by Mark Haddon
And for the first time she was glad that Katie was marrying this man.
101
Jamie pulled into the village and felt that slight sinking in his stomach he always felt going back. The family thing. Like he was fourteen again. He parked over the road from the house, turned off the engine and gathered himself.
The secret was to remember that you were an adult now, that all of you were adults, that there was no longer any need to fight the battles you were fighting when you were fourteen.
God, he wanted Tony with him.
He glanced across at the house and saw Uncle Douglas emerging from the side gate with his wife. Mary. Or Molly. He’d better check that with someone before he put his foot in it.
He slipped down in his seat so that he couldn’t be seen and waited till they’d climbed into their car.
God, he hated aunts. The lipstick. The lavender perfume. The hilarious stories about how you wet yourself during a carol service.
They drove away.
What was he going to say about Tony?
That was the problem, wasn’t it. You left home. But you never did become an adult. Not really. You just fucked up in different and more complicated ways.
At this point, Katie drove up and parked beside him. They got out of their cars simultaneously.
“Hey you,” said Katie. They hugged. “No Tony?”
“No Tony.”
She rubbed his arms. “I’m so sorry.”
“Listen, I was going to ask you about that. I mean, what have you said to Mum?”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Right.”
“Just tell them the truth,” said Katie.
“Yeh.”
Katie looked him in the eye. “They’ll be fine. They have to be fine. I’m queen for the weekend. And no one is stepping out of line, all right?”
“All right,” said Jamie. “Great haircut, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
They headed into the house.
102
Katie walked into the kitchen with Jamie and found the Blessed Saint Eileen seated at the table surrounded by a small jungle.
“We fetched your flowers,” said Eileen, getting to her feet.
For a moment Katie thought it was some kind of personal gift.
“Hullo, love,” said Mum, kissing Jamie.
Eileen turned to Jamie and said, “We haven’t seen this young man since…well, I don’t know how long it’s been.”
“A very long time,” said Jamie.
“So,” said Mum, looking slightly uncomfortable, “where’s Tony?”
Katie realized Mum was bracing herself for the poorly timed appearance of her son’s boyfriend in front of her unprepared evangelical sister. Which made her feel sorry for both Jamie and Mum. Clearly being queen for the weekend didn’t give her the power to resolve everything.
“I’m afraid he’s not coming,” said Jamie. Katie could see him steeling himself. “We’ve had a few problems. To cut a long story short, he went to Crete. Which is apparently very nice this time of year.”
Katie gave Jamie’s back a discreet pat.
“I am sorry,” said Mum and it seemed like she really did mean it.
Then Eileen said, “Who’s Tony?” in a wide-eyed innocent way that sent a noticeable chill through the room.
“Anyway,” said Mum, ignoring her sister completely and rubbing her hands together. “We’ve got lots to do.”
“Tony’s my boyfriend,” said Jamie.
And Katie thought that if it all went wrong, if the register office burned down or she broke an ankle on the way there, it would be worth it for the expression on Eileen’s face right now.
She looked as if she was receiving instructions from God on how to proceed.
It was quite hard to tell what Mum was thinking.
“We’re homosexuals,” said Jamie.
This, thought Katie, was over-egging the pudding a little. She pulled him toward the hallway. “Come on, you.”
And a man appeared at the kitchen door saying, “I’ve come to mend the toilet.”
103
Jamie and Katie went into the bedroom and collapsed backward onto the bed. They were laughing too much to explain the reason to Ray or Jacob. And it really was like being fourteen again. But in a good way this time.
And then Jamie needed a pee, so he walked along the landing and as he was emerging from the loo his father appeared and said, “Jamie, I need to talk to you.” No greeting. No pleasantries. Just a conspiratorial whisper and a hand on Jamie’s elbow.
He followed his father into his parents’ bedroom and perched on the armchair.
“Jamie, look…”
Jamie was still fizzy from the encounter in the kitchen and there was something reassuring about his father’s quiet, measured voice.
“The cancer,” said his father, wincing in a slightly embarrassed way. “Come back I’m afraid.”
Jamie realized that something rather serious was going on here, and sat up a little straighter. “The cancer’s come back?”
“I’m frightened, Jamie. Very frightened. Of dying. Of cancer. Pretty much constantly. Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Can’t sleep. Can’t eat.”
“Have you talked to Mum?”
“I’ve been getting on her nerves a tad,” said his father. “Not able to help out much. Really do need to sit down in a quiet room. On my own.”
Jamie wanted to lean across and stroke his father, the way you might stroke a worried dog. It was a peculiar urge, and probably not a wise move. He said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Well, yes there is,” said his father, brightening noticeably. “You see, the thing is, I really can’t go to the wedding.”
“What?”
“I can’t go to the wedding.”
“But you have to go to the wedding,” said Jamie.
“Do I?” said his father, weakly.
“Of course you do,” said Jamie. “You’re the father of the bride.”
His father thought about this. “You’re absolutely right, of course.”
There was a brief pause, then his father began to cry.
Jamie had never seen his father cry before. He’d never seen an old man of any kind cry. Except on television, during wars. It made him feel seasick and scared and sad and he had to fight back the temptation to tell his father that he didn’t need to come to the wedding. Though if he did that Katie wouldn’t talk to either of them for the rest of their natural lives.
Jamie got off his chair and squatted in front of his father. “Dad. Look.” He rubbed his father’s forearm. “We’re all on your side. And we’ll all be there to hold your hand. When you get inside the marquee you can knock back a few glasses of wine…It’ll be all right. I promise.”
His father nodded.
“Oh, and I’ll have a word with Mum,” said Jamie. “Tell her you need some peace and quiet.”
He stood up. His father was in a world of his own. Jamie touched his shoulder. “You OK?”
His father looked up. “Thank you.”
“Give me a shout if you need anything,” said Jamie.
He walked out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind him, then went to look for his mother.
He was walking down the stairs, however, when he glanced into his old room and noticed suitcases on the bed. Because he was thinking about his father’s mental well-being he didn’t really consider the implications of the suitcases until he met his mother in the hallway holding a stack of clean flannels.
“Mum, listen, I’ve just been talking to Dad and…”
“Yes…?”
Jamie paused, working out what he wanted to say and how to phrase it. And while he was doing this another part of his brain considered the implications of the suitcases and he heard himself saying, “Those suitcases in my room…”
“What about them?”
“Who’s staying in there?”
“Eileen and Ronnie
,” said his mother.
“And I’m staying…?”
“We’ve found you a nice bed-and-breakfast in Yarwell.”
It was at this point that Jamie threw an uncharacteristic wobbly. And he knew it was the wrong moment to throw a wobbly, but there was not a lot he could do about it.
104
Jean was looking for Jamie. To make up for all that hoo-ha in the kitchen. To say how sad she was that Tony wasn’t coming to the wedding.
She bumped into him coming down the stairs. And clearly no one had told him about Eileen and Ronnie staying in his room.
Jean was going to explain that she’d spent a long and rather embarrassing morning in the library in town finding a special bed-and-breakfast where he and Tony would not feel out of place. She was rather proud of having done this and she’d expected Jamie to feel grateful. But he was not in the mood for feeling grateful.
“You just didn’t want Tony and me sleeping in this house, did you?”
“It’s not like that, Jamie.”
“I’m your son, for God’s sake.”
“Please, Jamie, not so loud. And in any case now that Tony’s not here—”
“Yeh, that’s solved all your problems, hasn’t it.”
A door opened somewhere nearby and the two of them went quiet.
Ray, Katie and Jacob appeared at the head of the stairs. Luckily they seemed not to have heard the argument.
“Ah, Jamie,” said Ray, “just the bloke we were looking for.”
“I colored in a Power Ranger,” said Jacob, holding up a magazine.
“We need a favor,” said Katie.
“What sort of favor?” asked Jamie, who was clearly annoyed at being interrupted in the middle of an argument.
Ray said, “Katie and I are going out for a meal, and Jean’s meeting up with her brother. We wondered if you’d mind babysitting Jacob.”
“Oh, I’m afraid I’m not staying here tonight,” said Jamie, turning to Jean with a sarcastic smile.
“Maybe your father can look after Jacob,” said Jean, trying to deflect attention away from Jamie. “I think it’s about time he rolled up his sleeves and did something useful round here.”
“Jesus, no,” said Jamie.
“Jamie,” said Jean. “Your language.”
“That’s naughty-naughty,” said Jacob.
“I’ll look after Jacob,” said Jamie. “Sorry. Forget what I said about not being here. Wasn’t thinking straight. Sorry. No problem. Come on, little man, let’s have a look at your Power Ranger.”
“It’s Yellow Ranger,” said Jacob.
And the two of them headed upstairs together.
“What was that all about?” asked Katie.
“Oh nothing,” said Jean. “So, where are you going for supper? Or is it a big surprise?”
105
Halfway through their meal Ray started glancing at his watch.
Katie pointed out that a gentleman shouldn’t really do this during a candlelit dinner with his fiancée. Ray was apologetic, but not quite apologetic enough. He clearly thought it was funny, which it wasn’t, and Katie was torn between getting genuinely angry and not wanting to have a public row the night before their wedding.
A few minutes before nine o’clock, however, Ray leaned across the table and took hold of both her hands and said, “I bought you a present.”
And Katie said, “Uh-huh,” being a bit noncommittal because of the time-checking, but also because Ray was not brilliant at presents.
Ray didn’t say anything.
“So…?” asked Katie.
Ray held up his finger, meaning Wait, or Be quiet. And this was odd, too.
“OK,” said Katie.
Ray looked toward the window, so Katie looked toward the window, and Ray said, “Five, four, three, two, one,” and absolutely nothing happened for a few seconds, and Ray said, “Shit,” quietly and then fireworks erupted from the field next to the restaurant, fizzy white snakes, purple sea urchins, yellow starbursts, weeping willows of incandescent green light. And those whumps like someone hitting cardboard boxes with a golf club that took her straight back to bonfires and baked potatoes in silver foil and the smell of sparkler smoke.
Everyone in the restaurant was watching, and each explosion was followed by a little ooh or aah from somewhere in the room, and Katie said, “So this is…”
“Yup.”
“Jesus, Ray, this is amazing.”
“You’re welcome,” said Ray, who wasn’t watching the fireworks at all, but watching her face watching the fireworks. “It was either this or Chanel No. 5. I thought you’d prefer this.”
106
Jean seldom saw Douglas and Maureen. Partly because they lived in Dundee. And partly because…well, to be frank, because Douglas was a bit like Ray. Only more so. He ran a haulage company for starters. One of those large men who are excessively proud of having no airs and graces.
Her opinion of people like Ray, however, had shifted over the preceding twenty-four hours, and she was rather enjoying Douglas’s company tonight.
She’d already had a couple of glasses of wine when Maureen asked what was wrong with George, so she thought To hell with it and told them he was suffering from stress.
To which Maureen replied, “Doug went through that a couple of years ago.”
Douglas finished his prawn cocktail and lit a cigarette and put his arm round Maureen and let her talk for him.
“Had a blackout driving the transit just north of Edinburgh. Came round scraping down the crash barrier on the central reservation doing seventy. Brain scans. Blood tests. Doctor said it was tension.”
“So we sold one of the artics and buggered off to Portugal for three weeks,” said Douglas. “Left Simon to run the office. Knowing when to let go of the reins. That’s the thing.”
Jean was going to say, “I didn’t know.” But they knew she didn’t know. And they all knew why. Because she’d never been interested. And she felt bad about this. She said, “I’m really sorry. I should have asked you to stay at the house.”
“With Eileen?” asked Maureen, raising her eyebrows.
“Instead,” said Jean.
“I hope she’s not bringing that bloody dog to the wedding,” said Douglas, and they all laughed.
And Jean wondered briefly whether she could tell them about the scissors, before deciding that was taking things a bit far.
107
Jamie had never babysat before. Not properly.
He’d looked after Jacob a couple of times when he was tiny. For an hour or two. While he was asleep, mostly. He’d even changed a nappy. It didn’t actually need changing. He’d got the smells wrong and when he took it off it was empty. He just couldn’t bring himself to reattach something containing urine.
But he was not going to be babysitting again. Not until Jacob was twelve at least.
This realization came to him fairly rapidly when Jacob called him into the bathroom, having finished his poo, and Jamie watched him slide off the toilet seat a little too early, dragging the final section across the seat and leaving it hanging from the rim like a wet chocolate stalactite.
Not baby poo. But actual human feces. With a hint of dog.
Jamie armed himself with a rudimentary oven glove of toilet paper and held his nose.
And obviously there were worse jobs in the world (rat catcher, astronaut…) but Jamie had never realized quite how far down the table parenting came.
Jacob was inordinately proud of his achievement, and the rest of the evening’s activities (scrambled egg on toast, Mr. Gumpy’s Outing, a very, very soapy bath) were punctuated by Jacob retelling his toilet adventure on at least twenty occasions.
Jamie never did get the chance to talk to his mother about his father’s state of mind. And maybe it was better that way. One less person worrying. When he headed off tonight he could ask Ray to keep watch.
His father spent the rest of the evening in the bedroom.
After Jacob finally w
ent to bed Jamie put his feet up in front of Mission: Impossible (there was a stockpile of action videos under the television for some unaccountable reason).
Halfway through the film Jamie paused the tape and went to pee and check up on his father. His father was not in the bedroom. Or the bathroom. His father was not in any of the rooms, upstairs or downstairs. Jamie went back and checked in cupboards and under beds, petrified that his father had done something stupid.
He was on the verge of ringing the police when he glanced into the darkened garden and saw his father standing in the center of the lawn. He opened the door and stepped outside. His father was swaying a little.
Jamie walked over and stood beside him. “How’s things?”
His father looked up at the sky. “Incredible to think it’s all going to end.”
He’d been drinking. Jamie could smell it. Wine? Whiskey? It was hard to tell.
“Music. Books. Science. Everyone talks about progress, but…” His father was still looking upward.
Jamie put a hand on his father’s arm to prevent him toppling backward.
“A few million years and all this will be a big empty rock. No evidence we even existed. No one to even notice that there’s no evidence. No one looking for evidence. Just…space. And some other big rocks. Whirling around.”
Jamie hadn’t heard someone talk like this since getting massively stoned with Scunny in college. “Perhaps we should get you back inside.”
“Don’t know whether it’s terrifying or reassuring,” said his father. “You know, everyone being forgotten. You. Me. Hitler. Mozart. Your mother.” He looked down and rubbed his hands. “What’s the time, by the way?”
Jamie checked his watch. “Ten twenty.”
“Better head back inside.”
Jamie guided his father gently toward the light of the kitchen door.
He paused on the threshold and turned to Jamie. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For listening. Don’t think I could cope otherwise.”
“You’re welcome,” said Jamie, locking the door as his father made his way toward the stairs.