nodded, but not really understanding at all. ‘So when did you – ?’
‘When did I what?’
‘See me.’
‘Oh. Last Monday morning. On your way to school.’
My heart sank. ‘On my way to school?’
‘Yeah.’ He frowned and looked away.
‘Did you follow me?’
‘What?’
‘To school. Did you follow me to school?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah, course not. I just wanted to see you and then I thought I’d send you the card. See if you wanted to see me too.’ He began to smile. ‘I was made up when I saw you there in the market, on the floor.’
My face burned as the whole tragic falling-over scene very kindly replayed itself in slow motion in my mind.
‘I wasn’t made up that you was on the floor,’ he added quickly. ‘I was made up you’d come. I’d been crappin’ it all morning, wondering whether you’d show.’
I glanced across the table at this person, this stranger, who I was technically biologically half of. He looked down at his hands and began fiddling with a silver skull ring on one of his thin brown fingers.
‘I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you never wanted to see me at all. I ain’t exactly been Dad of the Year, have I?’
‘No.’ My reply popped out before I could stop it. There were so many things I wanted to ask him but I felt way too shy.
‘I’ve always thought about you though,’ he went on, still looking down. ‘Always wondered what you were doing and what you were like.’
My face started to burn again. I wondered how different I was to what he had been expecting. ‘So why didn’t you . . .?’ I couldn’t finish the question.
He looked straight at me. ‘I was an idiot – when I was younger. I suppose your mum’s told you all about it?’
I didn’t say anything; I wanted to hear his version of things.
‘I suppose I just wasn’t ready,’ he shrugged slightly and tilted his head, ‘for the responsibility – of a family and that.’
Whenever my mum goes on one of her rants about my real dad and his commitment issues I always end up feeling angry and hurt, but now he was sat in front of me saying it to me himself I felt weirdly numb.
He took a drag on his cigarette. ‘I was a twat. My band had the chance to tour America – to take part in this music festival in Austin and –’ he took another drag, ‘your mum told me if I went that would be it for me and her. And us.’ He stopped again and shifted sideways on his seat. ‘Bloody hell, this is hard. When I practised last night on Harrison it came out all right, I sounded like Winston Churchill going on about fighting on the beaches, but now –’
‘Harrison?’ My heart sank. He had a son, another family. One he wanted to live with.
He nodded. ‘Yeah, my lodger. He’s not much older than you actually. Eighteen. He thinks I’m a twat too, for leaving you.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Do you have any kids? Any other kids?’
He shook his head. ‘Nah. That’s why –’ he broke off, looked around, then back at me and I saw that his eyes were all shiny. ‘That’s why I want to get to know you. I mean, I know it’s too late for me to be your dad and all that.’ He picked up his lighter and began flicking it on and off. ‘I saw your stepdad during my – er – stake-out. He looks . . . nice.’ He put the lighter back down and stared at me. ‘He is, isn’t he? Nice? I mean, you like him, yeah? He treats you all right?’
I nodded numbly. Alan is the king of nice – that’s the problem, he uses his ‘niceness’ to get everything his own way the whole time.
‘Cool. Cos when I got back from America your mum told me she’d met him and that you were all settled and happy. She said it would only confuse things if . . .’
‘If what?’
‘If I tried to be a part of your life.’ He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and looked away.
‘Oh.’
I started doing some calculations in my head. My mum had met Alan when I was one. She had last told me my real dad was in America last Christmas when I’d got all emotional after watching It’s a Wonderful Life and The Champ back to back. But if Steve had spoken to her since then why had he needed to stake out Gran and Granddad’s to find out where I lived?
‘When was that?’ I asked, for some reason suddenly finding it really hard to swallow.
‘When was what?’
‘The conversation you had with my mum. When did you get back from America?’
‘Oh – about thirteen years ago. Yeah, you would’ve been about two.’
‘Thirteen years?’ I whispered.
He nodded, obviously embarrassed. ‘I know. I’m sorry. She was right though. I probably would’ve been a crap dad.’
Yes, I wanted to yell at him, but couldn’t I have been allowed to decide that for myself ? I sat on my hands and stared down into my lap. For all this time Mum had been lying to me. All these years I’d been imagining my dad in his Stetson and medallion, having commitment issues along with his pancakes and syrup and he’d been – well, where had he been?
‘So where have you lived since you got back from America?’ I muttered, not daring to look up.
He coughed and I heard the clunk of his glass being put down on the table.
‘Here, mainly.’
‘Here, as in the UK?’
‘Here, as in east London.’
My world began to shrink in on itself. I’d been thinking there was an entire ocean between us and it had been a tiny little underground line.
‘But you could have –’ I broke off, suddenly remembering that really he was a total stranger and I probably shouldn’t shout at him.
‘I’m sorry.’ He coughed and shifted in his seat again.
We sat in silence for a while. Only it wasn’t silence for me because the voice in my head now seemed to have acquired a loudhailer. HOW COULD SHE HAVE LIED TO ME ALL THIS TIME? WHY DID SHE TELL HIM WE WERE BETTER OFF WITHOUT HIM? HOW COULD SHE THINK I WAS BETTER OFF WITH ALAN WHEN ALAN ISN’T MY REAL DAD? WHY DIDN’T I HAVE ANY SAY IN IT?
On the other side of the beer garden a girl started laughing. Her hair was short and spiky and dyed jet black with electric-blue tips. She looked so happy and relaxed – despite the metal bolt through her nose and her unbelievably tight leather trousers. I wanted to scream at my mum till I had no voice left.
