Seeing Other People (27 page)

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 unscheduled 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 guess 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.

Inside the house Jack reeled off his highlights of the trip: ‘We stayed up after midnight, Mummy, and we caught some crabs and then let them go because they were too small and we met all of Daddy’s new friends and one of them has a bald head and tattoos all over his arms and we made lots of friends too, like Suzuki and Harley and Zach and Melody and yesterday we ate beefburgers for breakfast and I was sick on the way home – but only a little bit.’

Rosie rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘Jack’s making it sound like it was a lame weekend but it was really cool. Zach and Melody are a bit older than me but they said when I’m seventeen they’ll take me to a music festival.’

Penny smiled and the kids disappeared into the living room to watch TV leaving us alone together in the hallway.

‘Sounds like they had a good time,’ said Penny.

‘They did,’ I replied.

Penny sat down on the stairs. ‘I need to ask you something.’

‘Fire away.’

‘It’s about the kids.’

I felt my heart began to pick up pace. ‘What about them?’

‘I’d like your permission for Scott to meet them,’ she said. ‘I met his kids a few weekends ago and I feel like the time’s right for him to meet Rosie and Jack. He’s part of my life now and the kids need to know that the person I choose to spend my time with is a genuinely nice and caring man.’

My throat tightened. My mouth went dry. With Scott living and working in Harrogate I’d never believed they’d get so serious so quickly.

‘How can you ask that? You’ve been with him for five minutes.’

‘No, Joe, it’s been three months.’

‘So what happens if I say no? You’ll set your lawyer on me?’

Penny shook her head even though I knew for a fact that her lawyer had been negotiating with my freshly appointed lawyer over points of the divorce for some time now. ‘Look, all I’m asking is that you’ll think about it, OK?’

‘You can leave it with me for as long as you like,’ I replied, ‘but know this: I’m never going to change my mind.’

28

I put the whole question of Scott meeting my kids in the trash can of my mental desktop and pressed Delete, deciding instead to focus on being the best dad that I could be which meant of course having the kids to stay or – as was increasingly becoming the norm – having to fit in family time around their own busy social rounds of parties and sleepovers.

The following Saturday afternoon was no different and Jack had a playdate. It was with some kid I’d never met called Harry Reed whose parents were fairly new to the area and lived in a three-bed flat on Eliot Park just ten minutes away, and would be taking place between two and four p.m. I knew all of this because Penny had written it in a note which Rosie had thrust into my hands the moment she had opened the door the previous evening. ‘Mum said I should give this to you,’ she’d said before I even had the chance to say hello. There was other stuff in the note too: a mention of the fact that Rosie needed to be dropped off at Carly’s before Jack’s playdate because of a prearranged sleepover; another about how to apply the verruca cream to Jack’s foot; and yet another about a maths test happening first thing on Monday morning that Rosie needed to practise for. The contents of the note didn’t bother me because the kids always had stuff going on whether it was school work to be completed or ailments to keep an eye on. What did bother me was the note itself, or, more specifically, the fact that since I’d refused my permission for the kids to meet Scott it had become my and Penny’s sole method of communication. We no longer spoke on the phone or in person or even texted because none of these conveyed the anger and animosity we felt towards each other quite like scribbling a note on a sheet of A4 and using our children to deliver them. Despite my feelings for her the Scott situation had enraged me so much that we were well on our way to becoming the kind of warring parents we had always despised – those who used their kids as a means of getting back at each other.