Happy Endings

by Jon Rance

  Mum was in the kitchen when we walked in. I could see Dad in the garden pretending to weed; the small cap of a bottle was poking out of his wax jacket pocket.

  ‘Emma, darling,’ said Mum loudly with a huge smile. ‘Jack,’ she said with a much frostier tone.

  ‘Hello,’ said Jack, attempting to kiss her on the cheek, but before he was half-way leaned in, she had turned and switched the kettle on.

  ‘I’ll make tea. Jack, please fetch in Emma’s father from the garden.’

  ‘Right,’ said Jack and snuck off gingerly.

  ‘Do you always have to be so cold with him?’ I said as soon as Jack was out of earshot.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, darling,’ said Mum, needlessly rearranging some flowers in a vase. Everything in Mum’s house was spotless. I think it was part of the reason why Dad spent so much time outside, because he was too afraid of making a mess inside – in more ways than one.

  ‘Yes you do,’ I said, sitting down at the breakfast bar. ‘We’re getting married soon and I’d really like it if you were completely on board with the whole thing.’

  ‘Oh, I’m on board dear. One hundred per cent on board,’ she said, but as usual the words were tied together with a little ribbon of superciliousness. ‘Anyway, enough about Jack, how’s the film going? How’s Rhys? As good-looking in real life as on film? Must be tempting. I mentioned the film in the village newsletter. Any chance of an exclusive interview? Perhaps Rhys too? You could bring him for brunch. I could make those little baked eggs.’

  ‘Let’s wait for Dad.’

  ‘Sounds very serious, darling.’

  ‘It is,’ I said, which made her eyes lock onto mine with a glare.

  It was the same glare she gave me the day Paul Clayton emerged from my bedroom looking flushed and with his shirt half undone. Only then I was fifteen and under her roof. Now I was an adult and about to be married and have a baby. Technically still under her roof, but for how much longer we would soon find out.

  Ten minutes later Jack walked back in, Dad padding behind him like a naughty Labrador, looking at Mum with big sorry eyes and me with love. Slightly pissed love, of course.

  ‘Emma,’ said Dad, staggering towards me and engulfing me in his large but now slightly podgy frame.

  ‘Hello, Dad.’

  ‘Derek, please, straighten yourself up,’ said Mum severely, looking at Dad. Dad tucked in his shirt and flicked his hair away from his eyes.

  ‘Must keep the wife happy,’ Dad said to Jack with a smile, a mischievous glint in his bloodshot eyes. He always enjoyed winding her up and to a certain extent she accepted it, but eventually she would snap. I spent most of my childhood learning how to distinguish the early-warning signs that she was on the verge. Dad, despite his ever-growing reliance on alcohol to make it through the day, always knew when to stop jabbing and back away to his corner.

  ‘Emma and Jack have news,’ Mum announced loudly. She instinctively poured a cup of dark black coffee and handed it to Dad, who, without question, took it and had a sip. ‘About the film.’

  I looked across at Jack and he appeared nervous. He came across and stood next to me and I put my arm around his waist: a united front.

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ I said, the words falling out and into the room. Jack’s Mum had greeted the news with a heady mixture of excitement and tears, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on my mother. Her face was an amalgam of confusion, shock and horror. Dad started to break into a smile, but before the corners of his mouth could fully extend, Mum snapped.

  ‘What do you mean pregnant?’

  ‘We’re having a baby,’ I replied, feeling Jack’s grip tighten around my waist.

  ‘But what about the film?’

  ‘I had to pull out. They’ve replaced me with someone else.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Mum, her voice getting higher and louder. Jack’s grip tightened again. ‘You’ve spent your whole life working towards that film and you’ve thrown it away. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You could say congratulations,’ I said.

  ‘Congratulations that you’ve ruined your life? Oh well done, darling, bravo.’

  ‘Now wait a minute,’ said Jack, stepping into the ring.

  ‘This is going to be priceless. And what do you have to say for yourself?’

  ‘You’re going to be a grandparent, Helen. That doesn’t mean anything to you?’

  ‘If my only daughter hadn’t ruined her career in the process. It’s just so irresponsible, both of you. So irresponsible.’

  ‘Well we’re very happy,’ I said, feeling a wave of tears begin to swell up behind my eyes.

  ‘And how happy will you be when the baby is crying at two in the morning? When your nipples are dry and cracked? When your career is down the drain and you haven’t got two pennies to rub together? How happy are you going to be then?’

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ said Jack. ‘I’m going to take care of them.’

  I looked at Jack and in that moment I couldn’t have loved him more. He was honest, sincere and he would do anything for me. I loved him dearly, but I also knew Mum was right and that hurt more than everything else put together.

  ‘You?’ Mum looked at Jack like you might look at a piece of dog shit on the pavement. ‘And how are you going to take care of them, exactly?’

  ‘Steady on,’ said Dad, but Mum shot him down like a Spitfire taking out a much larger and slower German bomber.

  ‘Don’t worry about us; we’ll be fine,’ spat out Jack. His determination and fighting spirit made me so proud. ‘Come on, Em, we don’t have to listen to this.’ Jack grabbed my hand and started leading me towards the front door and freedom. Only it wasn’t really freedom because we needed Mum and Dad and she knew it. Jack knew it too, but just couldn’t admit it.

  As soon as both car doors were closed, I burst into tears. I’d been holding myself together, but outside I let it all go. Jack put his arm around me and held me close.

  ‘Don’t let her get to you, love; she isn’t worth it.’

  Jack held onto me for all of his worth, but the truth was it did matter. I wasn’t crying because she’d upset me. I was crying because I wanted the best for our baby. I didn’t want them growing up in the gutter, while both parents scrimped and saved trying to give them a decent life. They wouldn’t have the chance to go to the best schools, live in a nice house and go on European holidays. I wanted that for them more than anything in the world and I was crying because no matter what Jack said, what Jack wanted, when it came to the crunch, Mum was right. I’d be back there asking for her help. Jack could do poor, he could do just getting by, but I couldn’t and, even if I could, I knew our baby shouldn’t.

  To: Kate Jones

  From: Emma Fogle

  Subject: Re: Oz

  K,

  I hope you’re OK now after our chat and you’re enjoying yourself again. Just remember this is a once-in-a-lifetime trip. You have the rest of your life to worry about men, careers and all the rest of it. This is about you. Enjoy every moment and don’t regret a single thing.

  So we told my parents about the baby (their grandchild) and what do you think Mother said? Of course she went completely ballistic and said we were irresponsible and that we’d basically ruined our lives. No mention of happiness or congratulations. I wasn’t expecting anything else though, to be honest. I feel awful for Jack because he just wants to take care of us financially, but he can’t. I wish he could so we could give Mother the two fingers, but unfortunately we need their money. God, I really wish we didn’t. Nothing would make me happier than to be independent of them.

  I’m so tired at the moment. I haven’t gained much weight because I’ve had some fairly heavy morning sickness, but I’m doing fine. I just wish I wasn’t so tired all the time. I really need to find some work to help financially, but that involves getting off the sofa. Sorry, I’m having a moan day and you’re not here physically, so all I have is email. I also need to start
organising the wedding, but again, too tired and Jack is always at work, taking on more shifts to help save some money, and I don’t want to ask Mother unless I really have to.

  Anyway, enough bitching. I will do something productive today. I promise. Miss you BFF.

  Love Em X

  Kate

  ‘It’s mental though, innit?’ said Mental Mike.

  ‘To be fair though, Mike, you think everything’s mental,’ I said. Hence the nickname.

  ‘It is though, innit.’

  ‘Possibly,’ I said.

  I was sitting with Mental Mike, twenty-one and from Essex, Mhairi and Jamie from Edinburgh, both mid-twenties, and Tom and Tash from Denmark, who were in their early thirties. We were on a small Fijian island which was about as near to paradise as I could imagine. It was night time and we were sitting at a table overlooking the beautiful beach. A million stars littered the sky, barely any space between them, and I could hear the gentle sound of music from the bar and the occasional dog barking from the nearby bures where the hostel workers lived.

  The island was small enough that you could walk around it in a couple of hours, which I did with Mhairi and Jamie on my second day. The hostel was right on the beach and consisted of a dormitory with about fifteen simple beds, a common eating area, where they served breakfast, lunch and dinner, and a bure where we showered. It was back-to-basics living and I loved it. We only had power for certain hours and the days revolved around meal times and getting together during the evening for a drink. There were kayaks to rent and they offered tours of other islands, but most days were spent relaxing, playing cards and talking. A day on the island felt like a week in the real world.

  ‘It depends what you mean by mental,’ said Tom in his steady Danish English. I’d only been on the island for four days and I was in love with Tom and Tash. They were so gorgeous: tall, athletic, with model looks and the nicest personalities of anyone I’d ever met. Most British backpackers I met seemed to be travelling to get pissed and have a laugh, but Tom and Tash were different. They were, in many respects, the Ed and me I wished Ed and me were. Interesting, cultural, relaxed and effortlessly in love. Back in Denmark Tom was a graphic designer and Tash played violin in an orchestra. They were taking one last year off before they settled down, got married and had kids.

  ‘You know, crazy, innit,’ continued Mental Mike, taking a sip of his Fiji Bitter. ‘You know, people just get up, go to work for eight, nine hours a day, come home, watch TV, go to the pub, eat a kebab, go to bed and then do it all again the next day. Mental.’

  ‘That does sound a bit mental,’ said Tom with a smile. Tash had her hand on his leg and was gently rubbing it backwards and forwards. ‘But life doesn’t have to be that way. It doesn’t have to be this way either. We can’t travel all the time and we can’t work all the time either.’

  ‘Balance,’ said Tash, finishing his sentence for him. ‘Life is all about balance.’

  I’d seen Tash down on the beach first thing in the morning doing her yoga. Her beautiful, graceful body, arching slowly and purposefully into a new position, where she’d stay before flowing effortlessly into another. It was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. I’d already asked her if she could teach me a few moves, hoping to keep a piece of her for the rest of my trip and maybe my life. I wanted to be more like her.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Mhairi in her lovely Scottish accent. ‘I used to work long hours, was always stressed out, but then I stopped because I realised I couldn’t keep doing it. I’m only twenty-five for God’s sake, not forty-five.’

  ‘And what did you do?’ I said.

  I was in awe of Mhairi too. She seemed a lot like me. Down-to-earth and searching for that impossible dream of being happy, but she was actually making it happen. She also had her Ed by her side. Jamie, a fellow Scot, who was really funny, had gorgeous eyes and was always quick with the compliments. Mhairi and Jamie had a bit of the hippie in them, but in the best possible way.

  ‘I was working in sales, but I hated it and so I started a small business. It isn’t much. I make jewellery and knitwear, scarves and the like. It’s doing all right. My sister’s taking care of it while we’re away.’

  ‘That’s fantastic,’ I said, taking a drag on my cigarette.

  ‘Yeah it is. Just working for me. Being who I want to be, instead of some office drone, always being told what to do all day. I make less money but I’m happy.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s exactly it, innit,’ said Mental Mike. ‘It’s mental people don’t all think like that. Who gives a shit about money, yeah? It’s happiness what counts. It’s doing what you want, when you want. Sticking two fingers up to the man, yeah.’ Mike gave two fingers to some imagined man in the sky to prove his point.

  ‘And what about you, Kate?’ said Jamie, suddenly looking across at me. He was peeling the label off his beer bottle. ‘What did you do in the real world?’

  I giggled for no reason and then lit up a cigarette.

  ‘Public relations. I hated it. Well, I didn’t at first, but like you said, Mhairi, I became something I wasn’t. I knew if I didn’t stop, get away while the going was good, I’d end up at forty, depressed, and still with no idea what I wanted to do with my life.’

  ‘Good for you’ said Jamie, lighting up his own cigarette. ‘Once I’ve got a few more years in the kitchen, I’m going to open my own little café in Edinburgh. Organic, fresh, cool little bohemian place, coffee in the morning, lunches and so on.’

  ‘Sounds magical,’ I said, falling in love with his dream as much as he was.

  ‘Mhairi can sell her stuff, make a little hippie commune in Scotland where we can eat well, live well and be happy.’

  ‘Can I come too?’ I said, only half-joking.

  ‘You’d be more than welcome,’ said Mhairi with a smile, reaching across and putting her hand on mine and then giving it a squeeze.

  ‘But don’t you think though, like, people just need to chill the fuck out, yeah, and everything will be all right?’ said Mental Mike, seemingly having a conversation with himself. We all agreed that, yeah, people did need to chill the fuck out, before Mike went to get us all another drink.

  I looked around the table while he was gone. Mhairi and Jamie and Tom and Tash, two beautiful, wonderful couples, but unlike in Thailand and Australia when I’d wished Ed was with me, I didn’t anymore. I knew this was about me as an individual. I needed to find my path and then worry about Ed and me. Talking to Emma when I had my meltdown in Melbourne made me realise I needed to embrace my trip. I needed to stop making everything about Ed and start making everything about me. I was what I needed to work on and when I’d figured that out, maybe, just maybe, I could sort out my feelings for Ed too.

  ‘How did you know what you wanted to do?’ I said to Mhairi. ‘After you decided to quit the rat race, how did you decide to start your own business?’

  ‘I don’t know really. I always liked making things, but I’d never considered it could be my job, you know. I started small, made a few things and before I knew it, people couldn’t get enough. It was then I decided to quit my job and make a go of it. I suppose it’s about having the guts to follow your dreams. Know what you want and go after it.’

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘And having a boyfriend who’ll give you that gentle push,’ said Jamie with a smile, jabbing Mhairi playfully in the side.

  ‘And that too,’ said Mhairi, smiling. ‘So what about you? What do you want to be when you grow up?’ she said, looking at me expectantly.

  ‘Just something . . . different,’ I replied.

  It was the beginning of the second week and Mhairi, Tash and I were heading across the island to Sunset Beach. We’d heard it was incredible and so we’d decided to make a day of it. The boys were heading back to the mainland to help pick up supplies and probably have a few beers and some real food in the process. My time on the island had been idyllic to say the least, but after nearly ten days of the same generally mea
tless food, I was craving a big, juicy burger.

  It was another perfect day as we ambled around the rocks that led to the secluded little bay. We took our towels, laid them out and sat down. We were completely and wonderfully alone. In front of me was mile after mile of clear blue ocean, which eventually met and merged into a cloudless cerulean sky. All I could hear was the gentle lapping of waves on the beach and that was it. And there, looking out at the world and feeling smaller than I ever had, I finally thought of an answer to Mhairi’s question.

  I did want something else, something meaningful, and after talking with Mhairi about it the other night, it came to me. During my late teens and even at university, I’d thought about teaching. It had value and meaning and it would be a challenge. I’d decided against it because I was too afraid. Afraid the pupils would eat me alive, afraid that in front of thirty eager little teenagers, I would freeze and be a failure. I wasn’t afraid anymore though. I had travelled the world and if I could do that, I could do anything. I wanted Mhairi’s happiness, her confidence and her outlook on life. I just needed the guts to follow my dreams.

  ‘Teaching,’ I blurted out, breaking the silence.

  ‘Sorry?’ said Mhairi.

  ‘The other night you asked me what I wanted to be when I grow up. I want to be a teacher. An English teacher, actually, at sixth form.’

  It felt good to say it out loud for the first time. It made it seem real. I chose sixth form because it was such an important time in my own life. Those two years helped define and shape so much of the rest of my life and I wanted to go back and help shape more lives. I wanted to teach, but I also wanted to give back and share the lessons I had learnt from losing my father, getting hit by the car, falling into the wrong career and travelling. I felt like I could be a positive influence on teenagers’ lives.

  Mhairi smiled at me.

  ‘That’s brilliant. I think you’ll be an amazing teacher.’

  ‘I hope so,’ I said.

  ‘You don’t need to hope,’ said Tash. ‘You will be.’