by Lynda Stacey
‘But, after I was born … When you knew that you were my father, you could have come back, couldn’t you?’ Jess was clutching at straws. ‘But you stayed away.’
‘My dear Jess, I once saw your mother pushing you in your pram and you were so beautiful that the moment I saw you my heart burst with pride. There would have been nothing I’d have loved more than to go home with you, but your mother forbade it. She wouldn’t allow me to see you, so I became your number one stalker and used to watch you as often as I could. I resorted to hiding behind bushes, bus shelters and parked vehicles just so I could watch you walk down the street. I’d sit in the park reading newspapers in order that I could watch you play on the swings, but then your mother moved away. I had no idea where you were, except that you were somewhere in Yorkshire and, as you know, Yorkshire is a big old place and I had no idea where to start looking.’
Jess sighed and stared down at the floor. She knew that finding someone twenty years ago had been so much more difficult than it was now. There hadn’t been the internet, there’d been no such thing as Twile, Find my Family, Facebook or search engines. Finally she looked up to see Bastion’s eyes which searched her own.
‘Jess, I want to be your father, I always wanted to be your father and I prayed that one day … one day …’ He began to cough, picked up the glass of water and took a small sip, all the while looking Jess in the eye.
‘Daddy, look what I got.’ Lily ran in, a soft rag doll in her hands. ‘Nomsa bought me a dolly. It’s just like my favourite one, like the one that Mummy took.’ Once again she jumped up and onto the bed, clung to her father with an obvious need to be close to him and Jess felt a pang of jealousy shoot through her. It was a surge that took over her whole body as she realised how many years she’d missed out on, how many hugs she could have had and how much love they could have shared. For years she’d had so many questions she might ask if ever they met, but now she was here, wishing she’d made a list. Jess took a deep breath and made a mental note to ask him next time about her mother and how they’d met. She smiled, hoping it was a good old romantic tale.
Chapter Twelve
Jack ran through the woods. He needed to run, needed to feel the burn in his lungs, but most of all he needed to clear his head. Now that his shift for the day was finally over, he needed to get out of the hotel and away from the constant questions that Nomsa had been firing at him like bullets for the past two days.
He knew she meant well, knew she loved both Jess and himself like a part of her own family, but he had no idea how to react, not at the moment. Jess was pregnant, and as far as he was aware no one else knew. What he really wanted was to get some time alone with Jess to talk about the baby, about how they both felt and, of course, he needed to know if Jess was as confused and scared about it all as he was. The problem was, every time he and Jess got the chance to speak, there seemed to be three or four other people in the vicinity who wanted to join in, which quite often included an eight-year-old little girl who seemed to cling to Jess like a limpet.
He’d never thought about becoming a father. Right now it had been the last thing on his mind, but now it was here, he wondered what the reality would be like. Would he know what to do? Who would teach him? He thought of how Nomsa and Madeleine would both help Jess, but for him there was no role model to look up to, no father figure to ask advice of and definitely no friends who’d already become parents. All he could think of was how he interacted with Poppy; was it the same with your own child, or different? He felt numb at the thought of it all and wasn’t sure what he should be feeling. Was the numbness normal?
He inhaled as he ran, stumbled over a fallen log covered in a pile of old, wet, fallen leaves, steadied his pace and then came to the conclusion that he felt as though a pressure had been placed on his shoulders, like a set of dumb-bells weighing him down with no chance of the weight relenting anytime soon. And that weight, he decided, was called responsibility. He was going to be a father, so much sooner than he’d ever thought, but now he had to ‘man up’, and take responsibility for a child he hadn’t planned. The thought spun around in his mind. The pregnancy was as much his doing as hers. It had taken two of them to have sex, and both of them had been more than aware of the consequences. He shook his head knowing how irresponsible they’d been. He hadn’t wanted a child. He hadn’t wanted this pregnancy. But he did want Jess. He loved her more than anything in the world. He couldn’t imagine life without her, but the reality was they were about to be married, about to become parents and they had nowhere to live. It hadn’t seemed important before; they lived in the hotel. But now he needed to find them somewhere to live as a family, a home to call their own.
Jack jumped over a small water inlet and almost tripped over a rock. He grabbed at a tree branch, caught his breath and then continued to run. He pushed on harder than normal, the need to feel the burn on his lungs overwhelming, and ran as fast as he could.
Everything in his life was going to change. Damn it, it had already changed.
After the trauma and upset of the year before he’d only just begun to settle. He’d finally allowed himself to relax and enjoy the little time he managed to spend with Jess outside of work. She’d decided that she’d train as a nurse, and had even enrolled on the course, initially spending a lot of hours studying. But Emily had been so dependant, and Jess found that she felt more useful at the Hall, helping Emily. So she’d quit and had taken on responsibilities here. She worked on reception each weekend and when they needed the cover during the week. The rest of the time she’d shared her day between Emily and Jack. But working alongside Jack was different to them spending time together. Quite often their shifts were different, or overlapped and it was on the days that Jack worked that Jess spent most of her time with Emily. She’d walk her around the garden, some days on foot, other days pushing her in the wheelchair, with Poppy and Buddy happily trotting behind. And on the days when Emily didn’t feel well enough to be outside, they’d sit together drinking tea, whilst all the time laughing and giggling, and talking about anything and everything they could think of.
When they’d least expected it, just two weeks before Christmas, Emily had taken to her bed mid-morning and died before tea. Then Jess’s father, a man she’d never met, had arrived right after the funeral, promptly collapsed on the doorstep, and to complete the whole explosion of events, Jess not only had an eight-year-old sister who she now had to look after, but she was pregnant with his baby. There was no wonder he felt confused.
He slowed his pace, came to a halt under a tree and tried to catch his breath while he thought things through. He had a list of all the things he wanted them to do together, all the places they should go, the holidays they should take and all the experiences they should have, all before having children. He’d wanted to do things properly, with the wedding coming first, but then he’d had ambitions of buying a house. Just a small one to start with, but somewhere away from the Hall. Their home would have been and should have been their new start. It should have been a place where they could spend a year or two of married life. Just the two of them. And in time he’d have most probably decorated a nursery, all ready for when they decided, together, to have a baby. He’d wanted to do that. He’d wanted to do all of that. But most of all he just wanted to be with Jess.
But now instead of the dreams of what they could or should have done, everything was decided. Their whole lives were now set in stone, and it was now up to him to take responsibility. Was everyone this nervous? Was every new father this scared of what was to come, of how they’d cope and how they’d provide everything that was needed?
It had been raining overnight, so the ground was sodden, and the puddles were larger than normal. He leaned against a tree and immediately droplets of water fell from the branches above, like a thousand raindrops falling at once. He sighed, shook the water from his hair and looked up and into the branches. He’d spent most of his childhood climbing trees, rummaging for apples and running throug
h the woods. He thought back to his mother, how happy she’d been when he’d brought the apples home. She’d hug him and make a pie for tea. Jack smiled. His mother had been a single parent, one who could seemingly turn any foraged food into a banquet. Even so, he’d watched her struggle for years. The terraced house they’d lived in had been old, with single glazing, and they’d burnt anything they could in the open fire grate each evening just to keep warm. He’d watched her going without, making do, and not just with material things, but food too. He’d not seen it as a child, but as an adult it had become more than apparent that she’d spent years making excuses to him of not being hungry, or pretending to have eaten earlier, when in actual fact she’d have barely eaten at all. And all because she had a responsibility to him, to ensure that he was always fed and well looked after. And he applauded her; he’d never gone without. He’d been almost an adult before he’d asked her what it had been like for her, a question he should have asked so many years before. But as only a mother could, she’d simply replied, ‘My darling boy, I would have given my last breath for you and to bring you up alone was not a hardship. Not to me.’ Jack had never known who his father had been. Had never known how life would have been with a father in the house, or what a father’s role was.
Jack’s mind was engulfed with questions. If he was about to become a father, then he wanted to do it right, be the best he could be, but how could he do that when he’d never experienced how a father was with their children?
He felt the anger grow within him, his whole body beginning to shake. He wondered where his father was now, what had become of him and whether he too would turn up on the doorstep of the hotel one day, hoping for a big reunion. And what if he did turn up? How would he feel? Would he be like Jess and welcome him with open arms? He shook his head. No, he wouldn’t, he just knew he wouldn’t. Was that why he was acting so out of character with Jess’s father? Was he angry with him for being Jess’s father and not his? And if that was the case, was that fair to Jess?
He kicked at the tree causing more drops of water to fall. He’d wanted more for his own children. He’d wanted them to have so much more than he’d ever had and had always promised himself that by the time he had a son or a daughter, he’d have a home with a garden and savings. He’d wanted them to have somewhere they could play, somewhere he could run around and play with them, and somewhere he could keep them safe.
Was that too much to ask? Was he being unreasonable? Did he have a right to feel angry that his plans had been thrown up in the air?
He sighed. He knew that Jess was still annoyed with him, that he’d been wrong to go to the hospital to challenge Bastion with an onslaught of questions. But he’d only been trying to find out who Bastion really was and why he was there. He’d only been thinking of Jess. He’d been trying to protect her because he knew how hurt she’d be if Bastion Collymore was a fraud, and wasn’t her father at all.
‘Were you annoyed? Annoyed that it wasn’t your father that turned up?’ Jack questioned himself. But then he kicked himself; he’d seen how excited and happy Jess had been. She’d been to the hospital with Lily and spent time with Bastion. She’d spoken of how, through the newspaper clipping, he’d found her. How he and her mother had been more than a one-night stand. He’d used the word love, said that he’d loved her enough to let her go. What did that mean? What’s more, he’d told Jess that he was more than willing to take a DNA test, that he had no doubt what the result would be. Jack remembered how silently he’d sat at the kitchen table while Jess had rambled on to him and Nomsa. How on the one hand he’d wanted to be excited for her, but on the other he’d wished for none of it to be true and how he wanted to turn the clock back by at least two weeks, to a time when life had seemed so much simpler and he’d felt more in control.
Jack began to run back towards the house, through the trees, down the lane and into the clearing. He stopped in his tracks to take in the Hall’s beauty with its bell tower, gargoyles and the new windows that had been recently placed in the tower room, giving the room a whole new existence after having been hidden away for so many years. He loved to see the house at this time of night, as darkness began to fall and the Christmas lights shone out from the lower windows, and big white puffs of smoke bellowed out from the chimneys.
He took in a deep and determined breath. He needed to speak to Jess. He needed to tell her that it would all be okay and that he’d find a way to look after her, even though right now he had no idea how. He looked up to the sky. ‘I don’t normally pray, God, but if ever you wanted to throw me a miracle, now would be a great time to do it,’ he said with a smile, and ran back to the Hall.
Chapter Thirteen
Annie rolled onto her back and pulled her dressing gown up and over her partially naked body. The material was practically see through and didn’t make much of a difference, but to Annie it was a way of ending the session, a way of showing a punter they’d had their money’s worth, that her body was now out of bounds. She lay back against the pillow for a moment and sighed, before allowing her eyes to close. She was tired, but she couldn’t sleep, not yet.
She had a lot more work to do before the night was over. It was a continuous cycle of punters and with one job finished, she needed to move onto the next. Opening her eyes, she glanced across at the overweight man lying beside her. His hair was greasy, his shirt un-ironed, his teeth were either black or missing and his saggy old skin was covered in liver spots, freckles and hair. Annie guessed him to be around seventy-five years old. He was a man who at his age ought to be at home with his feet up by the fire, drinking hot chocolate, rather than being in a brothel, with her. She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve, and turned away, wondering if he was married or had kids. But in reality, she didn’t really give a toss who he was, or where he should or shouldn’t be. A man like him was the easiest money she ever earned; she never had to do much before it was all over, not with men like Charlie. His vigour had left him years before, along with the use of his legs and his eyesight. And fast results meant fast money. He was the fifth ‘easy money punter’ she’d had that night; in fact, most of the punters these days were like him, as the young and good looking ones took themselves into the town and got their sex for free from girls willing to drop their pants for a meaningless promise and a quick fumble behind the nightclub.
She looked at Charlie and hoped she could get rid of him quickly. She needed to move onto the next. She had debts to pay, and needed to fit a sixth or maybe even a seventh punter in before she went for some food, a fix or even a quick drink in the bar. Tonight she was thankful; at least there were enough punters in the brothel to keep her from having to work the streets.
‘Come on, Charlie. You’ve had what you came for, now get your fat arse out of bed and hand over the cash.’ She pulled at the dressing gown, climbed out of the bed and allowed her eyes to scour the littered carpet, searching for his discarded clothes that lay amongst hers. She picked up his trousers. They were dirty, and covered in unidentified stains, but she didn’t care. The trousers normally held the money and that’s all she was interested in. She threw them at the bed. ‘Here you go, Charlie. Get ’em on, and pay up.’
She walked over to the window, moved the thick, cream, nicotine stained net curtain to one side and looked out. Griff was walking up the road towards the brothel. He had a young girl draped all over him and Annie wondered if she was a one-night stand, or whether she’d be coming to live in the house. Was it possible that he was already looking to replace her? The girl was tall, at least ten years younger than her, and to Griff she’d be someone new to rent the room to, just as soon as she no longer needed it.
‘Give me a minute, I’ll pay you when I’m goddamned ready,’ Charlie’s satisfied voice rang out. As he turned over on the bed, a putrid smell expelled itself from his body and Annie could tell that he was settling in for the night, as suspicious snores began to fill the room.
‘Oh no you don’t, Charlie. You need to get up. Come o
n, get your arse up, it’s time for you to go home.’ She watched him wriggle on the bed, his hand searching for a cover that wasn’t there. ‘Are you cold, Charlie?’
He grunted. ‘Throw us a duvet, cocker, just for a minute or two. I’m … I’m just a bit on the tired side,’ he whispered between the pretend snores.
‘No way, Charlie. You’re getting no duvet, now come on, throw me the money and get your stinking arse out of here. I’ve got another punter waiting, I need to get back to work.’ Annie knew her words were harsh, knew that some men preferred her to be loving, pretentious and act as though they were the only man that night, but not Charlie. He was there for the sex, nothing more, nothing less. ‘Charlie, come on, pay me the bloody money!’
‘Get it yourself,’ he grunted and turned on his side.
The words were music to Annie’s ears. She knew he wasn’t really asleep, but he’d given her permission to go in his wallet and she eagerly pulled it from his trouser pocket, opened it, and turned it upside down, ready to empty it of cash, but scoffed at its content.
‘Come on, Charlie, where’s the rest? You owe me another thirty quid.’ She poked his leg with a stiletto and heard him grunt with annoyance. ‘Charlie, twenty quid isn’t enough.’ Annie sighed and looked down at the money that had dropped onto the bed. ‘Charlie, are you listening to me?’ She sat on the edge of the bed and picked her camisole up from the floor. She began to put her underwear back on, before she brushed her hair and began repairing her lipstick in the dressing table mirror.
She glanced back at the bed and then at the room. It was a simple room. Just as she liked it. She had everything she needed. A bed, and a dressing table, along with a greyish carpet that had originally been cream. It desperately needed a good clean, but Annie didn’t see the grime. Just like she didn’t normally pay any attention to the navy blue bedding set that was now covered in bodily fluids and would have been better burnt, rather than washed. She moved the sheet to one side, then thought better of it and folded it in half, in order to hide the stains. She shrugged. The state of the room didn’t bother her, but she knew it most probably bothered others. She’d long since lost all love of possessions, had sold most of her things over the years to get money for drugs and right now all she cared about was earning enough money for the next fix. She sighed, knowing that paying off Griff should be her priority, but her need for drugs took over all other rationality.