The dad trap, p.5
The Dad Trap, page 5
I look this Ross guy dead in the eyes.
“Oh, right, I see,” he replies slowly.
“Anyway, it was nice to meet you, Ron,” I say, although I don’t mean a word of it.
“Actually, it’s—” Ross stutters.
I turn to Dad, making sure my back is to Ross, and hiss, “Can we please go to Julia’s? I’ve had a rubbish day. I’ve got someone new sitting next to me and you’ll need to talk to Mrs Oliver about it. I’ve nicknamed her Rude Boudica, but she’s actually called—”
“FLORENCE!” Ross calls out.
Wait. How does he know that?
“Here’s my daughter,” Ross says, waving excitedly. “Last one as usual!”
The playground is emptying out now and there’s a frosty autumn chill in the air. I turn round as Ross points towards a stomping, angry-looking girl with fiery red curls who’s stalking intimidatingly towards us.
My mouth drops open.
Florence?
Ross?
Urgh. Poirot would have seen this one coming.
I spring into action.
“COME ON, DAD!” I yell, practically dragging him out of the playground.
WE. NEED. TO. GO.
“Cheerio, old chum!” I call to Ross. I’m not one hundred per cent sure why I’m suddenly speaking like a Victorian gentleman who forces orphans to clean chimneys, but I’ve committed to it now, so I bow to Ross.
“Sorry,” Dad says, looking at Ross and rolling his eyes. He adds quietly, “William, stop it… You’re being rude!”
Usually, Dad would be much more attuned to how I’m feeling – more aware of when I’m struggling – and realize when I need to leave somewhere. But for some reason he’s not getting it today.
Florence is coming closer and closer. I’m sure the sky is darkening and the birds have stopped singing.
It’s like in Jurassic Park when the T-Rex is on the prowl and the cup of water starts shaking. Except I’d rather face an angry T-Rex than Florence.
“Here she is! Here’s my Flo!”
Florence stops in front of us. She folds her arms indignantly and raises an eyebrow, glaring at me. I try and glare back. I think I probably just look constipated.
Ross wraps Florence in a great big bear hug and says, “Flo, this is William. He’s—”
“We’ve met already, Papa,” Florence says drily.
“Oh! That’s brilliant!” Ross beams at us both. “William is Teddy’s son. Teddy and I used to … erm… Well, we used to go to school together.”
Dad smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I wonder what happened between them? I read a book in Year Five called Spynosaur about a dinosaur spy and I bet he would have worked it out by now.
“What happened to your shorts?” Ross asks Florence.
She looks at me for what seems like for ever and then replies, “Got wet in art. Some boy spilled water all over me.”
I bite my lip and gulp.
“Oh dear… Erm … oh… Well, I’m glad they sorted you some spare trousers. So, you two will be in the same class, then? That’s great!”
“Great,” Florence says sarcastically.
Dad looks at me with his side-eye. I think he’s just realized who “Rude Boudica” is.
“So,” Ross continues, “apart from that, how was your first day, Flo?”
I start to hum because I’m nervous Florence is going to say something about me and the art incident in front of Dad.
Dad places his hand on my back, right between my shoulder blades. He does this a lot when I’m starting to get fizzy and worried.
“Hmm.” Florence grunts.
Ross laughs loudly and says, “Glad I asked!”
He turns to Dad and says, “Ten going on seventeen! Am I right?”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. This guy is awful. Utterly awful!
“Right, lead on, Flo!” Ross goes on. “We should ring your mum and let her know how your day’s been.”
Florence’s face clouds over.
“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Florence, and lovely to catch up, Ross,” Dad says, wringing his hands together. “Lovely. Really lovely.”
“Stop saying lovely,” I whisper.
Dad gulps and smiles at Ross. “Sorry,” Dad mutters. “Have a lovely – I mean, have a NICE rest of your day.”
“Well saved,” Florence mumbles.
I take Dad’s hand because this ordeal needs to be over. My teeth are beginning to hurt and I realize my jaw has been clenched this whole time. Hopefully Dad will learn the error of his ways and just go back to nodding politely to parents at the school gate.
“We should get going,” I say.
“Well, don’t let us stop you,” Florence drawls.
Dad goes to shake Ross’s hand and Ross goes to give Dad a hug and things are all very weird again as they fumble and mutter and giggle. Urgh. That’s right – my dad, giggling!
“We’re going this way,” Dad says at the same time that Ross says, “Off we go then, Flo!”
They bump into each other and laugh.
“See you tomorrow, William,” Florence says, and I wonder why it sounds like a threat.
She marches off and Ross follows sheepishly.
Dad and I turn round and walk slowly out of the school gate. The streets are quiet now.
“That was … strange.” Dad sighs unsteadily, shaking his head as he takes my hand.
“Very strange,” I reply.
“Carrot cake?” Dad asks.
“I definitely need carrot cake,” I say.
Chapter Seven
Your Delivery Was Perfect
“Soooo, TEDDY?” I say, looking at Dad with a raised eyebrow.
“Don’t even start, young man,” my dad says playfully, glancing up from his book. “And you’ve still got carrot cake all round your mouth!”
There’s a slight smile on Dad’s face. He’s reading a book called And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. He says I can read it when I’m older.
I’m sitting at the other end of the sofa to Dad while the dreamy, ethereal music of Beth Orton, Jess Klein and Kathryn Williams plays quietly in the kitchen. We both have our legs stretched out, tucked cosily underneath our big grey blanket. Aunt Erin bought it last year because she said we needed to relax and rest more.
She’s very bossy.
My tummy is full of Julia’s scrummy carrot cake, but my legs don’t seem to want to keep still. I turn on my mobile phone. Aunt Erin got it for me last year so we could keep in touch. It vibrates and I jump in shock. No one’s messaged me for ages.
It’s Jabari.
Good to see you today!
Hope U R OK! J
* * *
I delete the text and turn off the phone. I can’t think about Jabari at the moment.
After a while, my legs stop jiggling up and down. There’s a pain in the left side of my head, but that’s beginning to ease too.
I find school … challenging. I spend the day smiling and pretending everything is OK while I try to listen and concentrate and follow what people are saying. And all the time I feel like I’m swimming underwater, disorientated and lost.
So, Dad and I have an unspoken rule.
He used to bombard me with questions at the end of the day and my mind felt like it was going to implode. Now after school we sit quietly, and, slowly, I start to come back to life.
When we sat together at Julia’s eating our carrot cake in silence, my head was swirling.
I close my book. I’ve nearly finished it – the children are very close to solving all the mysteries and finding the hidden Egyptian treasure – but I have a mystery of my own to investigate. Now that I’m feeling recharged, I want to find out more about Ross.
And Florence.
“Teddy?” I say again.
Dad continues to read his book. I clear my throat and say “Ahem!” because that’s what Aunt Erin does when she wants to get your attention.
Dad places his book on his lap and takes off his reading glasses. He gestures for me to ask my questions.
“So, who is Ross?” I ask.
“Florence’s dad,” he replies shiftily.
“Daaaad, don’t make me tickle you,” I say seriously. “Or show you my smelly feet!”
“You wouldn’t dare!” He laughs. I wait. He brushes his curly black hair away from his eyes and sighs. “Fine. Ross Roberts is an old boyfriend. We used to hang out when we were younger. He moved away – got married. Haven’t spoken to him in … oh … about twenty years. That’s it.”
“He’s a bit annoying,” I say, staring at Dad, seeing if I can work out what he’s thinking.
“Ha!” Dad guffaws. He starts to clean his glasses. “Yes, just barging over to me after all these years. Like nothing’s changed. Like we haven’t changed. Like he didn’t leave and…”
“And those clothes… They’re interesting!” I say. I can’t imagine Dad being friends with someone who dresses like that.
“Yes.” Dad nods. “They’re a bit … out there. He did look handsome, though. I mean … yeah, weird.”
I squint my eyes at Dad for a beat.
Does Dad really think Ross is handsome?
He did giggle and blush when they met.
Could he…?
NO! YUCK! It’s not worth thinking about.
Even just being friends with people is messy. Just look at me and Jabari. I’m going to suggest to Dad that he remains polite but distant with this Ross chap.
Just like I do with Jabari.
Things You Need to Know About Jabari
Jabari loves comics and art and drawing.
Jabari’s favourite illustrator is Dapo Adeola and he wants to be like him when he’s older.
Jabari’s mum is a care assistant at an old people’s home and his dad is a chef who owns a pizza restaurant.
Jabari thinks that cheese, coleslaw and beans on a jacket potato is the best school lunch ever. He made my try it once and I gagged.
Jabari is very good at football, basketball, swimming and rugby.
Jabari always hands in his homework on time.
Jabari’s older brother is at university studying Law, and Jabari misses him.
Jabari knows everything there is to know about the solar system and animals.
Jabari used to be my best friend.
Jabari let me down.
* * *
“My turn, now, William,” Dad says, his eyes glinting.
“Your turn?” I reply, gulping. “What do you mean?”
“Florence?” Dad says knowingly. “Rude Boudica?”
“Yes,” I huff, drumming my fingers on my book in agitation. “Florence is Rude Boudica. She was really mean to me today.”
You were pretty horrible to her too, William.
You ruined her artwork. On purpose.
Shh, William!
“Hmm,” Dad says, scooching nearer to me. “Maybe she was just having a rough day?”
“I doubt it,” I grumble.
Dad puts an arm around me. “Must be pretty scary, starting a new school in Year Six. Everyone’s already made friends. Plus, I got the impression that her mum and dad have split up. Maybe give her a chance, Little Squirrel?”
“Maybe,” I say, looking out of the living-room window.
Suddenly we hear the front door open, and a voice calls out, “Yes, thank you for asking! I’d love a cup of tea!”
“Aunt Erin!” I call out.
Aunt Erin is my favourite aunt. Well, she’s my only aunt, but she’d still be my favourite even if I had fifty million other aunts. She comes to look after me on Monday evenings when Dad goes to see his counsellor, Heidi.
Aunt Erin breezes into the living room and throws herself down on the sofa next to me.
“Hi, Little Squirrel. Hi, Paddington.”
She thinks my dad looks like Ben Whishaw, who does the voice for Paddington in the films.
Aunt Erin has short, spiky black hair, but sometimes it’s purple and sometimes it’s red. One time – it was a low point for her – she dyed it orange. She has a tattoo of my name on her wrist too, in curly writing. She says that way I’m always with her.
Aunt Erin rips off her name badge – she works as a waitress in Jabari’s dad’s restaurant, A Pizza Your Heart – and lets out a groan.
“I dropped a pizza on someone’s head today,” she says and sighs, smearing her thick black mascara as she rubs her eyes.
I giggle. She really is the worst waitress ever.
She doesn’t even like people, which is a bit of a problem if you’re a waitress. Dad says she’s just “blunt and honest”. She’s also very clumsy.
I can relate to that. I used to fall over a lot when I was little. I had to see a physiotherapist and do a funny penguin walk to strengthen my leg muscles. I still fall over quite a bit now, but at least I don’t have to waddle around like a penguin. That would be degrading.
Although … it would BREAK THE ICE with any new people I met. Ha!
“I went to scrape it off, but it got stuck and the woman had pieces of pepperoni all tangled in her hair.”
Aunt Erin closes her eyes and shakes her head. I try to imagine how on earth she managed to drop a pizza on someone’s head, but I’m stumped.
“Blimey,” Dad says, “you’re a real PIZZA work. That story can’t be TOPPED.”
“Don’t get SAUCY with me,” Aunt Erin replies, opening one eye. I see her mouth twitch.
“What kind of person doesn’t like pizza on their head?” I ask sympathetically. “A weir-DOUGH, that’s who!”
Dad and Aunt Erin burst out laughing and Aunt Erin says, “You win this round, William. Your DELIVERY was perfect!”
She winks at me.
“Right,” Dad says, “no more! I KNEAD to go and see Heidi. Erin, William’s got pasta and pesto again tonight. You can’t go wrong. You know the drill. Boil and salt the water. Pasta in for ten minutes. Drain the water. Stir in pesto. Easy!”
Dad is hovering by the door now. He says he doesn’t like to leave me, but I think he also finds it hard to go and talk about his feelings with Heidi. At first, when Dad left teaching and started seeing her, I was a bit jealous. I wanted Dad to talk to me. I wanted to be the one to make him feel better.
But I know it doesn’t work like that. Even if it’s hard for Dad sometimes, counselling is helping. Every day he seems a bit happier.
“I’m not completely useless! I think I can bake some pasta!” Aunt Erin says, dragging herself off the sofa.
“Boil, Aunt Erin,” I say, snickering. “You need to boil the pasta!”
Aunt Erin huffs and puffs, but there’s a smile on her face.
“Nope, you’re not useless Erin, you’re PASTA-tively amazing!” Dad says, grinning as he walks out of the living room.
“Get out of here!” Aunt Erin and I both yell as we crack up laughing.
When he’s gone, Aunt Erin coughs and says, “Ahem.” She’s inspecting her nails. They’re a glittery black today, like shimmering stars. I look at her questioningly.
“Still didn’t get that cup of tea, did I, Little Squirrel? Might die of thirst.”
She clutches at her throat and retches. I roll my eyes.
“So … very … thirsty…” she splutters.
“I’ll go and put the kettle on, Your Majesty,” I say.
* * *
I spend part of the evening doodling ideas for the school logo competition and then start on my next book – The Key to Finding Jack by Ewa Jozefkowicz.
At one point, Aunt Erin asks me about Jabari and why I still haven’t popped into the restaurant to visit him. Jabari spends a lot of time at A Pizza Your Heart, folding napkins for his dad and sweeping the floor. We used to do our homework there together when Aunt Erin had to work and Dad couldn’t pick me up. But I’d rather spend time reading about imaginary mysteries than thinking about Jabari.
Dad comes home just after seven o’clock. He looks shattered as he walks into the living room and collapses on the sofa in between Aunt Erin and me. Aunt Erin has her feet up on the coffee table and is still wearing her black leather boots. In the past, Dad would have tutted or jokingly patted her legs and said, “Who raised you?”
But Dad doesn’t seem to care about that kind of thing nowadays. He says he’s “letting go of things that don’t matter any more”.
“How was it, then?” Aunt Erin asks, wrapping an arm around Dad.
Dad runs his fingers through his hair, yawns and says, “It was fine.”
Aunt Erin unwraps her arm and pokes Dad in the ribs.
“Glad I asked, Paddington.” She laughs.
“You’re doing really well, Dad,” I whisper, smiling at him.
“Thanks, Little Squirrel,” Dad replies, but he still seems tired.
“Well, you two are a barrel of laughs, aren’t you?” Aunt Erin says. She gets up and ruffles Dad’s curly hair and then mine. “Right, enjoy your evening. I’ve got a hot date!”
“With who?” Dad says, as if the shock of Aunt Erin’s statement has suddenly electrified him.
“It’s ‘with whom’, Mr English Teacher, and never you mind, darling brother,” she replies saltily, hands on her hips.
“That’s unfair!” I say, giggling. “You can tell ME, can’t you?”
“Oh, William, as it’s you…” She chortles and steps towards me.
“Yes?” I say, shoving my book to one side and sitting up like a meerkat.
She takes another step closer.
“As it’s you, and you’re my favourite nephew…”
I screw up my face and say, “I’m your only nephew!”
“Well, as it’s you… I can tell you…”
Dad’s shaking his head, laughing. I jump up and down and shout, “Come on! Tell me!”
“I can tell you,” Aunt Erin says, “to … mind your own business!”
She bursts out laughing, a loud, throaty cackle, and then swooshes out of the living room, doing her evil villain laugh – MWHAHAHAHA! – which always makes me snort and snigger.
“Not cool!” I shout after her.
When she’s gone, Dad and I sit quietly for a while. The lights have come on outside and the street is bathed in a warm orange glow that reminds me of fireflies and coppery autumn leaves.
