Seeing Other People

by Gayle, Mike

  ‘You look worried,’ said Bella, taking my hand, ‘there’s no need to be.’

  ‘I know,’ I replied, even though a sense of unease continued to linger over me like a black cloud.

  Once inside the flat Bella told me to take a seat in the living room and disappeared into the kitchen. After a few moments she popped her head round the kitchen door. ‘Beer or wine?’

  ‘I’ll stick to wine if that’s OK.’

  Bella reappeared a short while later carrying a plate laden with bread, olives and hummus. She handed me a bottle of Merlot that she had tucked under her arm and a corkscrew.

  ‘What do your flatmates do?’ I asked as I opened the bottle.

  ‘Fran’s in her final year of medical school,’ said Bella, taking two wine glasses from a cabinet near the TV, ‘and Kimberley’s a trainee womenswear buyer for Selfridges.’

  They were all still on the thresholds of their respective careers. Everything was new and fresh for them just like this night was for me. I filled the glasses while Bella closed the blinds and switched on a lamp.

  As we ate and drank we talked more about work but then Bella asked me about my early days as a novelist again and it reminded me of the present that I had brought for her. I pulled out an envelope from my jacket pocket.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asked as I handed it to her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘A present to go with the apology. I wouldn’t get your hopes up though. I can’t imagine anyone else in the world who would want it apart from you.’

  Bella ripped open the envelope and her eyes widened in surprise. ‘Is this what I think it is?’

  ‘All eight hundred words of it,’ I replied. ‘I was never really sure where it was going. In the end I handed back the advance to my publisher just so that I didn’t have to torture myself any more.’

  ‘The first chapter of your second novel – I don’t know what to say.’

  I suddenly felt sheepish. ‘Chuck it if you want.’ What was I doing showing her my old work like that? She must have thought me an idiot. ‘Like I said, I don’t know where I thought it was going.’

  ‘I love it,’ said Bella, putting down the pages and leaning towards me. ‘Sometimes it’s good not to worry too much about what will happen next.’

  We kissed, gently at first then with increasing intensity as each moment passed, our hands running across each other’s body, but as Bella whispered something about moving to the bedroom I thought about my last time with Penny and how right it had felt being with her. Suddenly this felt different, alien, and I wasn’t nearly so sure what I was doing here.

  Bella stood up, tugging on my hand.

  ‘Joe, come on. What are you waiting for?’

  I thought about telling her the truth. That I was waiting for myself to wake up. That incredible as she was I wanted to open my eyes and find that this was all a dream and that I was safe and happy with the only woman I’d ever love. But I didn’t of course because that would have made even less sense than a guy like me turning down a girl like Bella when there was effectively no reason to do so. So instead I spun her a yarn about how I was confused and didn’t feel ready for a big commitment and was wary of doing the wrong thing. She said that she understood, she even said that I could stay and sleep on the sofa, but in the end I kissed her on the cheek and said a final goodbye.

  As I closed the front door to the house determined to head to the high street so I could get a cab I looked down at the front gate and spotted Fiona waiting.

  ‘Come on then,’ I said, refusing to stop, ‘I’m ready to take whatever insults you’re waiting to throw at me.’

  Fiona laughed and followed me. ‘Who said I’m here to insult you?’

  ‘Isn’t that what you do?’

  ‘Yes, when it’s needed. But it’s not needed right now is it? I’m impressed, Joey Boy. For a minute back there when you were rifling through Slag Face’s underwear I’ll admit I was thinking, “What an idiot! He hasn’t learned a thing!” but you proved me wrong didn’t you? Which – I’ll have you know – is something that doesn’t happen very often. I’m almost proud of you, Joe, you’re growing.’ She pretended to dab her eyes with a handkerchief that she produced out of nowhere. ‘I think I’m actually coming over a bit emotional.’ She laughed and tucked the handkerchief up her sleeve. ‘It feels good though doesn’t it?’

  I stopped and looked at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Knowing for a fact that out of all the women in the world you only want Penny.’

  ‘And a fat lot of good that’s going to do me. She’s with Scott, she’s not going to come back to me.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  Fiona shook a finger in my face. ‘I’ve already said too much. But you’re nearly there, Joe, you’re so very nearly there.’

  27

  ‘Right then you two, kiss Mum goodbye and we’ll get off.’

  A month had passed since the night I’d tried to rekindle things with Bella. Thankfully I hadn’t seen any more of Fiona but other than that, very little had changed. Things between Penny and me were frosty but civil and she was still very much with Scott. Thankfully however a distraction came my way in the form of an idea of Stewart’s. On a low after having missed out on yet another one of his children’s birthdays he’d needed a project to focus on and when he’d shared his idea – taking our kids camping in Suffolk over the summer bank holiday weekend – with the Divorced Dads’ Club and me we’d agreed to it unanimously.

  Rosie and Jack gave Penny their biggest kisses and squeezes before racing to the car. They were practically fizzing with excitement at the prospect of three nights under canvas and seeing them so happy made me happy, albeit briefly, given that Penny and I were still not really speaking.

  I looked at her, wondering what she was thinking, something I never had to do when we were together. Penny had always been such an open book, so easy to read. Not any more.

  ‘Right, if that’s everything, I think we’ll be off.’

  She didn’t speak and so I turned away, ready to head down the path, but then she called after me.

  ‘I’ve given you Jack’s hay fever medicine haven’t I?’

  ‘It’s in the glove box.’

  ‘And you’ll remember to keep an eye on that patch of eczema on Rosie’s shoulder? It’s really been irritating her lately.’

  ‘I’ve got it all under control. Her cream’s with Jack’s medicine and it goes on twice a day. I’m not stupid, Pen. Give me some credit will you?’

  Instead of getting angry at my barbed comment her face softened. She seemed distracted. ‘Of course, yes, I’m sorry. I’m just . . . it doesn’t matter.’

  I started down the path again.

  ‘Joe?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Is there any chance we could have a chat sometime? Maybe when you drop the kids back on Monday? There’s some stuff I could do with talking to you about. Nothing major.’

  I felt my heart sink. Was there really any such thing as a ‘quick chat’ when you were in the middle of a divorce? ‘I don’t know, Pen, after a weekend under canvas with the kids I’m guessing I’ll be good for nothing. Can’t it wait until next week sometime?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Fine,’ I sighed, and wondered if this was some tactic her solicitor had devised to mess with my head. ‘I’ll see what I can do but I’m making no promises.’

  I carried on to the car and started up the engine while the kids frantically waved Penny goodbye through the window and then finally, after what had been three-quarters of an hour of ‘Oh-I’ve-forgotten-this,’ and ‘Oh-I’ve-forgotten-that,’ we were on our way to the Suffolk coast for our first break as a single-parent family.

  It was a little after two as we pulled up in the car park at the Sunny Sands camp site, following a somewhat traumatic journey during which I’d been forced by Jack to stop at the side of the road twice for uns
cheduled wee breaks – to complement the four I’d already planned – dealt with a leaking Tesco bag of Jack’s vomit while driving at sixty m.p.h. on the A12 outside Colchester and battled Rosie for control of the car stereo because apparently listening to my own music in my own car was ‘unfair’.

  Grumpy, hungry and considerably crumpled the kids and I got out of the car and stretched and just like that our foul moods lifted. The keening of seagulls far above our heads, the salty sea breeze and the constant chatter of songbirds in the hedgerow made it clear that we weren’t in Kansas any more.

  As we began unloading our bags I saw Paul and his kids Zach and Melody walking up the hill towards us. Paul was dressed in shorts and an old Nirvana T-shirt while his two moody-looking children were wearing long-sleeved T-shirts and jeans.

  ‘So you made it then?’

  ‘Took a bit longer than I’d hoped getting out of London but after that it was plain sailing. Where are the others?’

  ‘Van’s taken his kids to the beach – we were actually just off there when you arrived – and Stewart’s still sorting out the tents, or at least that’s what he says he’s doing. I tried to talk him into coming with us but he said he’d rather get himself organised.’

  ‘I thought he was bringing his sister’s kids with him this weekend? Wasn’t that the plan?’

  ‘They cancelled at the last minute – sickness bug. It’s just one of those things I suppose.’

  I looked down at my kids, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to pick them both up and smother them with kisses. I just didn’t know how Stewart coped not seeing his kids. If I’d been in his position I don’t think I would have.

  I introduced my kids to Paul’s but the two sets of children barely raised an eyebrow and instead contented themselves with staring at each other like members of a rival gang.

  ‘They’ll warm up,’ whispered Paul as he picked up a couple of our bags and headed towards the tents. ‘My two pretty much hate everyone to begin with. It’s just their way.’

  At the tents I introduced Jack and Rosie to Stewart and he showed us where we’d be sleeping. He had organised everything from the borrowing of tents to the purchasing of food. I hadn’t even managed to buy sleeping bags. The kids had borrowed theirs from school friends while I’d been loaned one by Van.

  ‘Honestly mate, the kids and I would be sleeping under the stars if it wasn’t for you. You’ve done such a great job.’

  Stewart smiled but there was a real sadness behind his eyes. ‘I just want everyone to have a good time, that’s all.’

  ‘And we will,’ I replied, ‘but only if you relax too. Paul was saying you didn’t fancy going to the beach.’

  He shrugged. ‘I like to keep busy. My ex used to say it kept me out of mischief.’

  Paul and I exchanged knowing glances. If anyone had needed keeping out of mischief it was Stewart’s ex-wife.

  ‘Listen, we’re on holiday, mate, you should be free to get into as much mischief as you like so why don’t we sort out the tents together and once we’re done all head down to the beach?’

  Reluctantly, Stewart agreed and, once the tents were sorted, we all made our way along a short stretch of road to the steps that led down to the beach. At the top of the steps however was a hotdog stand and waving frantically at us from the queue was Van with his sons Harley and Suzuki.

  ‘Are they your real names?’ asked Jack as I greeted Van and we introduced our kids.

  The two boys stared at Jack and shrugged.

  ‘I think they’re cute,’ said Rosie, who like most girls her age liked young children because they made them feel grown-up.

  ‘They’re named after my two favourite motorcycles,’ explained Van, kneeling down next to Jack. ‘If you were a grown-up and had two kids of your own what would you name them if they had to be called after your favourite things?’

  Jack thought very hard. ‘‘‘Scooter” and “Dad”,’ he said without cracking a smile.

  Van grinned. ‘After an answer like that you should definitely get a raise in your pocket money.’

  The kids, having bonded with Harley and Suzuki over a mutual love of ketchup, spent a good hour running in and out of the sea and building sandcastles after which Van started up a game of kids versus dads football which proved so entertaining that even Paul’s moody pair deemed it worthy of their participation. It was heart-warming watching the kids laughing with their new friends with an expanse of empty beach to play on. This was the kind of outdoor freedom that Penny and I had always wanted for our children, the kind that we would talk about late at night in bed lying in each other’s arms taking it in turns to paint pictures of what a perfect life might look like if money, jobs and all the other stuff that got in the way of dreams, were no longer an issue.

  ‘Doesn’t look like I’m going to get much of a look-in in this match,’ said Stewart, wandering back towards me in goal from his position as defender. One of the kids had kicked the ball into the sea and every time someone fished it out one of the other kids would kick it back in again.

  ‘Doesn’t look like it,’ I replied. ‘Can’t say it matters much on a beautiful day like this.’

  ‘It really is a cracker isn’t it?’ said Stewart, sitting down on the sand next to the goal post. ‘My nephews would’ve loved to have been here playing football.’

  ‘I’m sure they would. I’m sorry they couldn’t come.’

  ‘It’s fine. It can’t be helped. It’s my kids I’m really missing.’

  ‘How long has it been since you’ve seen them?’

  ‘Just under eighteen months. If I saw them now I’d probably struggle to recognise them. Kids change so much when they’re young, don’t they?’

  I nodded. ‘I don’t know how you handle it, Stew, I really don’t. I’d be lost if Penny took the kids to a different county let alone a different country.’

  Stewart picked up a handful of sand and let it spill out between his fingers. ‘I used to think like that,’ he replied, ‘but you learn that you can’t give up. I know that one day I’m going to get to see them and when I do I know I’ll be able to look them in the eye and tell them that I never stopped fighting for them.’

  We talked more, about kids, and life, and where we thought we’d gone wrong in life and how best to correct it. It was a real turning point in our friendship, and it made me feel like I wasn’t quite so alone, so much so that later that night as I was sitting by the campfire listening to the guys swapping ghost stories for the benefit of the kids I found myself asking him a question that I never thought I’d hear myself ask.

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  Stewart laughed. ‘I know Van’s stories are good, Joe, but they’re not that good! Are you a believer now?’

  ‘No of course not,’ I lied, even though prompted by the watching of box sets of Britain’s Most Haunted I was slowly coming round to the idea that perhaps I wasn’t mad after all. That perhaps Fiona was telling the truth about her being a ghost. It would certainly have gone a long way towards explaining the weird things that had been happening in my life, and would have brought me a great deal of relief in finally knowing what was going on, but the one thing that my over-rational brain couldn’t get over was the fact that I didn’t believe in ghosts.

  ‘I was watching a TV programme a few nights ago,’ I explained to Stewart, ‘and they interviewed a guy who claimed that he’d seen one and he seemed absolutely straight up and trustworthy.’

  He coughed and wrinkled his nose as a change in the breeze momentarily swamped us in bonfire smoke. ‘My mum claimed to have seen the ghost of her great-granddad when she was a kid but then again she’s always been a big believer in the spirit world and all that rubbish.’

  ‘So are you saying you don’t believe they exist?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen one. But you only have to have a quick look on the internet to find plenty of folk who do. Truth is there’s a lot of weird things that go on in the world so at a gues
s I’d say anything’s possible.’

  I was about to come out with a follow-up question that I’d planned to segue into a no-holds-barred confession about Fiona when Van announced that he was tired of ghost stories, pulled out his acoustic guitar and started up a rendition of ‘Hot For Teacher’. Everyone, the kids included, was so entertained by the song and the completely inappropriate dance that went with it that, as far as ghost talk went, the moment was lost and never returned. Still, somehow it didn’t seem to matter too much any more because the weekend as a whole was idyllic: the perfect mix of sunny days, barbecues and late-night singing sessions around a campfire. When it came to the last day none of us wanted it to be over and we all vowed to make it an annual get-together.

  It had long since gone dark as I pulled up outside Penny’s. Both the kids were curled up asleep beneath their borrowed sleeping bags and I was reminded of all the family trips in years gone by when they’d had to be carried into the house and put to bed. When she was younger Rosie especially had been such a deep sleeper that I’d once completely undressed her and put her into her pyjamas without her once stirring whereas Jack would always rouse long enough to have a long and involved conversation that rarely made any sense before falling back into deep slumber. These days however they were both too big to be carried any more. In the past year alone Jack seemed to have almost doubled in size and yet was as skinny as ever and Rosie’s last growth spurt had left her only half a foot shorter than her mum.

  I roused them gently.

  Rosie rubbed her eyes. ‘Are we home?’

  ‘We are,’ I replied even though my response wasn’t strictly true. This wasn’t my home now no matter how much I wanted it to be. ‘Come on, let’s go and see your mum.’

  Penny could barely hold back her tears as she hugged the kids and wrapping them both in her arms refused to let go no matter how they struggled as she kissed and hugged them as if they had been away for weeks, not days.