Chapter Thirteen

I’m zipping around the flat, scurrying from room to room to feed the cat (who doesn’t deserve nourishment after he woke me up by standing on my face at too-early o’clock this morning but I’m providing the little git with it anyway) and to shove yesterday’s clothes in the washing machine (I haven’t got time to actually read the instructions Jed left for me to set it going. Will do that later) while hunting down my left shoe. I can hear Mum honking the horn down on the street but I haven’t brushed my hair yet and I’m going nowhere wearing one shoe. Russell and Jed’s flat is immaculate (at least it was until I descended) so how can I have misplaced it?

I fly at the window and part the blinds when Mum honks again, sticking two fingers up to the pane of glass (symbolising ‘two minutes’ – I’m not flicking her the Vs). The shoe hunt continues as I drag a brush through my bedhead hair. There it is! Poking out from under the cushion printed with Russell’s face. I shove the shoe on my foot and gather my hair into its usual messy bun before grabbing something quick to eat from the kitchen. I haven’t had breakfast yet (despite being woken up ridiculously early by the demon ball of fur) and I’m starving . I don’t have time for a proper breakfast, so a couple of fun-size Snickers will have to do. They’re practically Crunchy Nut Cornflakes in bar form, but I’ll add the breakfast thing to my grown-up to-do list later. I definitely don’t have time now – Mum’s three quick-fire honks have morphed into one very long, very agitated beep.

‘At last.’ Mum gives the clock on her dashboard a pointed look as I clamber into the car. ‘I’m going to be late for work.’

‘Sorry.’ I shove the last bit of Snickers into my gob and buckle myself in. I have an appointment at the bank, to open some kind of high-interest savings account thingy. I was hoping to sort it out online, but it seems I have to go into the branch, and at least it’s something to cross off the to-do list. I seem to be adding way more stuff than I’m achieving so I need to pull my finger out. Paul will be back in town in eighty-one days and I don’t want to let him – or myself – down.

‘How’s it going staying in the flat on your own?’ Mum pulls away, Boyzone’s ‘I Love the Way You Love Me’ wafting from the CD player. ‘Got any washing you need me to pick up later?’

‘Mum.’ I sigh, short and sharp. ‘I’m a grown-up. I can do my own washing.’

Mum huffs. ‘Since when?’

‘Since now.’ I shuffle down in my seat and shove my hands under my armpits. ‘And staying at the flat has been great. Really great. I’m loving it.’

‘So you haven’t missed us then?’

‘Why? Have you missed me?’

Mum sneaks a quick peek at me as we wait at a junction. ‘Missed the extra washing and the shoes and clothes left lying around the place and causing a trip hazard? Of course I’ve missed you.’

I feel a flicker of a smile and try to tamper it down. ‘I’ve missed you too. A little bit. But you know I’ll be moving out for good one day soon?’

Mum nods, but I’m not quite sure she believes that’s true.

The appointment at the bank goes well and my new savings account is activated. There isn’t much in there yet, but it’s a start. The woman who sorted it for me was lovely, and she seemed to enjoy her job. Plus, the knotted scarf she was wearing as part of her uniform was cute. A possible career direction? Something to think about, at least.

I’m not due at the chippy until mid-afternoon, so I have a little mooch around town (and I grab a coffee and pastry to make up for the rubbish breakfast) before heading for the bus stop. It’s started to rain and I have neither a coat nor an umbrella. Why did I put a regular jumper on this morning instead of a hoodie, which would have at least provided a bit of extra cover?

A car approaches and I take a step back, away from the puddle that’s forming at the gutter. But the car slows down and stops in front of me. The window lowers and someone leans across to peer at me.

‘Cleo?’ It’s James, with someone else in the passenger seat. ‘Are you heading back to Clifton?’ I nod, my teeth chattering so violently I’m unable to speak. ‘Get in. I’ll drop you off.’

I don’t like James. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. But it’s raining so hard my hair is plastered to my skull and I’m in danger of developing hypothermia in my sodden clothes.

‘Thanks.’ The simple word ends up having three syllables due to my chattering teeth.

The passenger door opens and a youth unfolds himself onto the pavement. He’s tall and gangly and looks a lot like James but without the beard. He looks me up and down and heaves a huge sigh before he drags the back door of the car open and slumps inside.

‘I’m a bit soggy. Sorry.’ Still, I throw myself into the car before James can rescind his offer of a lift.

‘No worries.’ James closes the window, so I’m no longer getting spattered with rain, and sets off.

‘No worries for you .’ The youth in the back of the car shifts in his seat so that his knees press into my back. I know he’s spectacularly tall for a kid, but I’m sure he does it on purpose. ‘I’ve got to sit in that seat after.’

‘Seth.’ James’ tone is low as he glances at the kid in his rear-view mirror.

‘Dad.’ The tone is reflected back by the kid, and I almost give myself whiplash as I twist my neck so fast to look at him. Dad? James is this kid’s dad ? But he’s, what? Thirteen? Fourteen?

‘Ignore him. He’s grumpy because we’ve just had a trip to the dentist and now he has to go back to school.’

James is speaking, but I don’t turn back around. There’s another kid in the back, this one younger and female. She smiles shyly at me as our eyes meet.

‘Hello.’ I smile back. Or grimace, I’m not sure. The attempt is there but I’m shook. I turn to face James. ‘Are these your kids?’

‘Seth and Edith.’ James eyes the rear-view mirror briefly again. ‘This is Cleo.’

‘Cordy’s your granny.’ The little girl smiles shyly again as I shift in my seat to face her.

‘You know my gran?’ I’m hit with a memory of sitting in the garden with Gran. There’s a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Edith likes them . I’d assumed Edith was a friend of Gran’s, not a sweet-looking little girl. She has James’ curls, but they’re a golden blonde, held back from her face by two sparkly blue butterfly clips.

‘She helps us to cross the road.’ Edith wiggles two fingers to make a walking gesture. ‘And she gives us sweeties on Fridays. Just one.’ She holds up a finger to demonstrate, her brow furrowed in earnestness. ‘Rhubarb and custards are my favourite.’

I shift in my seat, so I can face James. ‘Gran’s your kid’s lollipop lady? Is that how you met?’

I wasn’t expecting that . Of all the scenarios I’ve run over in my head since Gran’s birthday, this one had never even occurred to me.

‘James has got kids.’

I’ve just flung myself into the chippy after racing up to the flat to bung my wet clothes in the washing machine, throw on a new set of clothes and blitz my hair with the hairdryer (I did need it after all). I’ve even set the washing machine going, thanks to Jed’s instructions stuck on the front of the fridge, and it turns out it isn’t that complicated after all. There are a load of settings and buttons, but you only need to know what a few of them actually do (daily cycle, forty degrees and start, in this case). I am now one step closer to being a proper grown-up, so I can proudly cross that one off my list later.

‘Who?’ Claire is wiping down one of the tables, having a good go at a dollop of congealing ketchup (gross). Danny, one of the temps Russell and Jed organised to help out during their absence, is here but there are no customers as it’s in that quiet period between the late lunchtime stragglers and the early tea-timers. In a few weeks, this lull will feel like a luxury, but it’s a bit boring during the low season, to be honest.

‘James… thingy.’ I’m sure he told me his surname, in that awkward moment when I thought he was a cat burglar, but my brain hasn’t held on to the information. ‘The bloke who’s living with my gran. Not living living with her. The lodger.’ I plonk myself down at the now clean table. ‘And he’s got kids. Two of them.’

‘So what?’ Claire straightens the little wire basket of condiments on the table and slips a menu behind it.

‘ So what? He’s my age, pretty much, and he’s got two kids . And one of them is like a man-child. He’s taller than me. Way taller. The other one’s younger. About Arlo’s age, I’d guess. She said Gran’s her lollipop lady, so she probably goes to the same school. Does Arlo know an Edith… something?’

I know very little about this man. He lives with my gran and yet he’s still a stranger. I don’t know what he does for a living, or even his surname. I’m going to have to do some subtle digging the next time I go over to catch up on Waiting on You , though I’ll have to do a better job than I have done with Paul. I attempted to find out more about his past relationship but all I know is that her name is Daisy (cute) and there was ‘no drama’ when they broke up.

‘The name doesn’t ring a bell, but then Arlo thinks all girls smell like poo at the moment.’ Claire picks up a small stack of plates and swipes the area they’ve been sitting on with the cloth before she heads into the kitchen.

‘It’s a bit weird though, isn’t it?’ I follow Claire into the kitchen and help to stack the dishwasher. ‘Him having these secret kids?’

Claire shrugs. ‘Not really. He’s your gran’s lodger. Paying the rent on time and tidying up after himself is all that’s expected of him. His private life is his business. And if your gran is the little one’s lollipop lady, they’re not a secret to her .’

Why do people have to be so bloody reasonable? Why can’t they simply agree with you to keep you happy?

‘I just don’t get the maths of it all. James is twenty-eight. This kid is, like, sixteen.’ This is an exaggeration, but I want Claire to feel as shocked as I do about this revelation. ‘James must have been about twelve when he fathered him.’

Claire nudges the dishwasher closed. ‘Why do you care so much?’

I stare at my friend for a moment, my lower jaw slowly descending towards the tiled floor. ‘This guy lives with my gran. I’d quite like to know what sort of person he is. To know that she’s safe.’

‘And you don’t think she is because he has kids?’ Claire speaks slowly, her face crumpling in confusion.

‘No, because he was a child himself when he had kids.’

‘And that’s your business because…?’

‘Because…’ I fold my arms across my chest and tap my foot. ‘Because…’ Claire waits patiently for my answer, but I don’t have one. Not one that doesn’t include the fact I just don’t like him, so there.

‘Why are you so early anyway?’ Claire eventually lets me off the hook by changing the subject.

‘Am I?’ I pull my phone from my pocket and check the time. I am early. We’re not due to hand over for half an hour. This is a first. ‘Be on time for work’ is getting crossed off the list as well tonight. ‘I guess I just love this place so much I can’t keep away.’

‘You love this place so much you can’t keep away? I thought you were planning on leaving.’ Claire gives me the crumpled-face look again. ‘Speaking of which, I’ve got something for you.’

Ooh, a present. I follow Claire into the room at the back of the chippy, my steps light and skippy as I imagine what she’s brought for me. A fairy cake she baked with Arlo? A gossipy mag she’s finished with?

Or a dog-eared, boring-looking prospectus for long-distance learning.

‘Thanks?’ I take the prospectus, which is three years out of date, and flick through it as though it may be of interest.

‘I know it’s old, and we can get you a new one, but in the meantime I thought it might help you decide on your new career.’

I pull out a wonky chair and flop down on it, almost giving myself a heart attack when it lurches. I flick through the first few pages of the prospectus; there’s motivational guff about achieving my ambitions, what the courses can offer and what I need to do to get started, and advice on choosing the right qualification. I feel my shoulders tense as I flick to the next page: how long your qualification will take. I don’t have any ambitions, and I certainly wouldn’t have any time to achieve them if I had. Or the money to pay for the course. Paul will be back in Clifton-on-Sea in less than three months and these courses take years . I don’t have the time or funds to go back to basics. I need to start a new career, and pretty fast.