About two months before our departure date, Dad phoned me. It was mid-afternoon on a Wednesday, so I was at work and too busy to talk for long.
He couldn’t come with us, he explained sadly. He’d sprained his ankle.
‘A sprained ankle?’ I repeated, wedging the phone beneath my chin as I continued to screw the cabinet to the wall. ‘It’ll be fine by August, then, won’t it?’
‘Unfortunately not,’ Dad said. ‘It’s quite a bad sprain.’
‘How d’you do that, then?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I slipped on the step or something,’ Dad said.
‘Or something?’ I repeated, frowning and interrupting what I was doing. ‘You haven’t broken it, have you?’
‘No,’ Dad said. ‘No, it’s just a little sprain. Don’t worry.’
‘A little sprain that’s going to stop you coming on holiday in well over two months’ time.’
‘Yes, I’ll just rest up and read,’ Dad said. ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.’
I exhaled sharply at the realisation I needed to visit him. Because there was something he wasn’t telling me.
As Amy was teaching all weekend, I took Ben with me to see ‘poor Grandad’. And he was limping badly when we arrived. Only, by that I don’t mean that he had an impressive or worrying injury. I mean he was limping badly.
‘Why are you walking like that?’ I asked, squinting at him as we followed him down the hallway to the kitchen.
‘I told you, I’ve—’
‘But you’re walking on the side of your foot,’ I said.
‘Yes, it hurts,’ Dad said.
‘Can I go out back?’ Ben asked, standing on tiptoes and peering out at the garden. ‘Is that big fat cat still here?’
‘Yes, go see if you can find Boris,’ Dad said, opening the door to let him out.
‘So, come on. What’s going on?’ I asked, once Ben had left.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Dad said.
‘You’re a terrible liar, Dad, and you know it,’ I laughed.
‘Oh,’ Dad said, glancing down at his foot. He sighed deeply. ‘I’m sorry, son,’ he said. ‘But I just don’t think I want to go.’
‘And your foot?’
‘It’s mostly fine.’
‘Mostly fine?’
‘It is fine, in fact,’ Dad said, shrugging sheepishly.
‘So why the change of heart?’ I asked.
‘Oh, it’s too hot for me,’ Dad said. ‘I don’t like those kinds of temperatures, you know I don’t.’
‘The house is cool, apparently,’ I said. ‘It’ll be great. Come on. And there’s a pool, and—’
‘It’s not just that,’ Dad said. ‘I’ve other reasons.’
‘OK . . .’ I said doubtfully. ‘Go on.’
‘I . . .’ He turned to face the sink, looking out of the kitchen window at Ben, who was now sitting on the rusty swing. ‘I’m not sure how you’ll react,’ he added, and I saw his neck change colour as he flushed red.
‘Dad?’ I said, stepping forward and placing one hand on his shoulder. ‘Tell me. Has Amy said something? Have I said—’
‘It’s Emma,’ Dad interrupted. ‘My friend from the meditation centre.’
‘Emma,’ I said. ‘What about her?’
‘There’s a bit of a thing,’ Dad said.
‘A thing?’
‘A developing thing, I suppose you could say.’
I started to grin and had to restrain myself. ‘A romantic kind of thing?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ Dad said, still staring out of the window. ‘Potentially.’
‘Do you want to bring her?’ I asked. ‘Is that it? Because—’
‘No, I couldn’t possibly,’ Dad said. ‘We’re . . . not . . . you know . . .’
I squeezed his shoulder.
‘We’re not there, yet,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ I said, still stifling a smile. ‘And what? You don’t want to interrupt a work in progress by vanishing to Spain for three weeks?’
‘Yes, something like that,’ Dad said, finally turning to look at me but quickly averting his gaze again by staring at his hands instead. ‘There’s another chap hanging around, so . . .’
I nodded and pushed my tongue into my cheek as I struggled not to smirk. Dad glanced at me and misinterpreted the resulting facial expression. ‘You’re angry, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Angry?’
‘It’s a perfectly normal reaction,’ he said. ‘But you need to understand that I’m not trying to replace your mother. That’s not what this is about at all. Your mother—’
Finally I couldn’t hold it in any longer, so I let my laughter break free. ‘I’m so not angry, Dad,’ I told him, tears in my eyes. ‘I just . . . I suppose I didn’t . . . Well . . . I didn’t think you had it in you, I guess. You naughty old sod.’
‘I’m only sixty-nine!’ Dad said. ‘Jesus, I’m not dead, boy.’ And then he pushed me to one side, shook his head, and started to shuffle ridiculously from the room. Only as he reached the doorway did he remember that he no longer needed to limp.
That Sunday night, over dairy-free cauliflower ‘cheese’, Amy expressed her irritation.
‘I’ve spent a lot of money on this, Joe,’ she said. ‘It was supposed to be a treat for him, for Christ’s sake, not something for him to worm his way out of.’
‘He’s not worming out of it, honey,’ I told her. ‘And it’s only a treat if he actually wants to go. You can’t make someone want the treat you’ve chosen.’
‘But he did want to go. I booked the flight for him and everything.’
‘And now he doesn’t want to go,’ I explained reasonably. ‘He’s an adult. He’s changed his mind.’
‘Oh, can you convince him, Joe?’ Amy asked, putting down her fork to raise her hands in prayer. ‘Please?’
I shook my head and laughed. ‘I don’t even want him to change his mind. He’s almost seventy, hon. And he’s got a chance, this totally unexpected last chance, to not spend the rest of his life alone. I can’t believe that you’d want him to give that up either – not if you really think about it.’
‘But that can wait three weeks, can’t it? I mean, she’s not going to run off with someone else the second his back’s turned, is she? Not at that age.’
‘Well, apparently there is some other guy sniffing around, so . . .’
‘What does sniffing around mean?’ Ben asked.
‘Daddy didn’t mean that.’
‘No, bad choice of words,’ I agreed.
‘Anyway, he could bring her,’ Amy said. ‘The more the merrier.’
‘I suggested that. I told you already. But it’s a no.’
Amy sighed and forked a lump of cauliflower from her plate, then, waving it at me, continued, ‘Well, the place is too big for just the three of us. It’s got five bedrooms, for God’s sake.’
‘I don’t think there’s a rule that you have to use them all,’ I said. ‘They’re not going to apply the bedroom tax or anything.’
‘I already paid the damn bedroom tax when I booked it. It was almost a thousand pounds.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Relax.’
‘It’s just a bit obscene,’ Amy said, speaking through food now. ‘His flight will go to waste, too.’
‘It was fifty quid,’ I protested. ‘Who cares?’
‘I was thinking more about the carbon footprint of that empty seat,’ Amy explained. ‘Maybe we could change the name on the ticket and invite someone else. Maybe I’ll invite Wanda to join us. She knows the area—’
‘No,’ I interrupted, raising one finger and wiggling it in what I hoped was a comic manner.
Amy leaned forward and stared at me. ‘No?’ she said.
‘Um, yeah. That’s an absolute no to that one from me.’
‘No to Wanda? Or no to anyone?’
‘No to anyone. And a definite total absolute no to Wanda.’
‘What’s wrong with Wanda? She’s my friend.
’
‘Yeah. Wanda’s great. But I’m not going on holiday with her,’ I said. ‘Ever.’
‘You . . .’ Amy said, shaking her head. ‘Joe, then? What about Joe?’
‘He’s twenty-five. He has a girlfriend. He has far better things to do than go on holiday with his boss.’
‘Or Marius,’ Amy said. ‘I bet Marius can’t afford many posh holidays.’
‘Hey, Marius is doing fine, thank you very much. You make it sound like I don’t pay the guy.’
‘He always looks pretty broke to me.’
‘Only because he sends all his money back to Romania,’ I said. ‘And actually, Romania’s where he’s going for his hols, so . . .’
‘Mum?’ Ben said.
‘It just seems a waste, that’s all,’ Amy said, before turning to Ben and asking, ‘Yes, dear?’
‘Can’t we invite Lucy?’
‘Lucy?’ I said. ‘Who’s Lucy?’
‘Lucy’s that little girl he hangs around with,’ Amy informed me with a wink. ‘His best friend.’
‘She’s not got a holiday this year,’ Ben said. ‘So maybe she could come with us. To Spain.’
I laughed and started to reply, ‘You can’t just invite—’ But Amy was speaking too.
‘She’s the one who lives up the road, right? The one you play with sometimes at school?’
Ben nodded. ‘At least I’d have someone to play with,’ he said, looking plaintive.
‘That’s true, actually,’ Amy told him, turning to me.
‘Amy . . .’ I told her in a special listen to me tone of voice.
She raised an eyebrow at me questioningly.
I shook my head definitively. ‘Don’t get his hopes up,’ I said. ‘It’s not happening.’
‘OK, let’s talk about this another time,’ Amy said, addressing Ben. ‘Anyway, what else did you get up to at Grandad’s?’
That night in bed, as she undressed, Amy asked me what I thought.
‘What do I think about what?’ I said. I’d assumed that the subject was closed.
‘About Ben bringing his friend on holiday.’
‘Amy,’ I said, ‘you’re being crazy.’
‘It’s not easy for him, being an only child,’ she said.
‘I’m an only child,’ I pointed out, with a shrug.
‘So you know it’s not always easy. I remember going on holiday with—’
‘It’s impossible, Amy,’ I interrupted her. ‘I mean, just, you know, legally speaking . . . Passports and parental rights and all that. It’s totally impossible.’
‘Oh yeah,’ Amy said, lifting the covers and slipping in beside me. ‘I didn’t think about that. Do you think it is? Impossible, I mean.’
‘Totally,’ I said. ‘Anyway, it’ll be nice. Just the three of us.’
‘I guess,’ Amy said.
‘God, don’t be too enthusiastic about spending three weeks in Spain with your husband and son, will you?’
‘OK,’ Amy said. ‘Sure, fine.’
‘So that’s settled?’
‘Sure,’ Amy said again, snuggling against me. ‘Sure. OK.’
Three
Heather
A few days after the ‘Spain’ conversation, I got home from the school to find a little red sports car parked on our drive. ‘It’s Ben!’ Lucy exclaimed, running up to tap on the passenger window.
The driver’s side window slid down and an elegant blonde woman smiled up at me. She reminded me of someone famous, and I finally remembered her from parents’ evening and realised that I’d been picturing Ben’s mum as someone else entirely.
‘Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you,’ she said. She sounded vaguely American and the accent brought the face of the famous person I was trying to find almost within reach. This made the fact that I still couldn’t quite work out who that was even more annoying.
‘Um, yes . . . Of course,’ I said, thinking, Lady Gaga? – No. Madonna? – Almost but not quite. ‘What’s it about?’
‘Um, it’s about Lucy,’ she replied.
‘Oh, really? Has she done something?’ I asked.
‘Not at all,’ the woman said. ‘I, er . . .’ And then she slid the window closed and climbed from the car. We shook hands.
‘I’m Amy,’ she said. Then, turning towards the car and leaning down to peer in and beckon to her son, she added, ‘I’m Ben’s mum.’
‘Yes, I think we met once,’ I said. ‘Well, we were in the same room anyway. At Red Nose Day?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Amy said, reaching out to scoop Ben, who had joined us but was lingering a few feet away, to her side. ‘Ben can be a bit shy, can’t you?’ she said.
‘No,’ Ben replied grumpily, half hiding behind her leg.
‘Can I show Ben my room?’ Lucy asked.
‘Um, sure,’ I said. Addressing Amy, I asked, ‘If you have time?’
‘I have,’ Amy said, ‘as it happens.’
‘I’m coming too,’ Sarah announced.
‘Oh, we don’t want her,’ Lucy said, tugging at Ben’s sleeve. ‘We’re not playing baby games.’
Amy smiled at me and raised an eyebrow.
‘Let me rephrase that, then, Lucy,’ I said. ‘You can take Ben and show him your room if you let Sarah come too.’
Lucy sighed dramatically. ‘Oh, come on then,’ she said, leading the way. ‘But you won’t like it, silly Sarah.’
‘They actually get on pretty well,’ I said, as we entered the hallway. ‘Lucy’s just showing off because Ben’s here.’
‘Oh, I’m sure,’ Amy said. ‘They seem sweet.’
I made tea for us both in the kitchen and apologised for the mess as I handed Amy her mug. She looked around the room and commented, ‘But it’s spotless. It’s, like, hospital clean.’
I glanced around the room again with fresh eyes and wondered what I was apologising for. But I could see the finger smudges on the oven door, even if Amy couldn’t. I could see the dirty tea towel on the chair back and the soup bowl sitting in the sink. ‘So, Amy,’ I said, once we’d moved through to the conservatory. ‘What’s up?’
‘Really, nothing’s up as such,’ Amy said, raising her tea to her lips, but not, I noticed, actually drinking. ‘I’m not sure if Lucy said anything to you, but we’re going to Spain in August.’
I smiled, and for no reason I could identify felt myself blush. ‘Actually, she did,’ I said. ‘I think she’s a bit jealous of Ben’s holiday plans.’
‘The thing is – and I hope you don’t think I’m being . . . I don’t know what the word is, really . . . inappropriate? I hope you don’t think this is inappropriate. But Lucy said you’re not able to go away this year and—’
‘It’s not that we’re not able,’ I corrected her. ‘It’s that we’ve decided not to.’
‘Of course,’ Amy said. ‘God, I’m so bad at this. I really didn’t mean . . .’
‘No, go on,’ I said. ‘It’s fine. Really.’
‘So we’ve got this crazy goddam house booked down in Spain. It’s a real monster, with living areas and five bedrooms and a pool and a jacuzzi, and there are only the three of us going now.’
‘OK,’ I said, sounding and probably looking a bit confused.
‘Reg, that’s Joe’s dad – Joe’s my husband, yeah? Anyway, he was supposed to come with us too.’
‘Joe was? Oh, sorry, Reg was.’
‘Yes. Yes, Joe’s coming, obviously. But his dad was supposed to come too. I was even thinking about inviting my mum, though Joe doesn’t know that, so not a word. But now neither of them are coming, so we have all this empty space.’
‘Sure,’ I said, frowning as I tried to work out where Amy was going with all of this.
‘And it just seems such a waste, you know?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘And I know this is going to sound crazy, but . . . well . . . I mean, Ben’s an only child, you know? And he gets on so well with Lucy and all . . .’
‘So you wante
d to invite Lucy to join you?’ I offered, trying to help stammering Amy out a little.
‘Yeah, kind of . . . Well, no, not really. I mean, that was my original idea. But Joe pointed out all the reasons that wouldn’t fly. I mean, what with passports and parental guardianship and all. And so then I got to thinking that maybe we could all go together. Like a shared family holiday? It could be fun.’ She leaned towards me and looked into my eyes, searching, I think, for a reaction. But I was struggling to decide what to think.
‘That sounds crazy, right?’ Amy continued, straightening. ‘I’m sounding totally bat-shit crazy. It’s just I get these ideas, you know? About how we’re all on this planet in our separate little bubbles and it could all be so much nicer if we shared stuff. And . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway.’
I sipped my tea and swallowed with difficulty. Something in her words, something about the separate bubbles had reached me, but I couldn’t think of a sensible way to respond.
‘Look, even I can hear how crazy I sound,’ Amy said. ‘So don’t worry. I am aware.’
‘Look, it doesn’t sound crazy,’ I said. ‘Well, not completely. And I know what you mean, in a way. But, well, it’s not going to . . . to fly, as you say.’
‘It’s not, is it?’ Amy said, wrinkling her nose. ‘And now I feel a bit dumb, so . . .’
‘Please, don’t,’ I said. ‘It’s a sweet idea. And I’d love to go to Spain some day. But . . .’
‘Maybe you’d like to discuss it with your husband?’ Amy suggested. ‘Just in case?’
‘With Ant?’ I laughed. ‘No, look . . . I don’t want to be rude, Amy . . .’
Amy raised her palms and made a quiet ‘Ouch!’ noise, which made me laugh.
‘But the thing is, well, we don’t know you, do we? We don’t really know you at all.’
‘God, that British reserve,’ Amy said. ‘I mean, I’m half British, but I never quite get used to it.’
‘I don’t think that’s really what this is,’ I said. ‘I think this is more—’
‘That the idea’s just insane?’ Amy said.
‘Not insane, but, well . . . It is a bit unusual,’ I offered, squinting at her in a kindly manner.
‘OK,’ Amy said. ‘I just thought, you know . . . But OK.’
‘It’s really nice of you,’ I said. ‘But . . .’ I shrugged.
From Something Old Page 10