, like a circle of photos.” He suddenly looked very sheepish. “And I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Why are you sorry, Jack?”
He bit his lip. “Because I stood on the chair when I was taking the photos, and you and Mommy told me I shouldn’t stand on the chair.”
I ruffled his hair. “That’s okay, you don’t have to be sorry. But next time you do it when we’re there. So do you want to try to do a panorama with the big camera?”
“What’s a panorama?”
“A panorama is what you were doing, taking lots of photos in a circle.”
Jack sat up and smiled. “Can we do it now?”
I went to get my camera and tripod, and we all went up the spiral staircase to the roof terrace. It was siesta time and the sun was relentless, only softened by occasional gasps of breeze.
I extended the tripod and Jack watched me, carefully noting each step, the methodical way his brain worked.
“That’s the tripod, Jack. Now we just need to attach the camera. Can you help me?”
Jack nodded excitedly, and I pulled over the white plastic chair. He climbed up and the chair wobbled a little, and I saw a flicker of concern on Anna’s face. I stood behind him so he couldn’t fall and then showed him how to clip the camera onto the tripod.
I looked through the viewfinder at the bay curving away into the haze, and I could feel Jack’s eyes on me, intently watching what I was doing.
“I’ve only actually tried this once before, but we’ll give it a go,” I said. “Look through here.”
Jack bent down and looked through the viewfinder. “Wow, it’s amazing, Daddy.”
“And press this button here. But be careful, just press it lightly.”
“Like that?” Jack said and I could smell the tang of salt and sunscreen on his skin.
“Exactly. Good boy. Now listen to the camera.”
Jack bent down so he could hear the camera’s little whir. “It’s like an airplane.”
“Right, because it’s doing what we call a burst. So it’s taking lots and lots of photos.”
“Like a million?”
“Well, not quite that many. But hundreds maybe.”
“Wow, that’s a lot.”
The whirring had stopped, so I flicked the dial on the tripod and then set the camera’s frame rate again. “Now, we’re going to turn it a little—will you help me?”
Very gently, Jack helped me move the tripod into place. “It’s going to take more photos, and then we’ll move it around again, and then we’ll have a picture of everything.”
“The whole world?” Jack said.
“The whole world.”
Anna put her arm around my waist. “He’s doing really well, isn’t he?” she said. We watched as Jack methodically turned the camera and then looked through the viewfinder, making sure he wasn’t missing anything, making sure he was capturing it all.
13
“Where’s Jack?” Anna said. We were at the Amberly Primary fireworks night, and it seemed like the entire school was scurrying through this particular corridor.
“He went to the bathroom,” I said.
“Yes, I know, but about five minutes ago.”
“Shall I go and check?”
“Could you.”
It was strange being back in the boys’ bathroom. Everything was so small. Lowered urinals and sinks; tiny little cubicles.
I looked along the row of sinks and then turned the corner to where the cubicles were, but there was nothing, no children, no sounds.
“Jack.” No answer. “Jack,” I said again, feeling a slight panic, like the feeling of losing sight of him in the playground.
I went back to the corridor, thinking that perhaps he had come out and I had missed him, but I couldn’t see him, just throngs of parents and children walking past. I went back in the bathroom and paced around, sure that I hadn’t seen him come out, and then I heard a snigger coming from one of the cubicles. I opened the door and there was Jack with a boy I didn’t know, both with a fan of Pokémon cards in their hands.
&
nbsp; “Jesus, Jack, don’t do that. I was worried where you had gone.”
“Sorry, Daddy, we were playing Pokémon, but Sasha doesn’t have any energy cards so I gave him one.”
Sasha looked nervous, as if he was in trouble.
“Shall we go and watch the fireworks? They’re starting soon.”
“Okay.” Jack had a quick shuffle through his Pokémon cards and carefully took one out. “This is for you,” he said to Sasha. “Porygon is very strong and he will protect you, but you have to take him into your bed at nighttime.”
Sasha nodded seriously, carefully putting the card into his coat pocket.
I herded the boys out and Anna was standing outside. “Is he okay?” she said, looking relieved.
“Yeah, he’s fine. He was playing Pokémon with another boy.”
“Ahh. C’mon, we should go. The fireworks start in five minutes.”
The playground smelled of late autumn—wet leaves and roasting chestnuts—and we could hear the crackle of the bonfire in the air. The Friends of Amberly Primary were running a burger stand, and the smell of fried onions reminded me of going to West Ham with Dad.
Dad loved that smell. Best smell in the world, son, he always said. I remembered the last time I went to the football with him. We walked his usual route along Green Street and then onto Barking Road. He knew everyone, my dad, waving to all the Bangladeshi shopkeepers, who always gave him their little mangos, the only fruit he’d ever eat. They all loved Dad, in that little part of East London, because he was the cabbie who’d pick you up at any time of day or night. “The Ambulance,” people called him, because he always took people to hospital for free.
“Hello, Jack,” children said as we walked through the playground toward the fireworks, older kids from grade 3 or 4.
“Are they your friends?” Anna asked.
Jack shrugged nonchalantly. “We play Pokémon sometimes.”
We were glad that Jack had stopped being known as the brain tumor boy. The sickly child they prayed for in assemblies. The boy who received the giant Get Well Soon card, signed by the whole school. Now he was known for his Pokémon, his cards meticulously ordered by strength in his folder, his duplicates kept in an old cookie tin.