head!”
I didn’t hear the rest of the ferocious row that broke out in the hall. I was vaguely aware of Tom shouting, Frankie swearing, Myra sobbing, Barry heaving, Thin Lizzie laughing.... but I could only lean against a trestle table in a daze. Peanut wasn’t mine. I wasn’t going to be his Dad. There wouldn’t be father and son fishing expeditions, or camping in the garden, or trips to Millets to select the best lightweight waterproof cycling trousers. None of that was going to happen now.
I had the sensation of everything falling away. Someone was talking to me and my eyes slowly focussed on Freckly Girl, who was peering at me anxiously. “Do you want to go home, Morten? I can walk with you, if you’d like.”
“I’ve got my bike,” I said, distractedly. There was a loud crash as Tom overturned a table to get to Frankie and chairs started to fly across the hall. “I think, perhaps, I will go home.”
Freckly Girl followed me out and we passed Granny Pattern who was coming from the Ladies, her arms full of toilet rolls. “Just in case,” she muttered, defensively. “You never know when the floodgates are going to open.”
Out in the car park, I stepped over a squirming, squealing Mum as Biffa sat astride her, pinning her to the tarmac. My bike was behind the bins, its tyres intact but the pedals had vanished. “Oh dear!” exclaimed Freckly Girl. “Who’s done that? My bike looks alright, thank goodness; I can give you a doubler.”
I straddled her rear rack and she started to pedal. Although she was slender, she was very athletic and we whizzed along the roads, which were beginning to turn frosty. A fire engine shot past us in the opposite direction, sirens blaring. We stopped at Den’s Diner and Freckly Girl bought me a bag of chips, although I didn’t feel much like eating. When we arrived home, I stopped her from cycling into the drive. “You never know what’s lying in wait for you.”
“Oh. Right.”
I hopped off the back of the bike. “Thank you, er, Freck, er, I mean-”
She smiled. “It’s Bonnie.”
“What is?”
“My name.”
“Ah. Thank you, Bonnie. You’ve been very kind.”
She manoeuvred her bicycle around then turned to look at me. “Morten, I was wondering, just on the off-chance, that is, and I know the timing’s not very good, but I’ve got two tickets to see Katy Perry at the O2 in January. Would you like to go?”
I gaped at her, the full moon making her face even paler. “See Katy? You mean, in real life?”
“Yes. I heard she’s brilliant live.” She bit her lip nervously. “Unless you don’t want to, of course.”
“I’d love to!” I burst out. “I’d love to see Katy! It would be a dream come true, but I don’t know who I could give the other ticket to now Myra and I are not, well, you know. I suppose I could ask my mate Barry, he’s always said he’d like to do Katy-”
“Morten, when I said I had two tickets I was hoping we could go together. You and me. As in, a date.” Bonnie’s face was now the same colour as her hair.
“Oh!” Freckly Bonnie was asking me out! I was almost too surprised to speak. “I see. A date - with me? Are you absolutely sure? Well, yes, that would be very nice.”
“Great!” she looked relieved. “I’ll give you a call then, shall I?”
I nodded vigorously. She leant over and kissed me on the cheek. “Night then, Morten.”
“Good night Bon-” her lips were locked on mine; blimey! She tasted of lovely greasy chips and she was an extremely gentle kisser - she didn’t even try to force her tongue into my mouth or grip my ears in her fists, like Myra did. I didn’t want the moment to end.
When she finally pulled away, she smiled a beautiful smile right into my eyes. “See you then,” she whispered, and cycled away. I watched her go, wanting to run after her but my legs felt rather weak all of a sudden. I should have asked her in for a glass of strawberry Nesquik, but perhaps that would have been a bit too forward. I’d ask her in next time, or when we got back from seeing Katy. From seeing Katy! She might well recognise me in the crowd - she should do, I’d tweeted her at least one hundred and twenty pictures of myself.
I gazed up at the magical starry sky, finding myself humming “I kissed a girl and I liked it”, then forced my wobbly legs to carry me up the drive. A demonic cackle rang out and something thudded against my chest and slid down the front of my trousers; a turkey carcass. I hardly noticed.
I sat at the kitchen table, poured myself a glass of milk and wrote a letter.
Dear Peanut
I am sorry that I am not going to be your Dad after all. But even though I feel so very sad, it gladdens my heart to know that there are so many men in Shodsworth who want to be your father, and they are even prepared to fight for the honour! So you see, you really are the luckiest Peanut alive - to be wanted is the best feeling in the world.
Even though, after the DNA testing, you will soon have a proper Dad, I want you to know that I will always be here for you. If you ever need someone for advice on relationships, or cycling proficiency, or pet insurance, you can come to me. I often wish I could talk to my Dad, man to man, but he’s an extremely busy entrepreneur and hasn’t got round to buying a phone yet. I write to him though, and often talk to him at night, when I’m in bed. I’ve told him all about you; he can’t hear me, of course, but I live with the hope that one day he’ll return to Shodsworth. I know that rumour about a lynch mob is just a silly joke!
I hope I will have Peanuts of my own someday - maybe you will all play together! Wouldn’t that be wonderful? I know my mother isn’t keen on having red-haired grandchildren (when I was being born she shrieked at the midwife: “if it’s a ginger stick it back up there”) but I’ve got the feeling my own little Peanuts may well have a few freckles! I can’t say any more than that, but we’ll have a chat about these things when you’re old enough!
I’ve got to go now Peanut, but remember that I loved you and wanted you so very, very much.
Love
Morten aka Foggy
PS
Ask your Dad to take you to watch the cars on the Shodsworth flyover as soon as you’re old enough - I think I was about four when my father first left me there for the day. It’s just brilliant!
--The End--
Also by Jo Edwards
You can catch up on all the action at Perypils Insurance in Jo’s best selling novel, Work Wife Balance and its sequel, Pot-bound.