Love Is Usually Where You Left It Page 2

  As his wife headed back inside, Clive, still standing next to Mr Dennis from over the road, sadly nodded his head in agreement. Watching your only child heading off to begin a brand new life, hundreds of miles away, was certainly an emotional event. Maybe not quite as emotional as feeling like you had to be on suicide watch as your then-new-girlfriend struggled to cope with the “utter horror” of Robbie-bloody-Williams leaving Take That, but it certainly brought a tear to his eye also. Clive couldn’t believe that Jack had left home and the sadness of that fact seemed to press down on his shoulders and he could feel himself physically slouching.

  Where had the time gone?

  It seemed just like yesterday that Jack was a little baby, crawling around, all cute, big-eyed, smiley and cuddly. Or a little toddler when, as a family, they started to go regularly to the park on Langley Lane; just around the corner. Clive smiled as he remembered the exciting games they’d play on the park, pretending to be pirates and space heroes or even space-pirates. He remembered they even pretended there was a wishing well in the park that had a genie that lived there. It was certainly handy knowing someone who could make wishes come true. They were the days. Wow, it seemed a long time ago that wishes came true. Clive didn’t want to think about that and so tried to steer his mind back towards happy thoughts of Jack as a child. Although admittedly back then, in the early days, there was all that drooling and projectile vomiting everywhere to contend with as well. Clive’s smile slowly turned into a grimace as thoughts of drooling and projectile vomiting reminded him of one of the clearest childhood memories of his son: Jack losing his first tooth. You know, that monumental event in your child’s life that signals them progressing from toddler to genuine, bona fide “kid”. That moment when, after wobbling and twisting and cajoling a tooth that hangs at impossible angles and appears that it may never leave the mouth, it finally does fall out and they are introduced to the “magic” of the tooth fairy. They then leave the said tooth under their pillow at night and find, the next morning, that it has been magically exchanged for, increasingly inflation-busting, monetary coinage. The problem, though, was that somewhere in between breakfast and cleaning his teeth, Jack’s first tooth; the really important, monumental one, somehow got lost. The evidence suggested that there was a 50/50 chance between the tooth being spat out, and lost to the sink plug hole as part of the teeth cleaning process, or having been swallowed along with breakfast. Clive did what any loving parent would do, hoping it was the latter of the two scenarios - meaning the tooth could be retrieved, and vowed to check for it “on the way out”. For six days he sieved through seemingly unlimited amounts of child “poo”, cursing the fact that Jack always insisted on having “crunchy” peanut butter on his toast each morning, because the number of times that success turned out to be another tooth-shaped, half-digested peanut was completely heart breaking. But Clive had promised to try and find that tooth because he would do anything for Jack, because you really do try and do anything for love. Although, after nearly a week of sifting and retching, searching for a tooth that was probably never even there, Clive was pretty sure he wouldn’t do that again. Maybe that’s what Meatloaf was singing about all those years ago?

  The tooth never did turn up and, to add insult to injury, it turned out that Jack didn’t even seem that bothered about losing his first tooth, claiming “I’ll just keep next tooth!” Clive also learnt how the smell of shit can linger on your hands for days – even if you do “double-marigold” your faeces-scrutinising hands.

  Clive resisted the urge to sniff at his finger nails, which he usually did out of habit when he thought about that incident, you know, just in case they needed another good scrub with hot water and industrial strength Carex. Instead he allowed himself to bask in his internal feeling of immense pride for the boy that he and Gayle had produced and raised. Jack had left home, because his time to leave had arrived. And he was off to university – something that neither he nor Gayle, or even anyone that they knew very well, had ever achieved. And, weirdly, Clive even accepted that Jacks gap years had just been his mature way of recharging and broadening his horizons before continuing with his studies, which was so different to what other kids doing similar “study breaks” are: lazy, social parasites. But going to university was just one of a million amazing things about Jack, who had grown into a good, honest, sincere, selfless, beautiful man that Clive was incredibly proud of. Including the fact that he had recently passed his driving test, at the first attempt, with not one single bit of “professional” tuition; but only Clive’s own “patient” lessons. Even here today, Jack had started off down the road without the merest hint that he may stall the car. What a boy!

  Inside the house, Gayle stared into the mirror, satisfied that the mascara damage was fairly minimal, but a little alarmed by how evident her crow’s feet wrinkles appeared this morning. At work, Jennifer and Janine’s (her two teenage colleagues) recent assessment that they were “just a couple of laughter lines” that “just show you’re a happy, laughy person” had only served to heighten her concern about how she was beginning to look older all of a sudden. Why can’t people respond to a simple question about wrinkles with the obvious and correct answer: “wrinkles, what wrinkles?”

  Gayle was now also having to dye her hair every couple of weeks, knowing that if she didn’t she could very soon be mistaken for Mary Berry. She wasn’t old enough to begin looking old yet; shouldn’t these signs of aging wait until she was, at least, forty-plus before revealing their ugly heads? She sighed and realised that she should have probably dyed her hair the previous night or, at the very least, washed it - it was greasier than a lay by port-a-cabin fry up. There was no time for any of this now though as she should have set off for work at least ten minutes ago; she would now be stuck on the by-pass with all the lazy losers who had pressed snooze on their alarms one time too many. She instead took out the can of dry shampoo from her handbag.

  (Dry shampoo = best invention ever. Sure the wheel, sliced bread and even the internet are all pretty good. And then there are mobile phones these days, or smart phones as they are so aptly named, that are so smart that they have calculators, diaries and cameras / video cameras built within them. They can even access the internet and have therefore meant that people no longer need to remember, or even know, anything anymore. Yep, smart phones have replaced the need for people to actually have a brain – something that more and more people seem to be taking advantage of. Even so, having said all that, can any of the above inventions turn greasy, couldn’t-be-bothered-washing-it-again hair into something just about socially acceptable in a couple of quick sprays? No. Case closed.)

  Just to be clear – this is the opinion of Gayle and not (necessarily) the writer.

  Gayle shook the can vigorously then gave her hair a major blast, as if she was applying hairspray in the 1980’s, and then scraped it back into a ponytail. If would have to do, besides if she could get her ponytail tight enough if might just pull back some of those “happy, laughy, laughter lines”.

  She grabbed for her car keys, from the hideous key rack that Clive had put up in the hall, and walked into the kitchen. There was no particular reason that Gayle had walked into the kitchen other than out of a habitual tendency to do so before she felt she was ready to leave the house. (It was possible that it was this type of thing that allowed time to “mysteriously vanish into thin air”.) Whilst in there she noticed, on the work surface by the bread, the certificate and badge she’d just received for giving her tenth blood donation. It was something that she’d been put off doing when she was younger due to her trepidation about needles and she’d always thought it was ok not to because other people were donating. But more recently she’d felt almost a duty to donate. There will always be someone out there who needs blood and to know that you’ve helped, now ten times, and even potentially saved someone’s life completely outweighed any squeamishness about needles. She took in a deep breath and felt a little better about herself.

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sp; Outside, Clive began to manoeuvre his conversation with Mr Dennis towards something of an exit strategy.

  “Well, can’t stand around here all day chatting..... things to do an’ all that!” he said beginning to walk towards the front door. Undeterred, Mr Dennis followed him and continued to witter on with whatever he had been wittering on about.

  “Yes, that’s why I didn’t even consider university – all the bloody silver-spoon brigade. I remember.....”

  Clive tuned him out again and began to contemplate what the hell Mr Dennis was even doing here; out in the cold, on a Friday morning waving a young man off to university; a young man who he’d only ever communicated with fleetingly, whilst shouting at him during the times that his football had gone into his garden.

  Mr Dennis was probably well into his 80’s and was comfortably within the eccentric zone on the “loon chart”. If every street had a crazy neighbour, then Mr Dennis was definitely Percival Roads undisputed title holder.

  Clive temporarily cleared his thoughts of Mr Dennis hoping to think a bit more about Jack but, instead, he couldn’t stop his mind focussing on the last words that Gayle had used outside:

  “That’s that then..... the end of an era.”

  Maybe “end of an era” may seem something of a far-fetched statement just because your son had left for university but, whilst for the planet as a whole this event was not quite up there with something like the extinction of the dinosaurs, for Gayle and Clive this was exactly that.

  Eight years earlier Clive and Gayle had made each other a vow. Their feelings for one another were changing and they began to question whether they should actually be together any longer. They had originally met at high school and fallen deeply in love but their lives were changed forever when Gayle became pregnant with Jack whilst they were still at school. Educational plans, career dreams and aspirations and, for all intents and purposes, carefree teenage life was put on hold so that they could focus on becoming a family. Love, even the deepest, strongest love, when not cherished and cared for properly, stands no chance against the shadows that grow out of bills and mortgages, and mundane dead-end jobs, and monotonous routines, and the resentment of those plans and dreams slipping ever further out of reach. Clive and Gayle didn’t break up though because they wanted to give Jack, unlike both of them, the chance to grow in a happy, healthy, loving home environment; with a mum and dad who both loved him dearly. They agreed, though, that when Jack left home they would go their separate ways and go on with their lives in different directions.

  And Jack had just left.

  So, just as Gayle had said earlier: that’s that then.

  Chapter Two: Jack.

  Jack pulled his car into the lay-by by the park on Langley Lane. He got out and checked how close he had parked to the kerb. Pretty good, really. He’d got near enough that any passenger wouldn’t have needed a plank to step across onto the pavement, but not so close that there was ever any danger of scraping his wheels. His driving “skills” were quite an achievement seeing as the only tuition he’d ever had was from his Dad, Clive. He smiled as he recalled Clive’s (mostly patient) lessons and some of his “nuggets of driving wisdom”. “Once you’ve passed your test - that’s when you really start learning”, “a car can be like a weapon - it’s a huge responsibility to be behind a wheel” and “use your breaks - not your horn. Horns are for emergency and extreme situations only, or if you see attractive women!”

  Jack realised that his driving lesson memories maybe summed up how life in general was with his parents. They had always been there for him, teaching him the important lessons in life, but had always complimented everything with a sense of humour and fun.

  Maybe learning to park his car close to objects was helped by the fact that, since passing his driving test, he’d been through the McDonalds drive through on numerous occasions. You only accidentally park too far away from the payment booth once. Having to pretty much lean your whole body out of the car window to be able to pay for your Big Mac Meal, whilst the queue behind you stares and sniggers, means you up your parking game from that moment on.

  Jack looked at his car before walking into the park. It was just a blue, three-door, eight year old Ford Fiesta but was a source of pride for him and he took great pleasure in washing it and keeping it clean and tidy. It had been paid for by the savings from his part time job working with a local window cleaner and a contribution from Clive and Gayle. It’s amazing how you appreciate how special things are when they’ve been paid for by genuine hard work. Jack smiled as he remembered the day that Gayle proclaimed: “Everything in life is so much better when you’ve had to save up and pay for it.” She thought about what she said before hastily adding: “Except sex. You don’t need to pay for that – that’s much better when love is involved.” Despite being around the time that she and Clive had felt Jack was old enough to talk to above love and sex, saying this had obviously embarrassed Gayle. Jack laughed to himself as he remembered her face turning a deep shade of red before she hastily exited the room they were in.

  Jack looked over to the playing fields, beyond the green metal fenced off play area, and several memories flooded into his head. Endless days playing on his bike with his friends to, more recently, spending times there with his girlfriend and, of course, from when he had joined the local under elevens football team, Norbury Rovers. It was here that they played their games, mostly on Saturday mornings, and it was Gayle who brought him because Clive was, almost always, working. He smiled again as he remembered his Mum running up and down the touchline shouting encouragement at him and the odd bit of embarrassing abuse at the poor referees, who had all generously donated their time to help officiate youth football, but many had, as Gayle loudly observed now and again, appeared to have “left their glasses at home”.

  Jack chuckled to himself. They were good times. Especially the Saturdays when Clive wasn’t working because everything felt extra special when the three of them did things together; as a family. Jack breathed in the air as he remembered the warm, “three-way” hug he’d had with Gayle and Clive just before leaving this morning. It’s something that they used to do regularly when he was younger and it had felt good. A few tears formed in his eyes. Not through sadness of leaving home or leaving his memories behind, not because of the excitement of starting a new adventure, not because of the unknown nature of change, for him, and his parents; but probably a combination of all those things. But, as he thought about it, it was probably mainly because of his thoughts for Clive and Gayle; and it was those thoughts that had led him here, to the park.

  He smiled broadly again as he remembered the many times they would walk right down to the stream and skim stones across the water. It was one of those things that seemed impossible at first but, with lots of tuition and practise, you finally master that flat, spinning trajectory that’s needed and you have the enormous satisfaction of seeing your stone skipping across the surface of the water. Jack laughed to himself again as he remembered the time that, when down at water’s edge skimming stones, Clive had punched a dog in the face. Clive had always said it was an accident and he hadn’t seen the golden retriever jumping in front of him, seemingly thinking he was going to throw a ball for him. It was just his throwing action follow-through that had meant he’d caught the poor dog on the jaw. Jack and Gayle hadn’t bought the whole “accident” excuse though, seeing as Clive hated dogs. He said they were an occupational hazard. For, while dogs are Man’s Best Friend they are also Postman’s Worst Enemy. (Well, joint worst enemy - along with rain, wind, sleet, ice, snow – a.k.a. typical British weather.) So, while Clive claimed “accident”, Gayle and Jack thought it was more likely that Clive had seen an opportunity to land a sneaky right hook on the poor pooch. Although that golden retriever did have the last laugh. He skipped off happily down the stream non-plussed about Clive’s “assault”, while Clive himself ended up in A&E nursing a couple of broken knuckles, lamenting the fact that the dog “had a chin like a young Mik
e Tyson”.

  As Jack continued laughing he realised he was, as usual, running a little later than he wanted. But he felt it was really important to stop off here for a few minutes before continuing his journey towards university life. He was enjoying replaying some memories in his mind but, in particular, he was here because he wanted to visit the play area one more time. It was perhaps this small part of the park that represented his earliest memories. Taking the short walk from their house, he, Clive and Gayle would often make a full day out of a visit; bringing balls and Frisbees and picnic lunches. Jack remembered playing on the slide and swings and the roundabout and, especially, the climbing frame. The large red metal structure that became a space ship or pirate ship (or space-pirate ship), or a moon base or treasure island; depending on what adventure they were having on that particular day. He remembered the characters they played as: Long John Skywalker, Captain Han-beard and Princess Leia – The Lioness of Brittany. Jack had friends who had bigger, fancier houses and went on exotic holidays, to unpronounceable places, but he didn’t know anyone who’d had the same kind of fun adventures that he’d had with his parents. But as Jack looked around, memories of space travel and encounters with blood-thirsty pirates happily dancing around his head, it was the object in the far corner of the fenced-off section that he completely focussed on. The real reason he was here: the cylinder shaped, concrete bin.

  The fact was, during their many adventures here, the Ford family had discovered that this wasn’t actually a normal bin. It was also a wishing well. It was home to a genie named Shelli Bwingwing. (The best name-anagram of “wishing well bin” the family could come up with – it narrowly edged out their second favourite name: Eli Wing Winshib). Shelli Bwingwing specialised in wishes and dreams; a place where you could leave notes if you wanted to wish for toys or bikes or maybe send any messages to Father Christmas. And, not always but, fairly regularly, Shelli Bwingwing would make those wishes and dreams come true.