Boys Don't Cry (17 page)

‘Dad, you really don’t think much of me, do you?’ I said.

‘I’m not the one trying to find an excuse to get rid of my own child.’

‘Neither am I,’ I told him.

‘What’s this then?’ Dad waved the DNA results under my nose.

‘I haven’t even read that yet,’ I reminded him. ‘You opened it, not me.’ Dad’s narrowed eyes shouted condemnation. ‘And for your information,’ I continued, ‘I’ve already withdrawn my university confirmation. I did that two days ago. And I cancelled my student loan.’

That surprised him. ‘You did?’

I nodded. ‘And if you don’t believe me you can phone the university or check my application online. My application status doesn’t say accepted, it says
withdrawn
.’

Dad’s hand dropped to his side as he regarded me. At last he’d stopped waving the sheet of paper around. ‘Why?’

‘Because I realized I can’t go to uni and look after my daughter at the same time.’ I shrugged. ‘I looked into crèches and nursery places for Emma whilst I attend uni but I don’t have that kind of money. And if I went to university and got a job in the evenings and at weekends to pay for a nursery place, who’d look after Emma whilst I was working? I think she’s been moved around enough in her life already.’

‘You really gave up your university place?’

‘That’s right.’

‘You knew what the DNA result was going to be?’ asked Dad.

‘I’m not clairvoyant, Dad.’ I smiled faintly. ‘But everyone says Emma looks like me and she laughs like Adam and she’s stubborn like you, so she’s definitely a Bridgeman. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me that.’

Dad frowned down at the DNA results in his hand. ‘Maybe you should read this?’ He held out the sheet of paper.

I pulled Emma out of the highchair and cradled her, kissing her on the forehead. ‘You tell me what it says,’ I said, holding Emma fractionally tighter.

A watchful silence descended over the kitchen. The only sound was my heart thumping fitfully. Emma was a Bridgeman. I was ninety-nine per cent sure of that. But the remaining one per cent of doubt kept gnawing away at me. And now, as I stood in the kitchen, my heart pounding, sweat beading on my forehead, I realized I was afraid. But which result was I more afraid of – that Emma was my daughter or that she wasn’t? Dad raised the sheet of paper to read it properly. His lips started moving. Why couldn’t I hear what he was saying?

‘Pardon?’ I said.

‘Emma is your daughter,’ grinned Dad. ‘It’s confirmed. But I could’ve told you that. In fact, I believe I did!’

‘Nnggghh . . .’ Emma mewed.

I relaxed my grip around her. I didn’t need to hold onto her quite so tightly. I smiled at her, kissing her cheek. Dad was still blathering on about how I’d wasted my money and how I should’ve just listened to him.

Emma . . .

My daughter . . .

My daughter, Emma.

‘Hello, Emma,’ I said softly. ‘Say “Daddy”. Can you say “Daddy”?’

Emma wasn’t quite so heavy to carry and I smiled a lot more readily at her after that. I could wear the truth like a bespoke suit and make proper decisions now. There really was no need for me to analyse why I gave up my university place before I knew the DNA result. The reason was obvious: Emma needed looking after, no matter what. That was all there was to it. And giving up my place at university didn’t mean I couldn’t go next year or the year after that or sometime in the future.

Just one problem.

How was this supposed to work money-wise?

Now that I had Emma in my life, I needed to look after her. With university no longer on the horizon, that meant a job. But how was I supposed to get a job, never mind keep one, with a kid in tow? I could just see it now, turning up to job interviews with Emma in her baby carrier strapped to my chest. That would go down like a dozen lead balloons. I couldn’t afford a private nursery – a couple of phone calls to check out the prices had quickly confirmed that – and Emma was apparently still too young for a state nursery place. Plus I was told I should’ve put her
name down on the waiting list from the moment she was conceived to stand any chance of her getting a place before she had kids of her own.

So how exactly was this supposed to work? How did other parents do it? I didn’t have a clue. Was I missing something crucial? Was there some secret that only got told to parents in their twenties and thirties to show them how to manage?

A couple of Saturdays after I got the DNA results, I decided to take Emma for a walk.

‘You want to go for a walk, don’t you?’ I asked Emma as I opened the child gate at the top of the stairs and carried her down to the hall. Placing her in her buggy, I fastened the safety buckle.

‘I’ll come with you,’ said Adam as he came downstairs behind us.

I was honoured – and my eyebrows told him as much.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ said Adam, reading my expression. ‘I know I haven’t been around much lately.’

‘Much? Try – you haven’t been around at all.’

‘Well, I’m here now.’

‘No headache today?’ I asked.

‘Nope.’

I placed the back of one hand against my forehead. ‘What? No “Oh, my poor head. I must take to my bed”?’ I asked, adopting a girly voice.

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.

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.

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 shopping 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.