Tony Parsons - Man And Wife

’Yes, but they’re not brother and sister, are they? That’s the point. So it can never be normal. Not really. If it falls to pieces, then what happens? We never see each other again. You’re telling me that’s what you call normal? Come on, Mum. Not even you’re that broad-minded.’

We watched Pat climb to the summit of the frame. He stood there silhouetted against the big blue sky, the smell of spring in the air despite the chill, grinning at us, all wrapped up in his padded anorak. He held on tight with both hands. Golden strands of hair stuck out from inside the bobble hat that his grandmother had knitted him.

’I just don’t like all this talk about normal,’ said my mum. ’Because for years I felt anything but normal. Ten years we tried for you. Every month was another heartbreak. Times that by ten, Harry. You’re the smart one. You work it out.’

One of Pat’s trainers seemed to slip and I watched the expression on his face change from pride to alarm as he suddenly lurched backwards into thin air. But then he recovered, found his footing and gripped the climbing frame with his tiny fists.

’There’s no such thing as a normal family,’ said my mum.

Gina called.

It was close to midnight. The kids had been asleep for hours

– Peggy in her room, Pat on an old futon in the guest room and Cyd was out catering for the launch of one of those trendy hotels that were springing up all over town. After the slurs on Lucy Doll’s morality, we were all talking again, although it was with a strained politeness that sometimes seemed even worse than angry silence. I was glad that nobody was around when my ex-wife called.

’Is he okay, Harry?’

’He’s fine.’

’You’re not letting him have sugar, are you? Or caffeine? Or British beef?’

’He hasn’t had a Happy Meal since he’s been here.’

’I want you to take him to see my dad.’

’Your dad? Take him to see Glenn?’

’That’s right. Pat’s grandfather.’

It was always difficult for me to remember that Pat had two sets of grandparents. Gina’s mother had died before our son was born, and although her old man was still out there and Pat had seen him sporadically down the years, he had never been a traditional grandfather figure.

Glenn was what he had always been – a mullet-haired musician who had never quite made it out of the minor leagues. There had been the odd appearance on Top of the Pops at the cusp of the sixties and seventies, but Glenn had spent almost three decades as a sales assistant in a guitar shop on Denmark Street, playing ’Stairway to Heaven’ for teenage NME readers. The best part of his energies had gone into forming a new band every few years, not to mention a new family. Gina and her mother had been left behind a lifetime ago. Musical differences, probably.

’I want him to see my dad. I want him to know that he has another grandfather. It wasn’t just your dad, Harry.’

’Okay. I’ll take Pat to see Glenn.’

’Thank you.’

’How’s everything over there? Britney still upsetting Richard? Pat’s told me all about it. Is he still licking his penis at the dinner table? The dog, I mean. Not Richard.’

’That dog is the least of our troubles,’ said my ex-wife.

My son cried out in the middle of the night. I slipped out of bed, feeling Cyd stir beside me, and I went to him, treading carefully as I was more asleep than awake.

And it was as if we had never been apart.

His long fair hair was stuck to his head with perspiration. I sat him up and gave him some water, rubbing his back the way I’d done when he was a baby and needed winding.

’You can’t sleep on planes,’ he said in the darkness, talking in a dream. ’It’s very difficult, right, because you’re moving and there’s all this food all the time and a little telly too. Isn’t it difficult, Daddy?’

’But it’s okay now. Everything’s okay now.’

I held my boy close and rocked him, feeling the warmth of him through the brushed-cotton pyjamas, sensing his little chest rise and fall with each passing breath, feeling all the love I had for him rise up inside me.

It was four in the morning. The house slept on. But now I was awake, and remembering some words from long ago.

’Just rest your eyes,’ I told my boy.

Peggy surveyed the crowds swarming around the giant Ferris wheel.

’There’s lots of people,’ she said, taking my hand.

I looked up at the London Eye towering above us, and down at her worried face. I smiled and gave her hand a squeeze.

’We’ll be up there soon.’

She nodded, holding my hand tighter. Sometimes Peggy put her hand in mine and I thought that everything was going to be all right.

She was so small, so smart, so wise, so trusting and so beautiful that all she had to do was take my hand and I wanted to protect her for the rest of my life. I held that warm hand in mine and nothing else mattered. Not the sporadic visits from her useless father. Not the running battle she was currently having with Pat about their early-evening DVD entertainment. And not even the fact that her mother looked at her in a way she could never look at my son. Peggy took my hand and something chemical happened inside me. I felt like her father.

High above us the great wheel revolved in the clear April sky. It was turning so slowly that from where we were you could hardly tell that it was moving at all. But new people kept pouring in and out of the steel and glass capsules, so something was happening up there.

The crowd edged towards the departure gate. Pat was excitedly darting between the barriers, checking on our progress. Cyd was reading a brochure about the London Eye, occasionally saying, ’Now this is interesting…” before reading us some fact about the big wheel’s architects, construction or size. But while Pat ran around and Cyd read aloud, Peggy just held my hand as we slowly moved forward.

She was far more self-possessed than Pat, but that was not the reason she was being quiet today. My son was giddy with the fairground excitement of the London Eye, but something about all these people unnerved Peggy.

’We’ll be able to see where we live, Peg,’ I told her. ’And we’ll be able to see Parliament and all the parks and all the way to Docklands.’

’And Big Ben?’ In a very small voice.

’And Big Ben too.’ I gave her hand another squeeze. ’We’ll be all right, Peg.’

She didn’t look so certain. Pat dashed back, happy and breathless. Cyd tucked her brochure under her arm. She put her other arm around my waist and rested her head on my shoulder. When she lifted her face to look at me we smiled at each other, the kind of smiles that you can only really get after loving each other for a long time, smiles that somehow contained both a question and its answer.

Happy?

Thanks to you.

Then my wife slapped my arm with her London Eye brochure.

’Hey, don’t forget,’ she said. ’Peggy’s school play is next week. It’s really important that you guys are there. I’ll slap your asses if you don’t come.’

’We wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

I really meant it. We felt like a family today. And I wanted this feeling to last.

We were so close to the giant wheel that now you had to crane your neck to see the top of it. You could see that it was definitely moving.

’Nearly there,’ gasped Pat.

So I held Peggy’s hand in mine as the big wheel kept turning and, everywhere she looked, the adult world towered above her.

’Hello, boys,’ said Gina’s dad. ’Cool. Sweet. How about a cup of tea? Herbal all right?’

Glenn. Pat’s other grandfather. Easy to remember him as my ex-wife’s useless bastard father, the sorry excuse for a man who made all men suspect, who made all men seem capable of terrible betrayal. Less easy to remember that he was my son’s grandfather.