24 May 2012
not only would he tell me what a fuck-up I am, he’d also tell me all about whatever he was doing which kept him a bigger fuck-up than me, but no phone means no Julian and that means I’ve got to get back home and make an attempt to salvage some semblance of normality out of what is becoming a very strange week. We leave the restaurant once the wine dries up, it wasn’t early when we arrived and by the time we leave the lunch time crowd has moved on back to work, or shopping, or sightseeing or whatever it is normal people do to occupy themselves. On the way back to the car we don’t really speak, there isn’t much to say seeing as we both know that we have to part ways soon, talking about that would be like discussing organ donation with the family of a recently deceased motor cyclist, it’s just not done. Well that and the fact that the noise of central London is incessant, meaning that any kerbside conversation has to be held at over sixty decibels. As we pass the enormous shop fronts of Tommy Hilfiger and Aquascutum I look at my reflection in the glass, our reflection. Her long hair floating behind her like a wake, the gentle swing of her long, slim, golden arms with their smorgasbord or bracelets and bangles on her wrists, her immaculate, never-ending legs and then there’s me. I walk half a step behind her, probably to get a better view, though I may not dress like the average thirty-eight year old, or feel like it either, seeing myself next to her reminds me that I must be ten years her senior. Best to simply not ask, I’ll just ignore it just like the rest of this mountain of shit which is piling up on top of me. Before Belle gets out of the car she turns to me as I reach to slide a cigarette out of the packet in the console of the car. She seems to always pick these moments to make bold statements so as soon as she opens her mouth I start rummaging around for my lighter, when I find one in the storage compartment of the door I’m struck by mixed emotions. Saddened by the fact I found one so quickly but glad nonetheless because it was shockingly expensive. I light my cigarette and she begins. “Are you happy?” Always with the deep question at the wrong time. “It’s an everyday struggle.” “No seriously, are you?” “I’m not even sure I’d recognise it if I was, Belle,” I pause to smoke. “My daughter makes me happy, she’s a doll.” “And me?” “You’re a doll too.” “But do I make you happy?” “It’s neither here nor there if you make me happy, Belle. What difference does it make?” “Well it makes a difference to me, I want to know. Or does your wife make you happy?” “You can probably answer that for yourself I think, little one. She should though, honestly it’s probably just me, I think I’m allergic to simplicity and the happiness that goes with it.” “You make me happy.” “Well that’s just another thing that worries me, what about me could possibly make you happy?” “Just everything, I wouldn’t be able to explain it, that’s just how it is. Maybe we’re both fucked up.” I roll my eyes because it seems like a copout excuse and the curse sounds dirtier in her mouth than mine. I turn and lean across, placing my right hand with the cigarette behind her headrest, she kisses me softly on the mouth, holding it for a long time. Then she stretches further up to my ear and whispers, for no reason which I’m able to decipher. “I love you,” and turns and gets out of the car, walking directly to the front door of her building without looking back. If she had she would have seen me mouth the words fuck me. I wonder if my father ever had the problems inherent of such erratic emotions, I never asked him, he died too quickly.
The drive home is uneventful at best, the sun begins to make a beeline for the horizon and the sky turns a pretty shade of pink. As I pass by the large faux-Georgian mansions, some with expansive gravel driveways, others with the more upmarket patterns laid out in red and grey brick paving, I have a growing feeling of despair. This becomes teamed with the same feeling I had all those weeks ago when I first woke up having left Belle, that and a very strong urge to run away. But that’s me, always wanting what I can’t have, although knowing that doesn’t make the desire go away in the slightest. Our road is quiet and by the time I get there most of the driveways are full, the houses on this street generally overlook some kind of garden, with post-modern stainless steel fountain framed by perfectly square cut miniature trees included. Unable to tolerate that kind of public pretentious peacockery I choose to have a simple eight foot high hedge surrounding a large driveway with enough space to park four cars. Ali being Ali insisted on using the corners for some kind of landslide come flower garden arrangement which to me seemed pointless if nobody can see it, but according to her it was “essential”. I park the car and quickly check to make sure that Belle hasn’t inadvertently dropped anything in the car which could be construed (correctly) as suspicious but it’s clear, the only thing on the floor are empty cigarette packets and the discarded boxes of service station sandwiches. I pick up as many as I can and quickly go and toss them into a grey recycling box next to the bin, I have a suspicion it is a designated plastic one but simply cannot care enough to move them. I move over to the front door and as I raise my key to put it into the lock the door opens and Lola stands in front of me smiling. “Hey there, my little bear,” I bend down to pick her up. “How was school today? Did your teachers say how good you were last night?” “They said everyone was good, but some of my friends’ Mums said I was really good after school.” “Well that’s good isn’t it,” she nods happily as we walk into the kitchen where music is playing, something annoyingly unseasonal like the Buena Vista Social Club. I whisper into Lola’s ear because Ali is standing over the hobs with her back to us. “Is Mummy still annoyed with me do you think?” She just nods again. “You don’t talk much do you, munchkin? Shall we go cheer her up then?” “Did you bring her flowers?” “Um,” I look around us feigning a look of loss. “Oh no, I must have left them in the shop. Daddy can be an idiot sometimes. Shall we sing her a song instead?” Her eyes brighten up, wide and grey. “Yeah! Let’s sing Miley Cyrus.” “Okay, do you know all the dance moves too though? Because if you don’t then I don’t think we’ll be able to cheer her up properly.” “Course I know them silly, shall I teach you?” “We haven’t got time for that bub, we have to do this now because otherwise Mummy is going to poison us with her food.” “No she won’t!” “Oh yes she will!” I nod emphatically to prove that this is in fact the truth. “I’ve already had my dinner anyway so it’s not for me.” “Well you wouldn’t want Daddy to get poisoned would you?” “Not really.” “Not really? Really?” She just grins cheekily. “Okay I’ll put you down and when I turn down the music you start and I’ll join in okay?” She responds with more nodding. As I lower Lola down to the ground Ali turns away from the hobs, I can’t help but flash her a cheeky smile which she doesn’t give back as I move over to the CD player which is embedded in the back wall. Lola stands in the middle of the room and pulls a pose as though she’s on centre stage and ready to sing to adoring fans. Coincidentally I find a CD by the infant pop-star who Lola wants to impersonate on the shelf next to the player so I quickly put it in and let the first track begin to play. Lola looks back confused but I give her an encouraging nod for her to begin and she starts to dance in time with the music and when Miley begins to sing so does Lola in perfect stereo unison. I jump to Lola’s side and begin imitating her moves about two seconds late and poorly as I have to spend the entire time watching what she’s doing which on its own is very distracting. Our dancing is nothing short of ludicrous, at one point Lola does some kind of rapid spinning manoeuvre which I fail to dodge, disastrously, so have to quickly pick her up and swing her to the other side of me where she continues with true professionalism. I glance over at Ali who is laughing hysterically at us, a definite good sign that I will win her over after all. As the song finishes I quickly run over to turn down this intolerable drivel which somehow passes as music and come back with a hand outstretched to high five Lola. “Well done, baby, you almost kept up with me.” “Shut up! You almost kept up with me you mean.” “Yes that’s exactly what I mean, bub.” I’m breathing heavily, suddenly feeling the need to quit smoking. “Do you think we managed to cheer your Mum up?” “I don’t know, she’s crying.” “Ha! I think she’s crying because we made her laugh so much though so don’t worry. Well done little sausage we did good.” I bend down and kiss her forehead before walking over to Ali who’s wiping away tears and smiling. I lean in towards her with one arm around her back and whisper into her ear so that Lola won’t hear. “Are we ok? Can we just forget about last night? It was dumb, we both overreacted and I’m sorry.” She nods and reaches a hand around my face to pull it in for a kiss. “Yuck,” Lola swiftly passes as judgement which makes us both laugh. “What’cha makin’ then, Wifey?” “I’m doing a chicken cacciatore for the main, there’s a wild rice salad in the fridge and a lemon tart for dessert too.” “Right, why do I get the feeling there’s some kind of occasion taking place which I’m not aware of?” I flash a look of exaggerated alarm at Lola which makes her giggle. “Happy anniversary!” I exclaim semi- hopeful but knowing that I’m way off. “Nice try, Felix but it’s not our anniversary for another six months, who gets married in winter?” “I knew that, baby, but seriously what’s the occasion?” “There isn’t an
Daddy's Gone 9.1 • Opuss № I