by Lee Evans
Heather was taken aback – not just about meeting the woman but about the fact that her father suddenly had all this money and could afford to be staying in hotels and hiring suites. ‘He’s never had money like that,’ she said. I felt slightly awkward. I didn’t really want to get involved; after all, it was Heather’s family and I thought it wasn’t for me to give an opinion on the odd behaviour of her father. I barely knew him and didn’t want to make a judgement. ‘He seems like he’s been possessed by this woman. He’s acting like a teenager,’ Heather reflected after putting the phone down.
Still, her dad was desperate for Heather to meet the new woman and had taken the liberty of booking a restaurant so we could join them for dinner. I remember thinking at the time, ‘It sounds like an audience with the Pope. Why can’t they just come over to the flat?’ But I suppose he wanted to give her the big introduction, do her a bit of justice. Also, I knew the restaurant he was talking about and was aware how nice the food was. We hadn’t been able to afford to go out anywhere posh and – not wanting to be disrespectful – I fancied a right go at the menu.
The dinner was a disaster from start to finish.
I took the night off from the pub in the expectation of really filling up on the food at the restaurant. I was going to make sure I reminded Mr Nudds as I tucked into dessert that it was he who had asked us, so I took it that he was paying.
We had no decent clothes, as we couldn’t afford any. So I went in my work clothes, hoping they wouldn’t get too close to me as I smelled of pub beer and pork scratchings. And Heather? Well, whatever she wore, she looked amazing.
We made sure we arrived at the restaurant at the arranged time, but found we had to sit at the bar waiting for quite a while. Things got tense as Heather was extremely nervous, and we felt out of place hanging around for that long. We certainly couldn’t get a drink as we had no money. So we had to sit there pointing at the optics for an hour. There are only so many times you can make a joke about optics. I did it to stave off Heather’s mounting anxiety and then I started on the beer mats.
At last, the door swung open. It was a very excited Ted, Heather’s father. He quickly urged the waiter to gather us up and hurry us to the table. ‘Here we go!’ I thought. Ted made sure we were all sat down and ready when she arrived. I was quite fired up about it all, as it seemed quite exciting. But then I glanced over at Heather and could see she looked very anxious. After all, it was only recently that she’d lost her mum. For her, perhaps, the dust hadn’t quite settled yet, and here was her father introducing her to his future wife, a woman she’d known nothing of until the day before.
‘Stay there. I’ll go and get her,’ Ted said, fussing around the table to make sure everything was just right for what had now been built up into the big arrival. I smiled at him, but even I was turning into a bundle of nerves as he ran out of the restaurant again. There was a long pause, as Heather and I, beside ourselves with expectation now, fixed our eyes on the door.
Suddenly Ted burst in, waving his hands in the air. He stood there, holding the door to create the maximum effect for her entrance. Bam! In she strutted, a cross between Danny DeVito and Bette Midler. She was a strumpet and a Rottweiler rolled into one. Three feet off the ground, she was a little ball of hard-as-nails hellcat. You could tell straight away that this woman had been there and done that.
‘Heather, Lee,’ Ted said proudly. ‘Meet Denise!’
If I’m honest, I wanted to laugh, but I managed to keep it inside for Heather’s sake. She just sat there, completely confounded that her father, who had previously only ever behaved in a relatively sane and conservative manner, could suddenly become so besotted with someone who could clearly eat him for breakfast.
Denise played the part to perfection. She stood there, taking in the moment. Then, flicking her leopard-skin fur coat back over her shoulder, she gave a mock display of searching the room for someone she might know. But all the time it was quite clear it must be us she’d come to meet as we were the only ones in the frigging place!
I was keen for us all to get started as I was starving and desperately wanted to dig into the decent-looking nosebag on offer. After all, a chance like this wouldn’t come along for perhaps many years. But, unfortunately, despite the good food, the evening went rapidly downhill.
The whole meal was taken up with this strange women – who we’d never met in our lives – filling us in on the most intimate details of her and Ted’s sex life: he likes it like this, I like it like that – you get the picture. This, I decided, was a family affair, so I tried hiding my head in the menu, but Denise was a relentless piece of work. It kept coming thick and fast, some of it quite sordid. By the time we were halfway through the dinner, even I was finding it difficult to swallow any of the cock and bull stories emanating from her overly crimson glossy lips, so I can’t imagine how Heather was taking it. I watched her as she ventured little disbelieving glances at her father, hardly touching any of her food.
Ted, on the other hand, seemed in raptures, laughing boyishly and suggestively nudging the rattling big hairdo on legs next to him. Their hands were all over each other as she ramped up the vamp. It was perfectly obvious she was playing a game with Heather, so that right there and then she would know who she was dealing with.
Looking at it objectively, I felt sorry for Denise as she appeared very insecure. She was straight on the attack from the beginning and really needn’t have been. Heather was just a young girl, inexperienced in the games people play, only wanting her dad to be happy. But, alas, from that first meeting, there would never be a chance of a relationship between poor Heather and that woman. Even an idiot like me could see that would be impossible.
We all left the restaurant on apparently friendly-enough terms. Ted and Denise seemed happy, which only emphasized their lack of understanding for Heather’s feelings. From that moment on, a cloud hung over Heather’s head. Me? I did what I always do: tried to make light of it.
Having hardly eaten a cocking thing all night, as soon as we got back to our flat I made Heather and me some toast. But as we sat down on the couch to eat it, she burst into floods of tears. I put my arms around her – this, let me remind you, was before even taking a bite out of the toast, so I still hadn’t had anything to frigging eat. I held her tight as she gradually and quietly fell asleep. As we sat there in the small, dark room, Heather lightly breathing in my arms, I thought, ‘What a shame! Why do some folk want to break other people’s hearts? It could all be so much better.’
I looked around the room. It was just the two of us, all still, no sounds. Then I caught sight of my plate of toast on the opposite arm of the couch. It was lying there, taunting me.
I harrumphed to myself. ‘I won’t be getting that tonight.’
28. The Stork
Scarborough was now a whole lot different. The mood in the flat had changed. The clouds seemed to gather, blocking out the rays of the sun. The work at the pub seemed to get longer, harder. I didn’t mind – it was extra money and I was enjoying it. But Heather had made up her mind: she wanted to return home.
I could see she had begun to worry, probably about her father and what might be happening back home – after all, her younger brother was still there. But there was something else playing on her mind, something deeper. I took it that it was down to her father’s recent mad visit. I watched patiently as she went about her business, working in the rock shop, coming home, making dinner. She was doing things around the flat, but not with her usual busy, rushed-off-her-feet attitude. It was more like she was going through the motions. She looked vacant, like her mind was fighting something else.
We used to chat loads over dinner, but now we sat in silence with just the sound of the clock ticking. So quiet was it, in fact, that we could hear each other’s eating noises. I initially decided I’d let it go on as long as I could and wait until she was ready to tell me whatever it was that was troubling her. But it had hung o
ver our flat for a week now, so I confronted her at the dinner table. ‘Right, that’s it, Heather. I can’t take this any more. You have to tell me what –’
‘I’m pregnant.’
‘What?’ My mouth dropped open.
‘I’m sorry.’ She lowered her head and began crying.
I sat in stunned silence. I mean, what do you say to that? As per usual, I just said the first thing that came into my head. ‘If you keep crying like that, you’re going to run out of liquid. How much more can you have? You must be nearly empty by now –’
‘Lee!’ she interrupted. I was rambling and she knew I hadn’t quite taken it in. ‘This is very serious. I’m pregnant.’
I didn’t know what to think. This was all new to me. ‘What? Actually, like, really, I mean, you’re –? Honestly?’
‘Yessss!’ she insisted.
‘Well, how did that happen?’
Heather started laughing across the table. ‘Oh, the stork came last night, you fool.’
‘Stork? What stork? I’ll kill him.’ I knew what she meant, of course, but I wanted to make light of it. It was my defence mechanism kicking in. If in doubt, muck about.
I jumped up from the small table, sending the plates flying. I reached over, grabbed her face and gave her a massive kiss. She smiled broadly and began whipping the tears away. ‘So that’s all right then?’ she sniffed.
‘All right?’ I shouted. I was ecstatic. I paced the tiny room, frantic, one hand behind my back like some sort of statesman, the other pointing, jabbing towards the floor. I rattled out my plans like a machine-gun. ‘Well, we’ll have to get started right now. I don’t want my son growing up –’
‘It could be a daughter,’ Heather interjected with a laugh.
‘Exactly. I don’t want my son growing up being no daughter of mine. Oh no, he’ll need proper stuff – like shoes. Actually, I don’t know why, we’ll be carrying him about for two years. Well, that’ll save us a few bob anyway. Wait. I’ll have to sort myself out, get a proper job, somewhere to live.’
‘Not just you! Us, all of us,’ Heather protested.
Then the magnitude of what she had just told me sank in. I stopped dead like a plank in the middle of the room. I could not believe it. I slumped back into the chair, my eyes glazed over, and fixed a stare straight ahead of me. I was void of any thought and only managed to mumble a few words. ‘I’m going to be a bloke. I’m actually having a baby, Heather …’
She rose from her seat and calmly came and stood next to me. She took my hollow, silly head gently in her hands, pulled it to her tummy and held it there. ‘I can hear it,’ I whispered.
‘Lee! It’s only just happened.’
I looked up at her, as her huge, watery eyes scanned my face. ‘Then what are you panicking about?’ I asked.
She spoke very firmly. ‘We need to go home.’
I noticed the clock from the corner of my eye. ‘I’m late for work.’ I sprang from the chair, grabbed my jacket and gave Heather a big kiss. Just before running out the door, I looked back at her; she was crying and laughing at the same time. I was so happy, I shouted, punching the air: ‘We’re going to have a baby!’ And I was gone.
A couple of weeks later, we arrived back at Heather’s house in Essex in the early hours of the morning. It was pouring with rain, but luckily we managed to jump in a cab at the station. After dropping Heather off first, I was intending then to ride it on back to mine. But the moment the cab came to a stop, Heather peered out of the rain-splashed window and instinctively knew there was something wrong about her house.
Because of the rain, we hurriedly climbed from the back of the car. Grabbing the suitcase from the boot, we quickly ran to the front door. Heather slammed in the key and swung the door open. As soon as we entered, it was obvious: her dad had done a runner.
Empty houses always have that same cold echo when there’s nothing to soak up the sound. Heather groped around for the hall light-switch, but it didn’t work. As we stumbled through the dark into the kitchen, we could tell the full extent of what had happened. The house was stripped bare; there was nothing left, not even carpets.
Although it was pretty dark, fortunately a street lamp directly outside the house dimly illuminated the room. I spotted an envelope that lay on the kitchen cabinet with Heather’s name on it. I picked it up and handed it to her. It was from her father. He had gone and, unbelievably, the house had already been sold. That was it.
The note didn’t really offer much in the way of an explanation, only that he had gone off with Denise and that Heather’s belongings were in the garage. Her brothers had flown the nest, too. That ghastly night in Scarborough would be the last time we ever saw him. I mean, I know I’m funny-looking, but I didn’t know I was that bad – sorry, I was just trying to lighten it up a little.
As you can imagine, Heather not only was distraught then, but has been completely devastated ever since. As people always do in those situations, she blamed herself for her father’s apparent Reginald Perrin disappearing act. I was mystified by the whole thing. He had just vanished; it was like a magician’s trick, but for real.
I was only eighteen years of age and was hardly capable of peeling a banana. So I was nowhere near able to comprehend what Heather was going through emotionally. She cried lots for weeks and weeks. Most nights, we simply lay in the darkness of our back room on two separate camp beds pushed together, and I held her as she cried herself to sleep.
But Heather is a very strong woman – she comes from a long line of beautiful but tough women. I don’t know if it’s anything to do with the fact that all her relations come from the East End of London, smiling through the Blitz and all that, but she has never once spoken about how she really felt about her dad just taking off like that so soon after her mum’s death. Perhaps one day, when she’s ready, she will.
Luckily, though, what Heather and I have in common is an intrinsic belief that once you’re down, the only thing is to get up and, not only get on with it, but fight harder than you did before. I don’t think it’s a choice one has. When you’re up, there’s only one way you can go, and that’s down, down. But it’s also true that when you’re down, there’s only one way to go, and that’s up.
I’ve always said that if we have enough money to eat and pay the rent, then everything else is a bonus. I truly believe that, because growing up I witnessed it every day as Mum and Dad struggled.
There was no other answer but to get on with it. We had a baby on the way, and we had to find somewhere to live.
For the next few weeks, Heather set up camp in the back room at my parents’ house in Billericay while we both looked for work and somewhere to live. Art college, let alone a career in art, would have to be put on hold for now as it was all hands to the pumps. There were more pressing problems at hand than trying to contemplate my navel. We desperately needed to get our act together immediately.
The great news was, Heather was an all-round brain box and was GCSE’d up to her big brown eyeballs. Plus, she had already worked as a secretary in London. She landed the first job handed to her by the Job Centre, working for an import–export company near Southend-on-Sea. It wasn’t highly paid and she hated it because her boss was one of those bullies who liked to shout at the staff. But it was a job, after all, and we needed it right now.
I, on the other hand, had no qualifications whatsoever, apart from a first-class honours degree in being a halfwit. It was pretty obvious that I had devoted my whole life to studying how to be a full-wit, but as Heather explained, ‘That doesn’t get you anywhere in this world, Lee, wandering about with your head in the clouds being everybody’s mate.’
‘Well,’ I argued, ‘it didn’t do Gandhi any harm.’
We had a bit of money saved from working in Scarborough, so we could get by for a couple of weeks, but after that we would be reliant on what Heather was bringing in. I was willing to do anything as long as
it paid, so I set about finding work anywhere I could. I registered at the Job Centre and would trawl through the local papers’ back pages looking for vacancies. I didn’t care what it was – I just went for it.
Increasingly desperate, I went for a turkey-plucking job after a fella sidled up to me outside the Job Centre in Basildon and surreptitiously told me about it. ‘Twenty-five pence per bird,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘The more birds you pluck, the more money you earn.’
I immediately jumped at the chance. These sorts of offers don’t come along every day, I thought. I couldn’t believe the idiot was just throwing his money around like that. I said to him, ‘So it’s up to me how much money I earn?’
‘Yep,’ he replied, ‘your future is in your hands.’ I didn’t tell him, of course, but this was ticking all the right boxes for me. My small brain was already planning how to make a fortune. The way this fool is talking, I reasoned, well, I will surely be a millionaire in a couple of days. With the number of those simple, bollock-chinned, floppy-washing-up-glove-headed birds I get through, I’ll be strolling around the Ferrari showroom by lunchtime. I mean, how hard can it be to pluck a turkey?
The answer is: bloody hard.
I took up my allotted position beside a large hook hanging from the shed roof by some old rope, alongside twenty to thirty other pluckers. We all stood in front of our own ‘money hook’, as I liked to refer to it before I had even got going. We had a couple of minutes before it started, and most people went out for a fag. But I used that time to have a go at getting friendly with the goofy kid at the next hook to me. His teeth protruded from under his top lip at such an angle, you could hang your coat on them.