8

My mother’s face was the first that I saw on arrival back at Prestwick Airport. It was quickly followed by Pat’s as he ran at full speed and jumped into my arms.

‘Whoa, cowboy. You nearly knocked me over. Don’t know your own strength.’ I hugged him fiercely then covered his face with kisses.

‘Dad, Dad, don’t,’ he laughed, loving every second.

I ran my eyes over him as he radiated a smile. He seemed bigger than I remembered and we were only gone a week. Mum and Anna kissed politely, like the strangers they were. Time would be my ally here. I was certain that once Mum got to know Anna she would grow to love her almost as much as I did.

On the way home in the car Pat chattered non-stop, one sentence rushing into the next and knocking it out of his mouth. He told us of the nice time that he had staying with Gran. They had gone to Kidz Play every day, a soft-play area down at Prestwick Beach. They’d gone to MacDonalds, Burger King and KFC lots of times as well. At this news I gave my mother a reproving look: an eloquent shrug was her reply.

It was this look from my mother that gave me a lightning flash of insight. That look said to me she was worried that, with Anna on the scene, she might not get to see as much of Pat and that she was making the most of it while she could. I made a mental note to make sure this didn’t happen.

‘Did you have a nice time, son?’ my mother asked in an attempt to change the subject, lest Pat say anything else incriminating. I watched her as she drove with care and practised ease through the traffic and noticed again the effect that the years had had on her. Lines as deep as her laughter was warm and unforced, spread from her eyes.

As was usual, my mother was perfectly turned out. She rarely left the house without her mascara and lippy. Jim and I used to complain about the lipstick on our cheeks and the foundation on our collars, which earned us lots of teasing from our mates. The lines, however, I saw as a badge of her fortitude, her determination to bring up two boys without a father. My mother was one of those women that Scotland seemed to excel in. Women who face life’s downpours with a raincoat of stoicism and an umbrella fashioned from humour.

My father had died at the age of thirty-five. He was an assistant bank manager who worked hard at his profession to provide for his wife and children. It was as he poured over his ledgers that he suffered a massive heart attack and died. I was five.

My memories of my father are faint. If I concentrate I can see a tall, slim man with large hands and broad shoulders. My mother tells me that I most resemble him and old photographs seem to bear this out. A photograph of him in his swimming trunks, posing beside a car, holding Jim and I down at Troon beach was always my favourite as a child.

Mum was father and mother during those early years. From wiping away our tears and cleaning the cuts on our knees to playing football. She brought herself whole heartedly to each task and with such vigour that we hardly noticed our little family unit was missing anything.

At the age of seven my mother encouraged me to become an altar boy. I don’t remember having much choice in the matter. We were Catholic and it was every mother’s wish to see her son assist in the Holy Mass. Now, as an adult, I can see that what she was really attempting to give us was a male role model; a priest called Father David filled this post admirably.

He seemed to take a shine to Jim and I and would go well out of his way to say hello. A ruffle of the hair, his hand on our shoulder, was often enough for us to know of his comforting presence. Once we were more used to him, he began to call round at the house and take us swimming, fishing or would even just kick around a football in our back garden.

For the first time I felt able to talk to an adult on equal terms and this I believe to have been his great strength. He used to assure us that there were no stupid questions, only stupid answers, and he would let us prattle on for hours, never correcting, never judging.

On one occasion, he had just dropped us at the house after a trip to the beach. Jim was delighted with the number of whelks he had collected and charged into the house to show them off to Mum. Father David sensed that I wanted to talk.

‘Did you have a nice day, Andrew?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Father, thanks.’

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

‘Father?’ I asked at last.

‘Yes, son.’

‘Is it a sin to hate someone for dying?’ I blurted out, staring at my fingers.

‘Do you hate your Dad?’ It was amazing, I remember thinking at the time – he knew who I was talking about.

‘Yes.’ I said with as much energy as my small frame could muster.

‘Why?’

‘Because he left us.’

‘Did you cry when he died?’

‘No,’ my voice was barely audible.

He paused before speaking. ‘In answer to your question, no, it’s not a sin. Do you think your Dad wanted to die?’

‘No.’ That was a stupid question.

‘Do you think that he would really rather be here with his wife and two bonny boys?’

‘Probably.’ That made sense.

‘Why do you think you didn’t cry?’

‘Because I was angry?’ I asked.

‘You know, it is all right to cry. Big boys do cry. I cried when my Dad died.’

‘You did?’ I looked up at him, I couldn’t have been more amazed if he had said ‘fuck’.

‘Yes, of course. I was terribly sad. I loved my father … You know when I cried it was not for my father, it was for me. He was a good man and so would have gone to heaven. I cried for me because I knew I would miss him every day for the rest of my life.’

These words spoken quietly but confidently by this compassionate man broke down the flood walls of my resentment. They collapsed under the storm of my grief. I have no recollection whatsoever of how long I sat in that car crying. I only remember Father David’s shoulder and noticing how wet it was from my tears.

 

When we arrived home after the ten-minute drive from the airport, Mum and Anna made straight for the kitchen to put the kettle on, one to try and help and the other to assert her place as the new woman in my life. Pat, oblivious to the politics, made straight for the TV and put on a Disney movie. I carried in the suitcases, dumped them on the bedroom floor and went downstairs to drink my tea.

Anna was standing proprietarily by the kettle holding a huge bouquet of flowers.

‘Look at these sweetheart, aren’t they gorgeous. Your mother bought them for us to welcome us home.’

‘Thanks, Mum. They’re lovely,’ I leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

At that moment, Jim walked in the door, Pat following him like a puppy. ‘Did you guys have a nice time then? Or were you too busy to enjoy the sights?’

‘Jim,’ Mum scolded, ‘Not in front of the boy.’

‘I know, Mum. I’m far too young for this kind of talk,’ I jumped in.

‘Sorry, Mother.’ Jim dropped before her feet and pretended to kiss them. Pat, thinking that this was hilarious, jumped on his back. This resulted in the two of them running into the living room, round the couch, Pat saddled on Jim’s back. From there and back to the kitchen, to the dining room and back to the lounge, with Pat barely able to hold on for giggling. Jim hollered like a cowboy on ecstasy.

I looked over at Anna to check if she was enjoying the show. She was modelling a smile the Mona Lisa would have done well to emulate. During our courtship it was only on rare occasions that we were all together at the same time. Perhaps, not coming from a rowdy family, she found all of the carry-on a bit strange. Or she was simply tired after our holiday.

‘Right, Jim, sit on your bum and stop winding up my son. Pat you come over here and watch the film that you asked to get put on.’ The two of them walked over and did as I asked, but Jim couldn’t resist one final raspberry blown on Pat’s neck, which elicited a fresh gale of giggles.

‘Jim,’ Mum said. ‘Can’t you see that Anna’s tired? Leave Pat alone and let him calm down.’

The talk seemed to go a little flat after that with Anna offering little by way of conversation. She’s tired, I thought. The poor soul was just getting an idea of what it really meant to marry into our family. I was sure that, given time, she would learn to love the strong male sense of fun that inhabited all of our get-togethers.

Anna sent me a quick smile of thanks.

I looked at my watch, ‘Pat, I think it’s time you had your bath.’

‘Daaad.’ He managed to make such a small word last a long time.

‘Come on, son. It’s getting late and you know that you usually have your bath before now.’

‘Do you want me to do it? You two could do with a wee break,’ Mum offered. This was less about us needing a break – we were just back after all – than Mum’s reluctance to give up her time with Pat.

‘No, no,’ said Anna with a tired smile. ‘You guys get off home, I’ll see to Pat. Got to get into the routine of everyday life. The honeymoon is definitely over.’

‘Very wise,’ said Mum. ‘Right.’ She slowly reached for her handbag. ‘I’ll be off. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.’

I was pleased to hear it. Jim and I were both concerned that she didn’t have enough in her life.

‘Oh, what are you up to then?’ I asked.

‘You know,’ she answered vaguely, ‘this and that.’

‘Is that horny old goat next door taking you out somewhere, Mum?’

‘Jim.’ I said, ‘Not in front of Pat.’

‘No harm done.’ Jim ruffled Pat’s hair.

Pat in turn stood up and bringing each hand up to the side of his head with only the index finger sticking up, he butted Jim’s belly.

‘Mr Henderson’s got horns he wants to stick into Gran.’

Trying to look sternly at Jim while stifling a laugh and at the same time hoping to give Pat the impression that he had said nothing out of the ordinary, I succeeded only in looking constipated.

Anna came to the rescue. ‘Right, bath, young man.’.

Pat ran to his Gran and gave her a kiss. ‘Night, night, Gran. Love you.’

My mother looked as if she was about to cry.

‘See ye, pal,’ Jim walked over and tweaked his nose. He looked back at me. ‘I’ll give you a phone, Andy. We’ll go out for a drink, eh?’

 

With Pat’s happy chatter interspersed with Anna’s singsong voice floating downstairs from the bathroom I washed and put away the cups. Then, enjoying the solitude, I sat on the settee with an ear on the two most important people in my life. I smiled. I was delighted to hear them clowning around together. Pat had a highly developed sense of fun and it was a joy to watch him play with the water. This was a sure way for the two of them to connect, so I decided to stay where I was and let them get on with it.

I sat forward in my chair. The laughter and splashes had stopped. Then I heard a sharp tone from Anna and an answering wail from Pat.

I was up the stairs three at a time.

‘What the…?’ I said as I ran into the bathroom. Anna was on her knees at the side of the bath with her hair soaking and Pat was sitting in the bath with a look of abject shame on his face.

‘The wee bugger soaked my hair,’ Anna said, standing up, her face heavy with tiredness and irritation.

But she immediately seemed to regret her tone. She sank into her haunches. ‘I’m so sorry, Pat. You took me by surprise that’s all.’

Pat’s got to his feet. His bottom lip was sticking out and was on full tremble.

‘Forgive me for being a bad girl?’ Anna said, holding out her hands. ‘Hug?’

‘Yeah, she didn’t mean it, son,’ I said, picked up a towel and plucked him out of the water.

‘I’ve got this, Andy,’ Anna said. Now it was her turn to look huffy.

‘It’s alright,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you go down and make us a coffee. I’ll be down shortly.’

‘Andy…’ Anna said with a look of disappointment on her face.

Pat was sitting up in my arm looking from one of us to the other. He wasn’t sure who he should be looking to for guidance. Then, giving up, he lay his head on my shoulder.

‘We were fine, Andy. You don’t need…’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘Sorry. I just…’ Pat was mine, my responsibility and seeing Anna on the point of disciplining my son brought out a reaction that completely surprised me. If Anna was to be his new mum, she had to be able to have a part in that side of his life as well. I sent her a look of apology. ‘Won’t happen again.’

‘I’ll stick the kettle on,’ said Anna.

She pushed herself to her feet and as she walked past me, she ruffled Pat’s head, offered him a look of apology and then looked at me. Her look said, you have to let me in.

The three of us. That’s our family now.

‘Anna…’ I began. But she was out of the bathroom and down the stairs.

 

I dried Pat and helped him into his pyjamas. Then I put him to bed and read him a story.

‘You okay, son?’

A small nod. Anna had never spoken to him with any edge and it looked like he was trying to make sense of it.

‘Anna’s just not used to little boys. She still wants to be your friend,’ I smoothed the hair down on the top of his head. After drying it I had forgotten to brush it and it was sticking up all over the place. ‘Okay?’

This time I received a quiet ‘’kay’ in response.

Downstairs Anna was curled up in a chair. ‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine.’ Pause. ‘Thought you were making the tea?’

She stuck her tongue out and I knew we were fine. ‘What did your last slave die of?’ she asked.

 

It seemed like hours before I got to sleep, the evening’s events revolving around my head. I couldn’t bear to see any distance open up between Pat and Anna, and prayed that the little scene in the bathroom would be quickly forgotten by them both.

Sleep must have eventually claimed me, because I was awakened abruptly by several blows to my head.

‘What the….?’ I grabbed the arms of my assailant. It was Anna.

‘Anna, what the hell…?’ I pushed her off me, sat up in the bed and switched on a lamp. Anna was crouched at my feet, her small frame heaving with fright as she forced air into her lungs.

‘What the…?’ She rubbed at her eyes as if just coming out of a deep sleep. ‘Why did you…’ She looked around herself. ‘How did I end up at the bottom of the bed?’

‘Bloody hell,’ I said. ‘That was some nightmare you were having.’ I edged down the bed towards her. ‘You woke me up with a punch. You were hitting me in your sleep.’

‘I what? I did what?’ she asked, her eyes large with shock.

‘Bloody hell, Anna. What got into you?’ My irritation evaporated. She looked so small and scared I could do nothing but hold her. Folding her in my arms, I lay back down on the bed and rocked her as she chanted a mantra of apology.

Pat’s tousled head popped in the door.

‘Daddy, what’s wrong with Anna?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, son.’

‘Dad, why’s she crying?’ he continued.

‘Pat, just go back to your bed, now, son.’ I spoke through clenched teeth and instantly prayed that I could reel back the words and kill the tone. I rarely spoke to him like that. Even in the dark I could make out his bowed head as he turned and shuffled back to his room.