by Jemma Forte
‘You’re a natural at this,’ Ray says, grinning. ‘Seriously, I’m well proud of you, there’s not many who could be so patient.’
I shrug but inside feel lit up by his praise.
‘That Maisie kid’s a handful though, ain’t she? Right little brat. I don’t remember you or Hayley ever being that annoying. Probably needs a good hiding,’ he adds, somewhat controversially. ‘Someone needs to teach her some manners.’
‘Her dad could do with a lesson in those too.’
‘What d’you mean?’ asks Ray, gulping back the tea Julie’s made him.
‘Oh, it’s silly really,’ I explain. ‘I was out one night and got chatted up by this bloke. Anyway, thankfully I didn’t fall for his bullshit because the next day I was doing another party and he turned up. He was only there to pick his daughter up who happened to be none other than the delightful Maisie.’
‘You’re joking,’ says Dad, looking stunned. ‘So he’s divorced or summink is he?’
‘No, most definitely married,’ I add. ‘Because when he recognised me he looked like he’d seen a ghost.’
‘Did he now.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, shaking my head at my own naiveté. ‘I confronted him and he made it very clear his wife wouldn’t be particularly impressed if she knew what he’d been up to.’
Ray’s visibly angry. His jaw’s clenched and his cheek starts to twitch somewhat alarmingly.
‘But it’s no big deal,’ I say quickly. ‘Seriously, I mean it’s not like I care or anything, and no one got hurt.’
‘That’s hardly the point now, is it Custard?’ asks Ray and in that instant I wish whole-heartedly I hadn’t said anything.
‘Are you guys OK to come back in now, we’re about to cut the cake and er, Lexie wants her picture taken with you Ray, if that’s OK?’ interrupts Julie, doing her best to conceal how odd she thinks it is that her daughter has taken such a shine to my father.
Glad of a natural conclusion to the conversation that’s taken such an uncomfortable turn for the worse, I dash back into the fray.
Ten minutes later and mums and dads are starting to show up. I pray hard that Simon doesn’t show his face. I wouldn’t put it past Ray to say something. Another example of how naturally paternal and protective he is, and yet that still jars a bit. Having spent a bit of time with him now, I have to admit that I’m starting to feel worryingly attached. I feel … fond of him. Plus, although it makes me feel disloyal to admit it, I seem to have more of a connection with him than I do with certain other members of my family. Yet despite all this, there’s no getting away from the fact that he’s still a relative stranger – excuse the pun – one who has gate-crashed my life and turned it upside down in the most brutal way. I really like being with him but at times the whole situation, that is to say, knowing he’s dying, is so bittersweet I feel like I can hardly breathe. It’s all a bit of a head-fuck to tell you the truth.
Naturally Simon does turn up to collect devil child. I sigh when I see him appear, though thankfully this time I barely care about the fact I’m dressed as a clown and am therefore looking about as sexually attractive as a hairy wart. I mean, I care a bit, but not in the same heart-stopping way I did last time. Not in the way I did when Matthew turned up at my front door either, at which point I cared a lot. He was lovely. Anyway, I have bigger concerns in my life, like a long-lost, ill dad. Not to mention a lovesick Andy who’s skulking around my house, waiting and plotting to have his wicked way with me.
Simon catches my eye for about a millisecond and immediately ushers Maisie, who I suspect may be banned from all future parties from this day forth, away. Not caring one iota I turn round and start concentrating on the other children, doling out their party bags. As I do though, I notice out of the corner of my eye that Ray’s looking in Simon’s direction, and that his eyes are screwed up in consternation.
I shake my head at him, warning him to leave it, but to my dismay he ignores me and heads towards the hall.
My heart plummets. Oh Christ, what’s he up to? I dread to think and find myself praying that he’s unselfish enough to leave it alone.
By now I’m practically hurling bags at children.
‘There you go, that’s yours, thanks for coming,’ I gush.
‘Why have I got a girl’s bag, I don’t want a girl’s bag,’ whines one boy.
‘Oh gosh, have you got a girl’s bag? I didn’t mean to give you that but if you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could just … deal with it?’ I ask, looking frantically in the direction of the hallway.
The boy’s answer is to open his mouth and give me an incredible view of his tonsils.
‘OK, OK,’ I placate, desperate to stave the wail that’s clearly about to be issued from his open mouth. ‘Of course you can’t have a girl’s bag. I don’t know what silly old Custard was thinking,’ I say, reaching for my bag and producing a comedy hammer made out of foam and beating myself on the head with it.
‘Silly, silly Custard,’ I say and the boy’s tears turn to laughter, the hysterical type, a result of changing emotional gear so quickly.
I rummage desperately around and finally find a gender-appropriate party bag, all the while thinking ‘Please Dad, don’t be outside wrapping Simon round a lamp post’.
Finally all the children are sorted out, leaving me free to squeeze past chatting parents into the hallway – not an easy task when you’ve got boats on your feet. Some of them laugh openly at the sight of me in my blue wig and normally I’d take full advantage of their amusement by handing out my business cards left, right and centre. Right now though, I have too much on my mind to bother. I’m a very flustered clown.
There’s no sign of Ray in the hall so I head for the front door. As soon as I’ve opened it Maisie appears, at waist level, a truculent apparition who barges rudely past me.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask lightly, hoping she isn’t on her way back in to call an ambulance, having just witnessed a grumpy pirate assaulting her father.
‘Daddy said I could get another piece of cake,’ she lisps before sticking her tongue out at me and marching into the house. She really is a delightful little thing.
Placing one enormous shoe tentatively out of the front door, I pluck up the courage to follow it outside. The first person I see is a completely unharmed Simon. He’s chatting into his mobile phone in the front garden, to the left of the house.
‘All right Custard?’ growls a familiar voice behind me.
I jump out of my skin and turn around.
Ray’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed. I look from him back to Simon, who for now is entirely unaware of our presence.
‘What are you doing out here? You weren’t going to do anything were you? Please don’t. I’ll be livid if you do.’
‘Calm down,’ Ray says, looking faintly aggrieved. ‘I ain’t done nuffink and I’m not going to either. I wouldn’t do that to you. Specially not at a kids’ party. What do you take me for?’
I feel ashamed and defensive. ‘Well what are you doing out here then?’
‘Keeping an eye on Mister. That’s all.’
Just then Simon gets off the phone at which point he notices me. As soon as he does, a mean grin spreads across his face and instantly I feel wary of what he might say. I try my hardest to appear righteous and a bit haughty but it’s futile given that there’s a huge grin painted on my face.
‘Ah, Marianne, the glamorous actress,’ he says. ‘What’s the matter? Can’t keep away?’
Keenly aware that Ray’s watching our every move, I pick my way tentatively down the gravel path towards him.
Once I’ve reached him, annoyingly I can feel a ticklish piece of wig in my eye. I blow upwards in order to get rid of it before saying, ‘I think you owe me an apology.’
He regards me with a look of contempt and edges towards me until his face is only inches from mine. ‘I have got something to say to you as it goes,’ he says.
Feeling pleased and relieved that he’
s finally come to his senses I say more cockily, ‘Spit it out then.’
‘OK,’ says Simon, clearing his throat. ‘I just want to say, that if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop doing parties for anyone who goes to the Rainbow nursery, or for any child who’s going to Chigwell Primary next year.’
‘Pardon?’ I say, not convinced I’ve heard right.
‘In fact,’ he continues in the same deathly calm, low voice, ‘I don’t ever want to see your stupid painted face anywhere near my daughter or her friends again, and if I do I shall be telling the parents around here precisely what sort of a little slut you are.’
I gasp. ‘How dare you?’ I say, as hot tears spring into my eyes. I can’t believe he’s being such a bastard. At this point we’re kind of circling one another and I glance briefly back towards Ray, who although is still leaning against the wall has his gaze fixed in our direction. He’s looking vaguely concerned so I give him a weak thumbs-up to put him off the scent. I can’t be totally sure he wouldn’t smash Simon’s face in if he knew what he was really saying.
‘Oh I dare,’ Simon says coolly, really invading my personal space now, his face uncomfortably close to mine.
‘And let me tell you,’ he continues, ‘That around here, I’m pretty damn popular with the mums. Especially one or two of them,’ he sneers unnecessarily. ‘So, if you say anything, it’ll be my word against yours, Coco. Not that what you’d say would count for anything anyway. You’re pathetic.’
A lone tear courses down my face, but I know from past experience not to rub while wearing pan-stick so watch forlornly as it splashes onto my shoe. My bloody wig is still getting in my eyes. I shove it up slightly. Simon smirks.
I know there are so many things I should be saying back, only my mind’s gone completely blank. Still, thankfully it seems that Simon has finished his piece. He turns to go, presumably to retrieve devil child from the house.
‘You all right Marianne?’ calls Ray, his face full of anxious concern. He’s purposefully kept his distance out of respect to me but now I half-wished he hadn’t.
‘I’m fine Dad,’ I reply shakily.
Having heard, Simon turns back for a second, a contemptuous expression on his face. ‘Dad?’ he repeats, as if this is one of the funniest things he’s ever heard.
My heart sinks. ‘What’s so funny about that?’ I say grimly.
‘Nothing, now if it’s all right with you and your charming father I think I’ll get back to my child thanks.’
‘Go for it,’ I say lamely.
And if he’d just left it there, everything would have been fine. But he doesn’t. Instead he has to leave us with a parting shot.
‘Should have known,’ he smirks, voice full of contempt. ‘After all, the apple never falls far from the tree.’
That’s it. I’ve had it and, at the same time, recover the power of speech. ‘How dare you judge us? At least respect the fact that you’re the one in the wrong and that therefore you owe me an apology.’
Then Simon does another thing he shouldn’t. He laughs, which to a small degree is understandable because of course I’m still dressed as a clown. So therefore, me trying to convey fury probably is a funny and pitiful sight, but that still doesn’t make it OK. And then I do something pretty low, which thinking about it, probably does rather betray my roots. Shaking like a leaf, I find myself turning towards Ray, meeting his gaze and nodding my head, in a small yet decisive gesture, one that’s probably imperceptible to Simon and yet gives Dad all the encouragement he needs.
‘Thank bleedin’ gawd for that,’ he mutters.
Then, avoiding a couple of surprised-looking parents who are emerging from the house, offspring in tow, Ray unfolds his arms and strides purposefully up to Simon. Unfortunately, Simon’s still so busy laughing at me like some idiotic pantomime villain – mmwwaaahhahah – that he isn’t remotely aware of what’s happening. Though he soon shuts up when, from nowhere, Ray grabs him by the scruff of the neck and hauls him towards the side of the house. Horrified by what I’ve instigated I make my way over to the parents who are standing at the door, mouths open.
‘Ha ha,’ I laugh inanely. Then, when that doesn’t satisfy them, I add mysteriously, ‘No need to be worried. We’re just showing that guy some material from our new act.’
Which means as much to me as it does to them.
They seem to accept this strange explanation though so, future clients placated, I leave them and leg it as fast as I am able – fucking shoes – to the side of the house. By now Ray’s manhandled Simon right down the side alley and despite having made it happen, I feel sickened as I watch him being shoved around. I can’t believe Ray’s strength. Simon’s feet are barely dragging along the ground and I watch in amazement as with one arm Ray then picks Simon up and slams him against the wall, at which point he – shitbag – looks absolutely terrified. He’s the colour of putty, and for a fleeting second it’s all quite satisfying, until that is, good sense prevails and I realise I have to end things before they get truly out of hand.
‘Put him down,’ I order.
‘What?’ says Ray, looking terribly disappointed by my change of heart.
I nod, adamant that I only wanted to scare him. Not kill him.
Ray snarls menacingly but, thankfully, does as he’s told. Simon collapses to the ground like a crumpled puppet, at which point I realise Ray had been holding him at least a foot off the ground. For a sick man he’s certainly very strong.
‘Now, unless you want me to kick you into the beginning of next week, apologise to my daughter,’ he growls.
Simon remains splayed on the ground, clearly too nervous to make even the smallest movement. Spineless twat.
‘Oh get up, will you,’ I snap.
Wordlessly he does as he’s told before edging silently past Ray, avoiding his glacial stare. When he gets to me he stops and, looking somewhere over my right shoulder, murmurs, ‘Sorry about the other night.’
‘It’s fine,’ I mumble back.
‘I didn’t quite catch that,’ says Ray.
‘I said,’ repeats Simon, his voice catching, ‘I’m really sorry about the other night.’
‘Now fuck off,’ adds Ray. ‘And if you so much as look in my daughter’s direction again, or cause any shit for her whatsoever, I will come round your house in the middle of the night and you will wake up wearing your nuts as earrings. Do I make myself clear?’
Simon nods and does as he’s told. He fucks off, leaving Ray and I eyeballing each other in the side passage. He’s the first to break the silence.
‘Now don’t tell me you didn’t get just the smallest kick out of that, Custard?’
I stare back at him as disapprovingly as I can, but finally the image of Simon’s previously smug face looking so petrified is too much and my face ends up breaking into a reluctant grin. I still don’t wholly approve but have to admit that getting revenge is pretty satisfying. It’s also good to have someone looking out for me and fighting my corner. Actually that’s not quite accurate. What I really mean is it’s good to have my dad looking out for me.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘He’s a teddy bear,’ I say on the phone to Hayley that night. ‘Honestly, wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
‘Yeah,’ she says stonily. ‘Well I’ll be the judge of that.’
‘How are you anyway?’ I add, worried that in retrospect I might be laying it on a bit thick, given what I witnessed the previous afternoon. The haunted look in Simon’s eye is something I won’t forget for a long time.
‘Fine,’ she replies and I feel a deep sadness that since losing the baby, my sister has chosen to revert back to her stand-offish ways. She let me in, briefly, but now it seems I’ve been shoved unceremoniously back out again.
‘Good, well I’m really pleased you’ve decided to see Ray, though I can’t think why you want to do it at Mum’s. Why don’t we go somewhere different, the three of us, somewhere that’s neutral territory?’
‘Becaus
e,’ says Hayley crossly, ‘Mum may be an annoying cow sometimes but at least she’s always had my best interests at heart. And besides, I’ll feel safer meeting him somewhere I don’t think he’ll cause a scene.’
‘You’re making him out to be some kind of nutter,’ I protest. ‘But he’s really not like that and …’
‘I don’t want to argue about it,’ she says. ‘Just because he’s got you wrapped round his finger doesn’t mean I’m going to roll over like some little puppy and if you keep bugging me about it, I won’t see him at all. Besides, I need to talk to Mum about stuff so by coming over I can kill two birds with one stone.’
‘OK,’ I say, knowing her threats aren’t idle. ‘That’s fine. Hayley are you OK? I know you must be so sad and just want you to know that I am here for you. Even if it’s three in the morning, if you need to talk, just pick up the phone.’
‘Weirdo. I’m hardly likely to do that, am I?’
At least I’ve said it. ‘Right, so do you want to do it Tuesday night then? Is Gary coming?’
‘Course, he’s my husband isn’t he?’
‘Yeah, funnily enough I do know that,’ I say impatiently. I thought it was a fair enough question. As far as I can make out Gary shies away from anything that is remotely delicate to handle.
‘And I’ll get to meet your Andy,’ she says meanly.
‘Mm,’ I say, refusing to rise to the bait. Right now ‘my’ Andy is downstairs sharing a cosy TV supper of chicken Kiev, smiley face potatoes and carrots with Mum and Martin as they play along with Who Wants to be a Millionaire. Not quite the scene most intrepid travellers dream of but he seems happy enough. In fact he seems disturbingly bedded in and content.
I’d fully intended to have ‘the chat’ with him tonight, but once again have been defeated by the day and now feel too shattered to cope with it. I’ll have to have it soon though. The ‘I’ve got my period’ excuse has just about run its course. In fact earlier, when he asked me whether I still had it and I said yes, he suggested I see a gynaecologist.
As soon as I’ve got off the phone from Hayley I phone Ray to impart the good news that his eldest daughter has agreed to see him in a mere two days’ time. The bad news is that she wants to do it here. She might as well have suggested we all meet for a casual drink in a pressure cooker as far as I’m concerned.