‘Wait, we need to talk about Tom.’
My cheeks burn, and a pain pierces my brain, between my eyes. What do we need to talk about? What is there to say?
Plenty, but nothing I want to get into here.
‘I’m not being funny, but we’ve been standing here for at least five minutes, and you’ve mentioned him once. The rest of the time you’ve been discussing your wife.’
‘I want to see him.’
‘No!’
I open the car door and throw myself inside, but Simon steps forward and blocks me from closing it.
‘You can’t stop me,’ he says, ‘I’m his father, and I’m entitled to see him.’
‘You’re entitled to nothing!’ I shout, and then I push him away and somehow manage to close the door.
‘I’ll do all I need to do to see my son,’ he snaps.
I open the window an inch, and glare at my ex-lover.
‘You come anywhere near my son, and I’ll go to the police and report you for stalking and harassment. Leave us alone!’
The words come out with such ferocity that they leave tiny dots of saliva all over the window. Simon’s eyes bulge, as though trying to hold themselves into the sockets, and his face flushes red.
‘Charlotte, let’s talk about this…’
His voice has changed from one of menace, to consolation, and he even attempts a smile.
‘No! Leave us alone. I mean it!’
I start the engine and screech out of the car park before he can say anything else. My heart beats so loudly that I feel as though it’s about to explode. I can feel the walls closing in on my perfect little life; suffocating me from within and pressing on my skull.
Crushing me.
Crushing my world.
Threatening to grind up everything I have held dear for the past ten years.
And it has to stop.
A couple of hours late, Tom and I wander home from school, and the bitter wind cuts straight through my old coat. I desperately need a new one, but I’ll have to wait until Christmas.
‘Why didn’t you bring the car, Mum? You always bring the car.’
Tom’s teeth chatter, and he pulls his hands up into his coat. I’m glad I bought it a size too big. At least the sleeves are long enough to keep his fingers warm.
‘I don’t always bring the car,’ I say. ‘I just needed a bit of fresh air.’
‘This is more than fresh air! This is frozen air! Like walking through an ice cube. I need my Minecraft hacksaw to get through this!’ My dramatic son spits the words out and bangs his hidden hands together.
‘Where are your gloves?’
He shrugs.
‘I don’t know. Charlie borrowed them at lunchtime, and I haven’t seen them since.’
‘So, Charlie has them then?’
Tom throws his arms in the air, like some kind of demented judge.
‘I told you, I don’t know. One of the fingers has a hole in it anyway, so I’ll have to get new ones.’
I resist the urge to comment further. Falling out over a pair of hand-knitted gloves is not on my agenda tonight. We round the corner, and our house comes into view. I’m shocked to see that there is a figure hanging around on the driveway, and I screw up my eyes to get a better look.
Oh shit.
It’s Simon.
Again.
He looks up from his phone and waves as though he’s an old friend, popping over for a cuppa. I don’t reply to the greeting, but it turns out I don’t need to, because Tom waves and shouts a gigantic, ‘Hello, Market Man!’
He nudges me.
‘Mum, do you think Market Man has been standing on our drive since this morning? He must be freezing!’
I scowl.
‘Of course he hasn’t!’ I snap, but Tom doesn’t seem to notice. Instead, he passes Simon as though he stands on our driveway every day.
‘Sorry, I can’t talk. I’ve got loads of maths homework to do.’
Simon laughs, and ruffles Tom’s hair as he rushes past.
‘Best get to it then, Tommy.’
Tom hesitates for a moment, scowls and then positions himself next to the front door. I let him in and then turn back to Simon.
‘Don’t call my son, Tommy. That’s not his name and he doesn’t like it.’
Simon’s mouth turns down at the corners, and he raises his eyebrows.
‘Noted. I just thought it was cute, that’s all.’
‘Well, it’s not.’
‘Noted. Again.’
Simon grins, and I want to punch him. Ten years ago, I was awaiting the birth of my son, wondering how I was going to survive and how I could afford all the paraphernalia that comes with a child. Luckily for me, my parents bought the cot, the pram and a heap of clothes, but the day-to-day expenses would always be down to me. Simon, meanwhile was living it up with his stupid wife, no doubt going out to fancy restaurants and buying all the luxury goods he wanted. I remember when we were together, he told me he’d bought a thirty-thousand-pound car on a whim. Who does that? I can hardly afford to buy a magazine on a whim. Life must be so great when you’re well off.
‘Simon, I’ve had a long day. What do you want?’
He stares at his watch for a moment, and then runs his manicured fingers through his hair.
‘I wanted to apologise for this afternoon. I got a bit worked up, and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.’
‘Great. Goodbye.’
I pick up a parcel that has been left behind my big plant pot, and hope that when I straighten up, Simon will be gone. Wishful thinking.
‘Can I come in for a minute?’ he says. ‘I need someone to talk to, and you’re the only person I can think of.’
‘Oh, come on!’
‘It’s true.’
He picks at a piece of white paint on my door frame, and it peels off and reveals a layer of the old, green colour. Terrific, now I’ll have to add that to my list of stuff I have to sort out – when I’ve got the time and the money.
‘Why can’t you speak to Monica? She’s your wife!’
He brushes the paint onto the floor, and steps on it, as though hiding it will make it less noticeable.
‘We’ve had a bit of a falling out. She’s gone to stay with her friend for a while. Hopefully nothing serious, but who can tell nowadays.’
A falling out with Monica? What was that about? I wonder if it was related to me and Tom, but there’s no way I’m going to ask him about it on the doorstep.
‘Sorry to hear that,’ I lie. ‘But isn’t there anyone else you can turn to? No other young woman to satisfy your every need?’
I want my words to pain him, but there isn’t a hint of regret anywhere on Simon’s face.
‘Hey, it’s been many years since I last had another woman – especially a younger one. They’re nothing but trouble, and I’m not getting any younger myself. I need someone who remembers the seventies… Or at least maybe the eighties. Every young woman I meet, hasn’t got a clue when I talk about the Thatcher years, or Live Aid, or any of it.’
‘Fascinating.’
I step into the front door, and Simon moves to follow me.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Please, Lottie. I’m a lost cause. I just need five minutes of your time.’
I sigh and step aside. He wipes his feet on the mat as though they’re covered in mud.
I pop two cups of coffee onto the table, and Simon grabs his and studies the photo on the side.
‘The Rolling Stones? Are you older than I thought?’
‘Yes, I’m fifty-five. Just a bit younger than you.’
‘Funny.’
I try to remember the last time I sat this close to Simon. The other day doesn’t count. We had a table between us, and we were in a public place. Now here we are, sitting together on my leather couch, and the only other person in the house is Tom. Thank goodness he’s a nerd when it comes to working on his homework. Any other kid would be sat between us, demanding to know wh
y the latest assembly speaker is drinking coffee with Mum, but Tom doesn’t work that way. He just thinks that the Market Man is our friend now. He’s been in his school several times, and on our driveway twice, so now he’s part of our lives.
But not in the way Simon wants to be.
‘So, tell me more about Monica. Has she really gone?’
Simon wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, and plonks his cup back onto the table.
‘Yep, it appears so. I think she’s a bit pissed off with the whole Tom scenario.’
‘My son isn’t a scenario.’
I run my finger around the rim of my cup, as Simon picks up a digestive biscuit, and sticks half of it into his mouth. I hope it chokes him.
‘I know, I know, but you know what I mean. It’s not that she doesn’t want me to be in a relationship with my son – she does – but she’s just feeling a little overwhelmed.’
‘Bless her.’
My sarcasm isn’t lost on Simon, and he shuffles in his chair, probably hoping it will swallow him up.
‘Anyway, she’s taken a suitcase of stuff, but since her closet is the size of a double-garage, I suspect she’ll be back – either to stay or to pick up the rest of her clothes.’
‘Has she ever left you before?’
‘Nope.’
Simon picks up a tiny flowery vase from my coffee table, turns it from side to side, and then puts it back where he found it. He takes another gulp of coffee, and then slumps back into the cushions. This is so, so odd.
A little voice pops into my head, and screams at me.
Simon abandoned me at a termination clinic.
And now he is in my house.
Simon abandoned me at a termination clinic…
And now he’s in my house!!
‘Shall we talk about the elephant in the room?’
‘What elephant?’
Simon’s eyes narrow, and his lips disappear into his mouth.
‘Charlotte, you know what elephant. The fact that my son – our son – is upstairs right now, and I’m not allowed to mention it.’
‘You mentioned it a moment ago. And I don’t have a problem with it, so long as you don’t say it to him.’
I take a gulp of coffee and try to disguise the shaking in my voice. When I put the cup back onto the table, I’m aware of Simon’s eyes studying me; willing me to say something positive. But what is there to say?
‘If you’ll give me a chance, I can make your lives a lot easier.’
‘Our lives are fine as they are, thank you.’
Simon looks around at my cramped living room, in my tiny house. My home is probably smaller than his bedroom, but at least it’s mine… And the landlord’s.
‘I could give you some money,’ he says. ‘You could buy a bigger house, and get Tom into a better school. Why don’t you…’
I jump out of the chair, and Simon stops talking. He’s gone too far, and my anger cannot control itself any longer.
‘Tom goes to a good school,’ I shout. ‘And our house is fine, thank you. Okay, so it’s maybe not as posh as your palace down the road, but at least it’s a happy place to be. Unlike yours.’
Simon stands up and tries to touch my arms, but I slap him off.
‘Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me now or ever. You understand?’
My wobbly legs manage to stumble over to the window, and I stare at a lady over the road, sauntering along with her little boy and a huge bag of bread. They’re heading to the river to feed the ducks, and I wish I could grab Tom and go with them. Why did I have to let Simon into my house? He’s in my home, and now he wants to be in my life, and that of my son. The idea makes me feel sick, and I hold on to the windowsill in an effort to stay upright.
‘Lottie, I’m only trying to help. I want to get to know my son. I just want to be a dad…’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake! Where was this fatherly instinct ten years ago, when you dumped me at a clinic and ran for your life?’
Simon rubs his temples, and screws up his eyes. When he next speaks, he does it slowly, in short, sharp bursts.
‘I explained about that.’
‘No! You told me why you didn’t come back, but the fact remains that before that happened, you told me it would ruin your life if I had your child. You couldn’t book the appointment quick enough, and then you drove me there, because you didn’t trust that I’d go through with it.’
He smirks and crosses his arms.
‘Rightly, as it turns out! You should never have made the decision to have my child without telling me. We had agreed not to keep it.’
I slump against the windowsill, and pray that I don’t collapse at any moment. We agreed? We agreed? What egotistical planet is this man living on? He thinks that because he decided it wasn’t right, that I should have just gone along without any questions asked. What a joke.
‘Don’t you get it? I never agreed. It was you, all you. Right up to the last minute, I was asking if you would change your mind, but you wouldn’t, because it’s always all about you!’
My hands shake, and I pick at a loose thread on my sweater, in an effort to keep them occupied.
‘Well, I don’t remember that,’ he says. ‘And anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that you did have the child, and now Tom is here and I want him to know that I’m his dad. I can give him a terrific life. He deserves to know that I’m his dad!’
‘No!’
Simon looks past my shoulder, towards the door.
‘Hello, Tom.’ He smiles.
I swing around, and there is my lovely boy, holding an old copy of Tom Sawyer under his arm. His hair flops down over his left eye, and his mouth hangs open.
‘You’re my dad?’
Before I can answer, Simon pushes past me and heads over to Tom, as though this is going to be some kind of beautiful family reunion. But I know my son, and this is not going to end well.
‘Hey, Sport.’ Simon bends down to hug Tom, but he’s having none of it. He shoots one last look at me, throws Tom Sawyer at my ex-lover, and then storms out of the room, and up the stairs. Simon picks the book up and places it onto the table.
‘That went well,’ he says, and takes a last swig of coffee.
14
‘I want to see my dad, and I want to be a vegetarian.’
Tom, my parents and I, sit around their dining table, eating roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, when my son decides to drop his bombshell. The room goes quiet. Until then, my parents had been gossiping about the woman next door, who is having an affair with the man whose garage backs onto theirs, but now the atmosphere is thick and full of pins and needles.
It’s been a week since Simon dropped his bombshell, and since then Tom has been adamant that he wants nothing to do with him. For my own selfish reasons, I was glad. I was ecstatic in fact. Why would I want Simon to walk in and steal my son away? I’ve spent almost ten years raising him. What right does some stranger have to walk in and be his dad?
No right. No right at all.
But now, in just a few words, everything has changed.
‘What do you mean you want to see your dad?’
Tom shrugs and shovels another piece of beef into his mouth. So much for wanting to be a vegetarian. I try to speak, but no more words come out. I can’t believe my son wants to see Simon. Just three days ago he assured me that he never wanted to see Market Man again, and that was fine with me. What has changed in the meantime? As if reading my mind, Tom takes a swig of water and then carries on talking.
‘Charlie says it’s great to have a dad. He sees his all the time. They have dinner together and play computer games and football, and go climbing at that treetop place, and everything.’
The idea of Simon doing any of those things with Tom is laughable. My mum catches my eye and smiles.
‘Y’know, Tom,’ she says, ‘Charlie’s dad does all of those things because he lives with him. There’s nothing to say that your dad would be able to do those things as well. H
e might not have the time.’
My dad stands up, and the legs of his chair grind against the tiles.
‘More tea anyone?’ He gathers the cups before we have the chance to say no, and then disappears into the kitchen.
‘I don’t care if he doesn’t have time.’ Tom pouts and folds his arms like he used to do aged three. ‘I just want to see if he’ll have time. I want to know if he likes football, and watching golf on the telly, and playing games, and all of those things.’
‘What brought this on?’ I shuffle a roast potato around my plate, and know that I won’t eat another mouthful of my dinner. Damn you, Simon. Your presence has ruined my life and now you’re ruining my Sunday roast.
‘I told you! Charlie says it’s great to have a dad, and I want to see that for myself! I’m allowed to have a dad, y’know. Almost every kid in my class has a dad!’
A smile dances on my lips in spite of myself. I can just imagine my son, surveying all of the children on their parental status, and then putting the stats together for future use. My dad arrives back from the kitchen, and plonks down three cups of hot, over-brewed tea.
‘Everything okay in here?’ he asks.
‘I’m going to see my dad,’ Tom barks. ‘And we’re going to spend tons of time together, and there’s nothing Mum can do about it.’
‘Well, won’t that be fun? For all of us.’ My dad looks at me, as Tom’s words hang in the air like bats.
My mum reaches over and pats my hand.
‘Y’know, dear,’ she says. ‘I think Tom’s right. It’s maybe time for him to see his dad.’
Well, she’s changed her tune! I glare at her, and can’t imagine why she would ever think it’s a good idea for Tom to see Simon. The man is a womanising, cheating scumbag, who robbed me of my acting ambitions, and dumped me at a termination clinic, but she’s conveniently forgotten about that.
‘Great!’ Tom leaps up and fist-pumps the air. ‘I’m allowed to see my dad!’
‘Hold on, I never said you could do anything of the sort.’
Tom stares at my mum.
‘No, but Grandma did, and she’s allowed to make decisions too.’
My mum mouths ‘sorry’ to me, through scrunched-up lips, while Tom does a happy dance around the dining table.
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