You've Got a Friend

by Judi Curtin

  Did he think he could act like the last few years had never happened?

  Did he think he could step back into the life he’d walked away from?

  ‘It’s OK, Molly,’ he said. ‘I’ve read the books and seen the movies. I understand that you and your mum have moved on. I know things are going to be different, but I think it’ll all be fine. I’ve booked into a bed and breakfast for a few nights, until I can find myself a new home.’

  ‘So you’re actually staying?’ I said. ‘You’re really and truly staying?’

  ‘Yup,’ he said. ‘Like it or not, you’re going to be seeing a whole lot more of me from now on.’

  And I jumped up and hugged him until he begged for mercy.

  * * *

  It was late when the others got back, but it felt like only a few minutes had passed.

  Dad stood up when he heard Mum’s key in the front door and I couldn’t help feeling nervous.

  I remembered how crazy Mum went when Dad left. Was she going to be mad at him all over again?

  Dad had left his coat thrown on the sofa – was Mum going to cut it into tiny pieces with her sharpest scissors? Was she going to crochet it into an ugly, scratchy blanket? Should I warn him?

  Or would that just remind him about what had happened before?

  Was he going to give Mum a hard time for cutting up his DVDs and his ties and loads of his other stuff?

  And what were Jim and Beth supposed to do while my family tried to figure out how to survive this strange situation?

  Was this all going to be totally weird and embarrassing?

  But then Mum and Jim and Beth were in the room. Mum and Dad hugged each other, and Dad and Jim shook hands.

  Beth jumped up and down and said, ‘Wasn’t that the coolest surprise ever, Molly? Did you really have no clue? I thought I’d die, I wanted to tell you so badly.’

  And I hugged her, and we all had a cup of tea, and everything was fine.

  Chapter Three

  a few weeks later, Beth and I crossed our fingers as we stared at Mum and Jim.

  ‘Please, please, please,’ said Beth. ‘Clemmie always has the coolest parties, and it’s the first time she’s ever invited us …’

  ‘And we’ll be really good, we promise,’ I said.

  Mum looked at Jim. ‘What do you think?’ she said. ‘Should we let them go?’

  ‘I’m OK with it if you’re OK with it,’ he said.

  Mum nodded. ‘Then it’s a “yes” from us.’

  ‘Yesss!’ said Beth. ‘We’re going to a party! Come on, Molly. Let’s go plan what to wear.’

  * * *

  Later on I called over to my dad’s place. Dad was all settled into his new flat and his new job, and I was slowly getting used to having him in my life again. It was kind of weird being able to see him any time I wanted, instead of waiting days and days for him to call me. Mostly that was good, but sometimes it was a bit strange. Sometimes I didn’t know what to say to him – when I didn’t have to squash it all into a single phone call.

  ‘So what’s happening, Mollikins?’ he asked. ‘Any exciting news from your world?’

  ‘Actually there is,’ I said. ‘Beth and I have been invited to the coolest sleepover party in our friend Clemmie’s house. Loads of the girls from hockey are going. Clemmie’s mum said we can make a fire in the back garden and toast marshmallows, and there’s these really cool things called s’mores and she said—

  ‘Hang on a sec,’ said Dad. ‘Who’s this girl? How come she’s having this party at such short notice? Do we know her parents? Are they responsible people? Has your mum spoken to them?’

  ‘Dad, stop fussing! And anyway, it’s all sorted already. Mum and Jim said that Beth and I can go.’

  ‘Last time I checked, Beth wasn’t my daughter,’ said Dad. ‘And whether she’s going or not isn’t any of my business. I’m only worried about you.’

  ‘Dad, you know I’m not a kid anymore, right?’

  ‘But you’ll always be my little—’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Well, anyway, I think your mum might have been a little bit hasty. One of us will have to talk to Clemmie’s parents before we make a definite decision.’

  ‘The decision has been made already, Dad. It’s a done deal.’

  ‘Not as far as I’m concerned. I want to know what kind of supervision there’s going to be tomorrow night. Can you give me the phone number, please?’

  ‘So you’re actually going to call Clemmie’s parents? You don’t even know them.’

  ‘That’s exactly my point.’

  ‘But if you call them you’ll make me into the biggest loser in the world. Dad, how could you do that to me? No one else will be calling, so everyone will think I’m an idiot baby.’

  ‘Or maybe they’ll think that you’re a girl with sensible parents who love her a lot.’

  ‘Dad, you’re being so pathetic right now. Actually I’ve changed my mind. If I can’t go to the party without you turning me into a total loser, then I won’t bother going.’ I even forced out a little tear, to make him feel sorry for me, but it didn’t work. He just shrugged.

  ‘Suit yourself. It’s your call. And I have to say that since you’re acting like this, you probably aren’t mature enough to go to the party, anyway. I think it’s best if you tell this Clemmie girl that you can’t go.’

  ‘But, Dad—’

  He gave me a look I was getting much too used to – the look that said that arguing wasn’t going to help, and might even make things a whole lot worse. So I let myself out, and slammed the door behind me.

  * * *

  I ran all the way home and told Mum what had happened.

  ‘But I can still go, can’t I? You said—’

  Mum gave a big, long sigh. ‘I guess I should have asked your father before I said yes.’

  ‘It’s hardly your fault, Charlotte,’ said Jim. ‘In all fairness, you’ve been making the decisions, and that can’t be expected to change overnight.’

  ‘I know Eddie hasn’t been around for a while,’ said Mum. ‘But he’s still her father.’

  ‘Being a father comes with responsibilities,’ said Jim.

  ‘I know that just as well as you do, but I still think we have to …’

  She stopped talking and looked at Jim, and then at me. Suddenly I understood that most of this conversation was going to happen when I wasn’t in the room.

  And in the end, I wasn’t allowed to go to the party, and Jim changed his mind so Beth wasn’t allowed to go either, and she didn’t talk to me for a whole afternoon.

  * * *

  And that’s kind of the way things continued. Mostly, it was totally cool having my dad around. Sometimes, though, Dad was totally annoying – like when he invited me over, and then acted surprised when Beth came too. Sometimes he didn’t get that all the time he’d been away, Beth was the one I talked to, the one who made me feel better, the one who sort of made life OK. For a long time, Beth was a much bigger part of my life than he was.

  One Sunday I told Dad about the Saturday Challenge we’d had the day before. Everyone had to swap shoes. It was a really funny story about Jim trying to run across the garden in a pair of Mum’s sandals – and I’m kind of OK at telling funny stories. Then I noticed that Dad wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t even smiling. He looked like he was trying not to cry, and at first I didn’t get it, but then I realised that he was jealous. I stopped talking and put my arm around him. I was all mixed-up, though. Was I supposed to feel guilty for having fun?

  But not everything was bad. Some of my visits to Dad were really great. Sometimes he told me stories about his time in Africa and he made me laugh so much I thought I was going to pee myself.

  And sometimes, Dad made me so mad, I scared myself by wishing he’d just jump on a plane and fly back to Africa and never come home again.

  * * *

  ‘Let’s go for burritos,’ said Dad.

  ‘Well, I’m not—’

  ‘I
know they’re your favourites,’ he said.

  ‘How about we—?’

  ‘My mind’s made up,’ said Dad. ‘You deserve a treat. Come along, girls, you must be starving.’

  It was a few weeks later, and Dad had asked Beth and me to go for lunch with him. We followed him into the restaurant and Beth and I went and sat at a table while Dad picked up the food.

  ‘Now, girls,’ he said when he came back with the tray. ‘Eat up. I got extra-large burritos, because I know how much you both love them.’

  When we’d finished eating, Beth and I went to wash the sticky sauce off our faces and fingers.

  ‘Please, tell him, Molly,’ she said as we went into the bathroom. ‘I used to love burritos, but it’s like your dad can’t stop buying them for us. I think I’ll die if I’ve got to eat another one in this lifetime.’

  ‘If I live for ten lifetimes, I don’t think I’ll ever want to see a burrito again.’

  ‘So tell him.’

  ‘I’ll tell him tomorrow,’ I said. ‘I promise.’

  ‘That’s what you said last week – and the week before.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘And I’m sorry – it’s just that I don’t want to hurt his feelings. When he brought us here that first time, and we said we loved it, he was so happy, it was like we’d given him a present. After being away so long, I think knowing what I like seems to be a big deal for Dad.’

  For a second I felt sad. There’s so much Dad doesn’t know about me. He doesn’t know how much I hate Irish stew and love chocolate cake. He doesn’t know what my favourite song is, or my favourite movie. Sometimes it scares me to think that Jim knows me better than my own dad does.

  ‘I get what your dad’s trying to do,’ said Beth. ‘And it’s totally sweet. I know he’s trying to be nice and everything, but things can’t go on like this. I’m going to start looking like a burrito if he doesn’t stop.’

  I giggled. ‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell him we’d like to try some other food next time.’

  When Beth and I came out of the bathroom, I could see my dad at the other side of the restaurant. His head was down, and he looked really sad and alone.

  ‘Hey, Dad,’ I said, trying to sound cheerful. ‘What are you doing for the rest of the weekend? Have you got any exciting plans?’

  ‘Charlotte and my dad are taking Molly and me bowling tomorrow,’ said Beth, not very helpfully. I kicked her, and luckily she got it at once. ‘Well, they might take us bowling,’ she said quickly. ‘Or we might just stay at home – which would be totally boring.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dad. ‘I haven’t got any real plans. I might just tidy up my flat and read the paper for a while.’

  Now I felt sad. Beth and I had been in his flat earlier, and it was really tidy, and the paper was all crumpled like he’d read every single page a couple of times already.

  ‘Why don’t you go out and meet some of your friends, Dad?’ I suggested.

  He didn’t answer at first, and as the seconds passed, I realised that Dad didn’t have any friends these days. Except for work and burrito-buying trips with Beth and me, he never seemed to go anywhere anymore.

  ‘Oh, you know how it is,’ he said. ‘I’ve been gone for a long time, and people have drifted away. I’m sure I’ll settle in soon, and then I can catch up with some of the old gang.’

  As he said the words, I realised that back when he and Mum were together, they mostly hung out with her friends, who were now busy hanging out with Mum and Jim. Poor Dad had no one at all – except for me.

  * * *

  On the way back, Beth and I talked about the hockey match we’d played the day before, but Dad barely said anything.

  ‘Beth got such a great goal,’ I said, when we were nearly at Dad’s flat. ‘She’s our best player and the other team had no clue how to stop her.’

  ‘Molly’s a great player too,’ said Beth. ‘She can tackle anyone.’

  ‘I’d like to see that,’ said Dad. ‘Do you think I could come to your next game?’

  Suddenly I realised that Dad had never once seen me play, and that made me feel really bad – for him and for me.

  ‘Er, that might be a bit weird, Dad,’ I said. ‘Parents used to come to matches when we were eight or nine, but now …’

  ‘That’s OK,’ said Dad in a weird, sad voice. He sounded like a lost little kid. I felt sorry for him, and I also felt like shaking him. He was a grown-up, so why couldn’t he get his act together and fix his own problems?

  A man was walking past us, and I was getting ready to step behind Dad to make room on the path.

  ‘Eddie?’ said the man then. ‘You’re back? And Molly – I haven’t seen you for so long I hardly recognized you. You’ve got so big.’

  I rolled my eyes at Beth. Did adults go to a special school to learn to say those stupid things?

  ‘Stephen,’ said Dad. ‘How are you?’

  They started to talk, but it was polite talk, like when you’re in the doctor’s waiting room or something, or like you really want to move on, but don’t know how. Stephen wasn’t smiling – and neither was Dad.

  Beth grabbed my arm. ‘If we don’t hurry we’ll be late for hockey training,’ she said.

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You’re right. See you, Dad. See you, Stephen.’

  ‘Bye, darling,’ said Dad giving me a quick hug. ‘I’ll call you in a few days – maybe we can go for burritos?’

  Behind his back, Beth looked like she was trying to stop herself from throwing up and I tried not to laugh.

  ‘Er, maybe,’ I said. ‘Give us a call.’

  ‘Who was that guy?’ said Beth, as we headed home. ‘Why didn’t you introduce us?’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘That was my dad’s brother – my Uncle Stephen. I guess you must have met him years ago, before Dad went to Africa.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t remember that. I didn’t even remember that your dad had a brother. How come you never talk about him?’

  ‘It’s a bit awkward. Dad and Stephen don’t get on very well,’ I said.

  ‘I could see that,’ said Beth. ‘Did they have a fight or something?’

  ‘I have no clue. All I know is I’ve never seen them acting like brothers are supposed to. They haven’t even met up since Dad got back from Africa. They only see each other by accident like they did just now, or at weddings and funerals and stuff – and then they act like talking to each other is some kind of torture or something.’

  ‘That’s so sad – especially now that …’

  She stopped talking, so I finished her sentence for her, ‘… now that dad doesn’t have any friends.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Beth. ‘No offence, Molly, but it looks to me like your dad could do with fixing his relationship with his brother. He’s lonely. He needs someone to hang out with.’

  ‘You’re right, but …’

  ‘We need to help him,’ said Beth.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Sorry, Molly. I guess that’s something we’re going to have to figure out.’

  Chapter Four

  On the way home from hockey, Beth and I met Graham, who is Beth’s dad’s uncle. Most uncles are fairly sensible, but Graham isn’t like most uncles. He acts like he’s never read the ‘how-to-be-boring’ book for grown-ups. Graham’s long hair was tied up in a bun and he was cycling on a bright pink bike with a huge straw basket on the front.

  ‘Look what I’ve got,’ he said as he stopped beside us.

  I couldn’t help feeling excited. Anything in Graham’s basket was likely to be very interesting.

  Beth and I watched as he pulled back the fluffy purple blanket.

  ‘Oh,’ said Beth. ‘They are soooo adorable!’

  She was right. Curled up inside the basket were four teeny-tiny ginger kittens.

  I leaned in and touched one – it was soft and fluffy and warm. It opened its huge blue eyes and mewed softly.

  ‘Oh, Graham,’ I said. ‘These are the sweetest things ever. Where did you get
them? Are you going to keep them?’

  He smiled. ‘I got them in the animal shelter. Their mother died so they need someone to care for them for a few weeks – they have to be bottle-fed every couple of hours. I won’t be keeping them after that, though – I travel too much, so it wouldn’t be fair to have a pet.’

  ‘So what’s going to happen them?’ asked Beth.

  ‘Well, hopefully the animal shelter will be able to find forever homes for them,’ said Graham.

  Beth looked at me. ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I’m thinking maybe your dad would like one of these kittens,’ she said. ‘His flat wouldn’t seem so empty if he had a cute little kitty living with him – and you and I could be like the cat’s big sisters – or something.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I was thinking,’ I said. ‘Could we have one of these babies for my dad, Graham, please?’

  ‘Well,’ said Graham. ‘I’m all for generous gestures, but a kitten is a big responsibility. I wonder how your dad would feel about that.’

  ‘Actually, that’s a good question,’ said Beth. ‘Does your dad even like cats, Molly?’

  ‘He totally loves them,’ I said. ‘He goes all soppy when he sees a cat on TV, and he always pets strays when he sees them – even when they’re crazy, spitty ones with scabby eyes and tangled-up fur.’

  ‘That reminds me …’ began Graham, and then I remembered too.

  ‘That’s how you and Jeanie became friends, wasn’t it?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Beth. ‘You two bonded over a spitty kitten, didn’t you?’

  Graham nodded, and for a second I felt sad as I remembered his best friend Jeanie and our trip back to the 1960s to visit her.

  Graham smiled, though. ‘Happy days,’ he said. ‘But I need to get these kittens home for a feed, so about your dad, Molly?’

  ‘If your dad loves cats so much,’ said Beth, ‘how come you never had one when he was living with you?’

  ‘I’m not really sure,’ I said. ‘I remember begging for one when I was little, but nothing I said made any difference – Mum didn’t mind, but Dad always said no.’