by Jemma Forte
‘In the house,’ says Mum suddenly, shoving Martin in the chest in a desperate bid to shut him up.
‘In a minute love,’ he says, mistaking her urgency completely. ‘I know you’re hungry. So am I, but give us a second to get it off the roof and get the charcoal inside. We don’t want to drop it do we? Now, Andy, give us a hand will you?’
‘Sure thing, mate.’
At this point the men still haven’t noticed Ray striding up the path, making his way purposefully towards his ex-wife. By the time he finally comes to a stop in front of Mum, she looks like she’s seen a ghost. It’s all very weird. This, of course, will be the first time they’ve come face to face in many, many years. I look on nervously.
‘Alison,’ he says, in his unmistakable growl.
‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ she says, clutching her chest.
It’s only now that Andy and Martin, who are busy grappling with the roof-rack straps, finally notice the menacing looking stranger in the black leather jacket who’s in our midst.
‘Can I help you?’ says Martin, looking quizzically at Ray.
‘I doubt it,’ says Ray. ‘But your missus can.’
Martin turns to look questioningly at Mum, who is seemingly frozen to the spot.
‘Alli?’
‘Leave it Martin.’
‘Yeah, leave it Martin,’ repeats Ray.
‘Who’s that?’ says Andy, wondering back over to me while looking anxiously at the tableau that’s playing out in front of us.
‘That,’ I whisper, ‘Is my dad.’
‘Who are you?’ Martin’s saying, seemingly irritated, more than anything, that his big barbecue moment is being spoiled.
‘Tell him Alison,’ says Dad. ‘Tell ‘im, because I ain’t here to play games and we need to sort one or two things out. I want to see my daughters. I know I should have done this years ago, and I can’t tell you how much I regret the fact that I didn’t, but I’ve come to my senses. I know what it is I want and I can’t let you have things all your own way any more.’
‘Now I’m sorry,’ says Martin who, despite being six foot, looks comparatively weedy next to Ray. His voice is so mild too, totally unthreatening. I suspect Ray could have him for breakfast in many ways, but hope he respects Martin enough not to take advantage. How my dad’s about to conduct himself matters to me greatly, I realise. I don’t want him to resort to aggression. Martin’s probably about to give him plenty of ammunition, but doesn’t deserve to be bullied.
‘I don’t know who you think you are, but I will not have you talking to my wife like that. Alison’s ex-husband is in Australia, so you are talking nonsense, plus you are on my property.’
‘Australia? Seriously?’ Ray laughs. ‘I can see why a little girl might fall for that one, but a grown man?’ He throws his head back and lets out a belly laugh, his face creased in contempt at Martin’s stupidity. I cringe.
‘Alison?’ says Martin, wrong-footed.
We all stare at Mum, but when she fails to say anything Martin ends up turning to me for answers.
‘He is my dad,’ I confirm reluctantly, knowing that no matter what Mum thinks, it all has to come out in the open at some point. ‘Australia was a load of bollocks. He’s been in prison and now he’s really ill. But Mum never wanted to hurt you, Martin. She loves you.’
‘Yeah, it weren’t anything to do with you. It was all about how ashamed of me she was. Ain’t that right?’ Ray says icily.
At this point I glare at Ray. It’s not fair for this scene to be playing out in front of Martin.
Mum brings her hand to her mouth and, looking like she might throw up, runs back inside the house. In the meantime Martin draws himself up to his full height, and squares up to dad. Andy hovers nervously behind me.
‘If Marianne’s saying it then it must be true, but that still doesn’t give you any excuse for upsetting my wife on my property, on my driveway.’
You have to hand it to Martin. His loyalty to my mum is unwavering, remarkable. Not even a hint of the betrayal he must be feeling is evident on his face. For a second Ray looks so angry I honestly think he’s going to lamp Martin one on the chin but then he seems to talk himself down, though you can see it’s a battle to do so.
‘You’re right,’ he says eventually.
I feel flooded with relief. I don’t want Ray to be a thug. And I certainly don’t want Martin to be thumped when he’s the only one around here who hasn’t done anything wrong. Ray said he learned a thing or two in prison about how to handle things and this is a chance to prove that both to himself and to me. I need to know he can control himself.
‘Which is why I’m asking you, man to man, if I can come inside and discuss a few things? With both of you, like grown adults.’
Martin considers this for a moment, staring hard at Ray and then at me, taking in my miserable expression.
‘I suppose you’d better then,’ he says resignedly, the twitch in his cheek the only sign of how churned up he must be feeling.
‘Thank you, Martin,’ I say. ‘I think it probably is for the best if we all get everything out in the open now.’
The two men trudge inside at which point I turn to Andy and say, ‘Sorry about all of this.’
It’s only just dawned upon me how much drama he’s already experienced during his first afternoon ‘chez Baxter’. If I were him I’d probably be feeling pretty apprehensive about staying with us.
‘No worries,’ he says, surprisingly unperturbed. ‘I just can’t believe you told me life here was boring. So far it seems anything but. Shall we go and see what’s happening?’
I don’t appreciate him viewing my family’s dramas as a soap opera put on for his own personal entertainment but perhaps it’s better than him being completely freaked out. Feeling weary I follow him inside.
Outside, on the patio in the back garden, among the swing chairs, tables and many other pieces of patio furniture, a heated discussion is taking place between Mum, Martin and Ray, who are standing in a triangle configuration. I linger nervously at the sliding doors, chewing skin around the cuticle of my thumb, something I always do when I’m freaking out. Andy – rather boldly I think – barges past me in order to go outside too, but then seems to prevaricate, changes his mind and reverses back until he’s stood directly behind me. I take a deep breath and try to pretend I haven’t just noticed how big his arse has got. Did he do anything but eat ‘parsta’ in Rome? Without warning he wraps a flaccid arm around my waist, at which point I feel my shoulders rise to an unnaturally high level. Then he leans right into me from behind, which feels totally wrong and alarmingly unnatural. I’m so tense and, at this moment in time, would gladly give away my violin and entire wardrobe for a massage. Any more stress and there’s a chance my spine might actually snap.
‘You don’t have the right,’ Martin’s saying, as Mum stares at the ground looking sheepish, her arms folded in a way that shoves her cleavage right up. She looks guilty and ashamed, like she knows she’ll have a lot of explaining to do later.
‘But that’s where you’re wrong,’ Ray insists, collapsing heavily onto a chair and rubbing his face with his hands. He looks exhausted. ‘I’m their dad and nothing you say can change that.’
‘I’ll have you know I’m the one who’s raised your daughters!’ exclaims Martin who, in his v-neck sweater, looks very suburban compared to Ray. There’d never need to be any guessing as to which capital city my dad was born and bred in. He’s a Londoner through and through. Chalk and cheese, my mum’s two husbands.
‘You say you’re their dad, but where were you? Where were you when it was their birthday, or when they needed picking up from school, or there was a parents evening to go to?’
‘I was in prison!’ yells Dad frustratedly, sounding really hacked off now. ‘So not massively convenient for doing things like the school run, funnily enough. Gordon Bennett man! Do you think I wanted to spend the best part of my life locked up? Do you really think I didn’t think abo
ut my girls and what they might be up to every single day of my pathetic fucking existence? ‘Cos I did.’
‘There’s no need to swear,’ says Mum tentatively. Dad shoots her a filthy look, which silences her once again. I contemplate escaping upstairs but feel like I need to remain nearby in case I’m required to wade in, so stay where I am.
‘Well you say that,’ splutters Martin, who is understandably struggling to absorb so much information. ‘And I agree, prison is hardly the best environment for kids to be, but you just told me you got out years ago! Where were you then?’
Ray sighs heavily and shoots my mum a look that is loaded with meaning. Catching his drift Martin turns to his wife.
‘Well?’
Mum chews her lip as she works out what to say. ‘Ray did contact me a few times,’ she offers eventually. ‘When he was inside and then also when he got out, but I told him I didn’t want anything to do with him and that the girls were happy and doing better without him in their lives.’
I feel like I’ve been punched in the solar plexus and for the umpteenth time wonder how she could have done that. Andy, who I’ve wriggled free from by now, purposefully catches my eye, making a sort of ‘Oh dear’ type face. I suddenly wish fervently that he wasn’t here. This has nothing to do with him and I certainly don’t want him making stupid faces at me. In fact it seems weirdly insensitive to me that he’s standing here spectating at all. After all, he has about as little emotional investment as your average rubbernecker. Frankly, I wish he’d piss off.
Avoiding eye contact with him, I look instead at Martin who I feel really quite sorry for. He swallows as he tries to compose himself, obviously bewildered at how all of this could have gone on without him knowing anything about it.
Sensing that he’s at a loss, Ray, who my sympathies also lie with, interjects. ‘Listen Martin, it ain’t all Alison’s fault. I was nothing but trouble back in those days and she just wanted an easy life. Besides, I didn’t have to listen to her. I could have forced the issue but I went along with what she said because it was easier than questioning it I suppose. Did I really think they were better off without me? Maybe. Was I better off without them? Definitely not, but I took the road of least hassle, which I will never forgive myself for. But, you should know that I’m very grateful to you for looking after them so well. I mean, you’ve obviously done well for yourself,’ he says, making a sweeping gesture around our cluttered patio. He looks quite drained suddenly and my heart lurches with concern.
‘And it’s wonderful that they’ve been cared and provided for, but I’m afraid that still don’t change the fact that actually I do have rights, and so do they. I ain’t seen Hayley yet, but me and Marianne here have been getting to know each other and it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’
I feel instantly choked.
‘I mean, for me to discover I’ve got this bright, beautiful, clever daughter who’s seen the world and who plays the violin like a dream is the most astonishing thing.’
Mum looks astonished herself at this last bit. Her brow furrows in surprise. That was probably the last thing she was expecting Ray to come out with. Plus, I don’t think it’s ever occurred to her that I play the violin well. As far as she’s concerned it’s just a din. More a vile din than a violin. A din that gives her a headache.
‘Of course I get that credit has to go to both of you and I’m not saying her turning out so well has anything to do with my genes, but that don’t mean I don’t want to know her now. I’m not well Alison,’ he says, looking directly at Mum, who visibly blanches, so affected is she by finally being forced to look into his eyes. ‘I’ve got cancer and it’s terminal, so it ain’t as if I’m going to be around bothering you all the time anyway.’
This plain truth is too much for me to deal with.
I burst into tears at which point everyone turns to stare at me, as if they’d forgotten I was even there. It’s the first time I’ve let the immense sadness of my dad’s situation overwhelm me completely. I don’t want him to die. I’ve spent enough time with him already to know that I want him to be around. It seems so senseless hearing him fight for permission to see me. It’s ridiculous because it simply isn’t up to Mum, or Martin, whether I see him or not. It’s up to me. Meeting him has opened up wounds I didn’t know even existed and the only way to heal them is to find out what makes my father tick. In other words, I need to find out about half of the puzzle pieces that made me. I already feel a certain sense of peace that I was missing before. I feel like he gets me. I also suspect that if only he’d been around I might have made more of my life so far.
However, as much as I want to articulate all of this I can’t. I’m too upset so end up stuffing my fist into my mouth, and fleeing to my bedroom.
The last thing I see as I race inside is Andy’s perplexed, pasty face gawping at me. For some reason he’s now clutching the burger buns, that by now have seen better days, and it briefly dawns upon me that he probably hasn’t eaten anything since his flight all those hours ago. Still, won’t do any harm.
As I lie on my bed weeping, I know someone will knock at my door but don’t know who to expect.
As it turns out it’s Mum.
‘What do you want?’ I sniff.
‘To talk Marianne, let me in please.’
I get up and let her in. She comes in and perches on the side of the bed.
‘I can’t believe he turned up like that,’ she says nervously.
‘Can’t you?’ I rage. ‘Is it really so hard for you to get your head round? You’ve kept him apart from us for decades but did you really think he’d never want to see me and Hayley ever again?’
‘I’m sorry,’ she says and hearing her apologise is an immense relief. I wouldn’t have put it past her to try and sweep the whole situation underneath the carpet. She is the ultimate ostrich and despite the fact that years of secrets, lies and deception have just been uncovered, she’d be more than capable of pretending it’s all been a bit of a silly fuss, which would have driven me mad.
‘For what? What are you sorry for?’ I say, wanting her to spell it out.
‘For making you feel bad about wanting to see your dad,’ she admits. ‘I see now that it was wrong. Only … well I suppose I’ve seen Martin as your dad for so long now. He’s been so good to us and loves you like his own.’
I know he does,’ I say. ‘And the last thing I want is for him to be hurt by all of this. You know I care about him a lot too. But I want this opportunity to get to know my real dad again. I know he’s done bad things, but I can’t help it. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.’
‘I know.’
We both sit in thoughtful silence for a while.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble eventually.
‘It’s OK. I think you needed to get that off your chest.’
‘I do know it can’t be easy for you.’
‘I know, I know,’ she soothes.
‘What’s happening downstairs now?’ I enquire, wiping my tear-stained face.
‘Well, Ray’s sitting in the garden, waiting to see whether you’ll see him. Martin’s trying to pretend everything’s normal, although I think deep down he’s very cross with me.’ She pulls a guilty face. The sort of face a small girl might pull when caught with her hand in the sweet jar. Martin’s a push-over, we both know that, but personally this time I’m not so sure he’ll let her get away with what she’s done without at least a bit of a fight. She’s been lying to him for years.
‘Anyway, Mar’s still insisting on starting up the barbecue even though it looks like it might rain and Andy’s just getting on with it really. Oh, and Pete’s having a burger in his room. I microwaved it because he was too hungry to wait for Martin. I made one for Andy too, like a little starter.’
‘Andy must wonder what sort of a nuthouse he’s come to,’ I say dolefully.
‘Yes,’ says Mum. ‘But I must say he’s lovely Marianne. Though not quite the “surf dude” I imagined.’
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�Yeah,’ she continues, giving my knee a little tap. ‘And not so keen on that jumper he was wearing, but that’s all right, we don’t love our men for their fashion sense, do we? I’ve been trying to get Mar into leather trousers for years.’ Now it’s her turn to give me a searching look. ‘You don’t look so sure though love?’
‘I’m not really. I think men over a certain age who aren’t rock stars probably shouldn’t wear leather.’
‘Eh? No, not about that, about Andy.’
‘Oh … right, well I’m not, about that either.’
‘Oh dear, that’s a shame.’
‘So are you going to be all right now if I want to see dad? Given that there’s nothing to hide from Martin any more,’ I say, unable to stop a fresh batch of tears freefalling down my face. ‘And given that time is not on my side.’
‘Yes,’ she says, looking pretty sad herself. ‘I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to forgive him Marianne and I’d rather not have him shoved in my face so to speak, but it’s not as if he’s going to be around for very long anyway … I suppose … and I really am sorry about that. You know … that he’s ill. When you said it before I thought he might be exaggerating but I can see he’s telling the truth. I feel terrible about it really.’
‘Me too,’ I sniff.
‘Now, are you going to come downstairs and actually spend some time with this chappie of yours, or are me and Mar going to have to entertain him the entire time he’s here. Not that Martin would mind. He’s taken a right fancy to him.’
This produces a watery, faintly despairing smile from me.
‘Come here you,’ says Mum, pulling me in for a self-conscious hug. ‘You know you girls mean the world to me, and Pete of course.’
Feeling a bit better and relieved that at least things are finally out in the open, I blow my nose into a tissue. ‘Why don’t you go back down Mum? I’m fine and I’ll be down in a minute too. I just need to sort my face out.’