Pause.
‘Sod off and die, Dante,’ said Adam sourly.
‘Please remember that there are young ears present,’ I reminded him with a grin.
Adam squatted down in front of Emma in her buggy. ‘Sorry, Emma, but I was provoked!’
‘So are you going to tell me what you’ve been up to?’ I asked.
‘No.’
‘You’re not doing anything . . . stupid, are you?’
‘Like what?’
‘You tell me,’ I said.
‘No, you tell me.’
‘You tell me,’ I insisted.
‘Why don’t you tell me?’
‘How ’bout you tell me?’
‘You tell me as you obviously have a scenario or two in mind.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake! Both of you tell each other something or give it a rest,’ said Dad, emerging from the kitchen. ‘You’re giving me a headache. And Adam, no more late nights, please, not when you’ve got school the next day. And Dante, try to remember you should be setting a mature example to your younger brother and Emma.’
Adam started it!
‘Where’re you all off to?’ Dad asked.
‘To the park, probably,’ I replied. ‘It’ll give Emma a chance to stretch her legs.’ She was toddling all over the place now. It was keeping me fit just trying to keep up with her.
‘Want me to come with you?’
Stunned didn’t even begin to describe my reaction to Dad’s question. Dad had stopped taking us to the park when I was around eleven or twelve.
‘That’d be great, Dad,’ said Adam, before I could scrape my jaw off the hall floor.
So off we went.
‘I’ll push her,’ said Dad before we even reached the pavement. I stepped aside to let him, walking to his right between the buggy and road.
It felt kinda strange all of us walking along together. We hadn’t gone to the park or the cinema together in not just months but years.
‘How come we haven’t done anything like this in a while?’ I asked.
‘You started going out with your friends and you didn’t want a bumbling old relic like me tagging along,’ smiled Dad. ‘And Adam followed your lead, so I was pretty much redundant. The joys of fatherhood.’
I regarded him. Was that true? Was I the one who’d made him feel surplus to requirements? I hated to admit it, but I probably was.
‘What about our holiday last year?’ said Adam. ‘We were together then.’
Dad had booked us into a cheapo holiday resort near the coast. It was one of those forced-smiles-with-every-sentence and chips-with-every-meal places, but at least it was a holiday away from home. Our first in quite some time.
‘Pfft! I paid for the holiday and drove us there and back – and that was it. From the time we hit the resort you two went off and did your own thing and I couldn’t see you for dust,’ said Dad. ‘And Dante, you didn’t even want me near you at the swimming pool in case the girls you were chatting up should take one look at me and run a mile. You made me feel like Quasimodo!’
I looked from Dad to Emma and back again. ‘I’m really sorry, Dad,’ I said quietly. ‘And I never properly thanked you for all the stuff you bought Emma and for helping me with her. I’m sorry about that too.’
Dad started in surprise. ‘I wasn’t recriminating, I was just saying.’
‘I know. But I really am sorry.’
‘Apology accepted. And you’re welcome.’ Dad smiled at me.
I smiled back at him.
‘Guys, please. You’re embarrassing me,’ said my brother.
We all laughed – including Emma – and carried on walking.
‘Hi!’
‘Morning.’
‘Hiya.’
‘Lovely day.’
‘Hey.’
‘Hello.’
‘For God’s sake, Adam,’ I said exasperated. ‘Why the sudden need to hail every person we see?’ Adam was greeting each person who passed within two metres of us as if they were long-lost friends.
‘Don’t be such a grumpy, anti-social git,’ said my brother. ‘Leave that for Dad.’
‘Oi!’ Dad exclaimed.
‘Can’t I say hi to people if I want to?’ my brother said, ignoring Dad’s indignation.
‘Yes, but your permanently cheerful mood is getting on my nerves. Plus it’s kinda creepy,’ I told him.
‘Get over yourself, Dante,’ said Adam.
‘Dannhg . . . Dannhg . . .’ burbled Emma, her legs kicking out every which way.
‘Did you hear that?’ I beamed at Dad and my brother. ‘She said “Dad”!’ I squatted down in front of the buggy. ‘Emma, you said “Dad”! Aren’t you clever. Say it again.’
‘She said “Dad”, my left buttock,’ Adam dismissed.
‘Dante, I think she was just bringing up wind to be honest,’ Dad teased.
‘You two obviously have serious ear-wax problems,’ I said sourly. ‘Want to stop off at a pharmacy to get that checked out?’
‘Dannhg . . .’
‘See! Emma agrees with me.’
‘So “Dannhggg” means not just “Dad”, but “Grandad and Uncle Adam, get thee to a pharmacy”?’ asked Dad.
I hadn’t heard Dad misquoting bits of Shakespeare in quite some time. His favourite saying was: ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth are two ungrateful brats’. He was fond of that one.
‘Dad, Emma is a bit young to have your version of Shakespeare inflicted on her,’ said Adam.
‘No, she isn’t. Dad’s right. She’s very advanced. She takes after me.’ I grinned.
‘Dante, move out the way.’ Dad waved me to one side. ‘I’m not Mary Poppins, I can’t fly over you.’
I did as he asked and we all carried on walking.
‘Hi!’
‘How’re you?’
Adam got out two greetings to total strangers before I clamped my hand over his mouth. He struggled to pull my hand away but it wasn’t going to happen, not without some assurances first.
‘I’ll let you go when you promise to stop being so cheerful!’ I told him.
Adam finally nodded whilst Dad just shook his head. The moment I let him go however, my brother took off like a bat out of hell. At a safe distance, Adam turned round to face us.
‘Hello, world!’ he shouted at the top of his voice.
I creased up.
‘Dante, it’s good to hear you laugh again,’ said Dad.
It felt good too.
‘Dannhg . . .’ Emma agreed.
30
Adam
How is it possible to be so happy and so miserable at the same time? I’ve met someone. And when we’re alone, he’s great. He’s sharp and smart and he makes me laugh so much. But that’s when we’re alone.
When others are around, it’s a different story.
I wish . . . I wish he wasn’t quite so ashamed of me.
And if he could stop feeling so ashamed of himself, then maybe we might stand a chance.
31
Dante
Dad had left for work and Adam had gone to school and it was just me and Emma left in the house. The autumn morning was overcast but still warm.
‘D’you want to go to the park, Emma?’ I asked.
Emma waddled over to her buggy. I had my answer! Sitting Emma in my lap, I gently coaxed her booties onto her feet. I figured we’d walk to the park and she’d have a run around once we got there. That way she’d be good and tired after lunch and have a proper nap. It wasn’t quite so nerve-racking looking after her any more, at least not in the same way as before. I mean, when she started crying for something and I couldn’t figure out what it was, it did require whole ocean depths of patience I didn’t know I possessed. But on top of that, there was something I hadn’t expected. It was lonely. Some of my friends came round to see me, but once the novelty had worn off and their curiosity had been satisfied, they stopped calling. Most days it was just me and Emma until Dad and Adam came home. Walks around the sh
opping centre or to the park served to get us both out of the house, otherwise I would’ve gone bat-crap crazy. But even so, life was something that was happening to other people. Mine had been put on hold.
But I had Emma.
Buggy in one hand and Emma’s hand held firmly in the other, we headed out the house.
‘The park here we come,’ I told Emma.
She looked up at me and smiled. But we were less than halfway there when the sky tore and the rain started chucking down. We were both drenched in less than a minute. In my head I was cursing up a blue streak. I mean, even my underwear was getting soggy! Emma, however, loved it. She walked through a puddle and laughed like a drain. It obviously felt so good that she pulled her hand out of mine and splashed through it again – and again, laughing her head off. Who would’ve thought a puddle could be so entertaining?
‘You’re a bit of a water baby, aren’t you?’ I grinned. I hadn’t realized that before, although Emma did enjoy her evening baths, but I just thought that was a baby thing. Maybe I should take her swimming at the local pool? She’d love that. ‘Come on, Emma. Time to go home,’ I told her, lifting her up and putting her in the buggy.
Once she was securely fastened, I headed home as fast as possible. When we were at last indoors, I dried Emma off and changed her clothes. The last thing either of us needed was for her to catch a chill. I changed my T-shirt and pulled off my damp socks, then we headed downstairs. After a kiss on the top of her head and making sure that she was safe in the sitting room, I headed to the kitchen to start the laundry. I was turning into a domestic god and to be honest, that bit I hated. But at least it wasn’t all the time – just ninety-five per cent of the time! I was just pushing some of Emma’s dirty clothes into the washing machine when the doorbell rang. Straightening up, I frowned. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe it was the postman. Nah, far too early for the post. Anyone other than an axe murderer and I’d be happy to stand and chat! I headed for the front door.
‘Hello, Dante.’
I regarded the woman on my doorstep. She looked vaguely familiar. A few centimetres shorter than me, her black hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore a grey skirt suit with a pink blouse. Her face was expertly made-up and she carried an outsized bag over her shoulder. It took a few seconds to place her.
‘Er . . . Veronica, isn’t it?’ I said. It was her eyes that helped me to identify her. She had the same almond-shaped eyes as Collette, her sister.
‘That’s right,’ she smiled. ‘May I come in?’
What on earth was Veronica doing here? ‘Is something wrong with Collette? Has she had an accident or something?’ I asked, concerned.
‘No, no. Nothing like that,’ Veronica rushed to reassure me. ‘May I come in?’
Even more puzzled, I stepped aside. ‘First door on the left,’ I indicated the sitting room.
She entered the room, stopping momentarily when she saw Emma playing with her toy animals. And there was a distinctly pongy whiff wafting up from her. Her nappy needed changing.
‘How is she?’ Veronica asked. ‘Emma, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, that’s right. And she’s fine,’ I replied.
Should I change Emma’s nappy now or wait until Veronica left? I decided to wait until Veronica left. I didn’t want to appear rude by vanishing with Emma the moment she sat down. Collette’s sister sat down on the sofa. Slowly I sat down in the armchair opposite. Emma played on the carpet between us. I waited for Veronica to get to the point.
‘So how are you?’ she asked.
My frown deepened. ‘Fine, thanks. I’m not being funny but I’m sure you didn’t come all this way just to ask about my health.’
‘Well, I did actually – indirectly.’
I had a bad feeling about this . . .
‘I don’t know if Collette told you, but I’m a social worker.’
Every cell in my body was on red alert. ‘Yeah, she told me,’ I replied carefully, wondering where all this was leading.
‘Collette also told me that your ex-girlfriend turned up with a child and . . .’ A swift glance at Emma. ‘Now you find yourself having to cope with that child alone?’
‘I’m not alone. My dad and brother are here to help,’ I said. What was all this about? ‘Why’re you here?’
‘Don’t worry, this is an unofficial visit. I’ve just come to see how you’re managing,’ said Veronica. ‘Collette said that you were deeply unhappy.’
‘I got over it.’ I’m getting over it would’ve been more accurate but she didn’t need to know that.
‘But it can’t be easy?’ Veronica suggested.
I shrugged, saying nothing.
‘As I said, I’m here in an unofficial capacity, but I do have a duty of care to make sure that Emma is in a stable, nurturing, safe environment.’
My blood ran ice-cold in my veins. ‘What’re you implying?’ I asked slowly. ‘What did Collette say?’
‘Collette didn’t say anything specific. But having a child can be a daunting prospect for any new parent – even when the child is wanted. You’re only seventeen and Emma wasn’t . . .’ Another swift look at my daughter. ‘Well, she wasn’t a life choice you deliberately made, now was she?’
I said nothing. I was only too aware of the land mines suddenly scattered all around me, just waiting for a word out of place to set them off.
‘I understand that you’re trying to find a way out of your current situation?’ Veronica continued.
‘You’ve been misinformed,’ I replied. ‘Emma is my daughter and my responsibility. I’m not trying to find a way out of anything.’
Veronica looked puzzled. ‘But you’re going to university.’
‘I withdrew my application.’
‘So what d’you intend to do now?’
‘Find a job so I can support my daughter.’
‘And who will be looking after your daughter whilst you work?’
How was any of this her business? I bit back what I really wanted to say with great difficulty. I was only too aware that this woman had the power to make it her business, but with each passing second I resented her presence more and more.
‘I’m looking for an evening or night-time job so that my dad can look after Emma whilst I’m working.’
‘What kind of evening job?’
‘I don’t know. I’m still looking.’
‘And what happens when your dad isn’t available to baby-sit?’
‘I’d only work on a part-time basis initially, maybe three or four evenings a week. Dad and I plan to organise a schedule of nights when I can look after Emma myself.’
‘Hhmm . . .’ Veronica didn’t sound convinced. ‘And what happens when Emma is sick or needs you at home and you’re at work?’
‘The same thing that happens to any parent in a similar situation,’ I replied. ‘I come home to look after my daughter.’
‘Hhmm . . . I’m not being funny, Dante, but are you even close to coping?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I can smell that Emma’s nappy needs changing but I don’t see you making any moves to do anything about it,’ said Veronica.
Calm down, Dante. Don’t let her get to you.
‘I know her nappy needs changing but I didn’t realize you’d be staying so long, otherwise I would’ve changed her before now.’
‘Don’t let me stop you,’ Veronica said.
Was this a test?
After a moment’s hesitation, I took Emma’s baby bag off the handles of her folded-up buggy which was leaning against the wall and I set about changing Emma’s nappy without saying a word to Veronica. The burning resentment I felt must have been scorching her skin though. As I fastened Emma’s clean nappy, she said, ‘Dante, I’m on your side.’
It didn’t feel like it.
‘So you’ve decided to keep Emma with you?’
‘She’s my daughter,’ I replied. That said it all.
‘Have you really thought this through?’
Was she serious?
‘I’ve thought of nothing else. I’ve only had Emma for a few weeks now. I’m still learning, I’m still adjusting. But I know I could be a good dad if I’m given the chance.’
‘You’re seventeen, Dante. You can’t be expected to have the patience or aptitude for this that an older parent would have.’
I wasn’t having that. ‘There are plenty of older parents who abuse their kids. There are plenty of older parents who don’t give a damn about their children and let them fend for themselves. I know I’m only seventeen. I can’t help that. But I’m eighteen in two weeks’ time and all my family, not just me, are determined to make this work.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Veronica, ‘because if I feel this is not the best environment for Emma, there are a number of steps I can take.’
I stood up. ‘Are you talking about taking my daughter into care?’
‘That would be a last resort. There are quite a number of intermediate steps before we ever get to that point . . .’
But I hardly heard her. I bent to pick up Emma, hugging her to me. She rested her head on my shoulder and started sucking her thumb. I wanted to tell Emma not to do that as it would make her teeth grow outwards, but if I removed her thumb from her mouth, would Veronica think I was being cruel? Would that be a mark against me?
‘Tell me something,’ I asked bitterly. ‘Would we be having this conversation if I was Emma’s mum instead of her dad?’
Veronica frowned. ‘I don’t see how that’s relevant.’
‘Isn’t it? You’re automatically assuming that because I’m Emma’s dad, not her mum, I’m failing. Well, let’s talk about her mum. Melanie was the one who didn’t even tell me she was pregnant. Nor did she bother to let me know I had a daughter when Emma was born. Melanie arrived here, told me she didn’t trust herself with Emma and was afraid of what she might do, she gave Emma to me and did a runner. She’s the one who has disappeared somewhere up north with no forwarding address. And yet you’re here ready to condemn me?’
I didn’t shout, though God knows all I wanted to do was yell at the bitch and chuck her out the nearest window. How dare she? And Collette had a damned nerve.