Six Months to Get a Life (22 page)

The best thing about my new job is that I can walk to work in five minutes. No more crowded, germ-infested Northern line trips for me. The five minute journey was particularly good news today because my hangover made getting up early this morning a physical impossibility.

Ray and I weren’t exactly a barrel of laughs in the pub last night. Firstly we raised a glass to Dave’s mum, Mrs F, who is slowly losing her battle with cancer. We then moved on to dissect my ongoing woes. I filled Ray in on Amy’s condition. He had heard some of it from his brother. Stuart hasn’t been at the hospital for the last few days though so Ray wouldn’t have heard it all. When I mentioned Stuart’s absence to Ray, he confessed that ‘the dragon’, presumably meaning Imogen, had warned him off. I had guessed as much.

‘I saw Stu yesterday,’ Ray admitted. ‘He is beating himself up about the accident.’

‘Why’s he beating himself up about it? What’s it got to do with him?’

‘Amy was feeling ill and asked him if he would drop Lucy off at her house on that Friday night. Stu said no because he was watching some film on the telly. Amy ended up getting her brains smashed in.’

Stuart blames himself for causing the accident. Well, if it is any consolation to him, he isn’t alone. I now blame him too.

Ray went on to tell me that his brother had asked him about me. I am not surprised. I had wanted to know about my ex’s partner when I had thought he would be spending time with my children. ‘What did you tell him?’ I asked.

‘Not a lot,’ Ray said, ‘only that you are a paedophile, money-grabbing git who is prone to a bit of domestic violence from time to time.’

‘You’re an arse.’

‘Don’t worry, he was more concerned when I told him you were a Chelsea fan.’

I told Ray that his brother probably needn’t worry about me anyway because I was doing a pretty good job of ballsing up my relationship with Amy without any interference from him. When Ray asked how, I repeated my crass line to Amy about her at least being able to see how bad she looks.

‘You complete twat,’ Ray observed. ‘That sort of comment is going to take one hell of a bunch of flowers to put right.’

The police are still looking for the driver who ran Amy down. I know this because my ex phoned me at work. ‘I have just been questioned about your woman’s accident,’ she told me as an opening line. She wasn’t happy, and I couldn’t say I blamed her. It seems as though they are still pursuing the theory that whoever knocked Amy flying did it deliberately. They asked her similar questions to those they had asked me. But with my ex they delved deeper in to her possible motives for wanting to run Amy down.

‘They asked me why we split up. They asked what I thought of your relationship with Amy. They even knew about Jack and his girlfriend. For fuck’s sake Graham, I don’t need this right now,’ my ex told me.

I could have said something along the lines of ‘What, they think you tried to kill my girlfriend?’ or ‘They think you ran over your son’s girlfriend’s mother?’ but I was in an open plan office surrounded by new work colleagues so I opted to stay silent.

Eventually my ex ran out of steam and hung up on me. I hadn’t ever contemplated the possibility of the police wanting to talk to my ex about the hit and run. I suppose on paper she might make a good candidate to talk to. Someone on the outside might think she has got a motive. But I know
my ex. She might be ever so slightly unhinged from time to time but she wouldn’t do something like this. She doesn’t care enough about me to be that jealous of Amy. Even if she did, she wouldn’t put her life as the mother of our children at risk by doing something so stupid.

Over my medicinal last Scotch of the evening I caught myself wondering what Amy would think if she knew my ex was being interviewed by the police. When I met her on the night of her accident she was complaining about my ex’s interference in our lives. This news could be the final nail in the coffin of our relationship.

Until tonight I hadn’t seen Amy since Monday night. I haven’t been for the last couple of days because I wasn’t sure I would be welcome. I wasn’t sure I would be welcome today either but I couldn’t stand not seeing her. I phoned Amy’s mother to see what she recommended I do. Amy is having her broken eye removed tomorrow and, naturally, she is really down in the dumps about her looks. She doesn’t want anyone to see her. Imogen advised me not to visit. After thinking long and hard about it, I ignored Imogen’s advice and went anyway. I wish I could learn to listen.

Ray would be pleased to know that the bunch of flowers I took with me was the biggest I could carry.

I got to the hospital just as Amy was eating her evening meal. Although she still wore a patch over her left eye, she looked stunning. There may well still be some permanent scarring but her bruising and scratches have faded a lot in the last couple of days.

But it was her hair that nearly took my breath away. To be frank, it had looked a total mess after the accident. The surgeons had cut large chunks of her beautiful auburn locks away to allow the emergency brain surgery to be undertaken without impediment. Since the last time I saw her, someone has managed to cut and restyle it. It’s a lot shorter now. I
think they call it a pixie cut. No one who looked at Amy’s hair now would have an inkling of the state it was in a week ago.

With her left eye out of action, Amy didn’t notice me standing in the doorway. She was struggling to eat her dinner. She couldn’t get her peas on to her fork and then in to her mouth. I guess your co-ordination is affected if you lose an eye.

I was a bit embarrassed. I thought about backing out quickly and quietly and coming back when she had finished but I didn’t act quickly enough. Just as I was creeping out of the door, Amy noticed me.

‘Graham, I told mum to tell you not to come,’ she said. Hello Graham, nice to see you.

‘Your mum did tell me but I ignored her,’ I said. ‘I miss you.’

Amy dropped her knife and fork and banged her plate down on to her tray. She was miserable and nothing I did seemed to help. In fact everything I did seemed to have the opposite effect. We ended up having one of those big discussions that can shape a relationship. One where the participants get carried away and say things they hadn’t intended to say.

‘What can I do to help you?’ I asked. I went to pick up her fork.

‘Oh for god’s sake Graham, I don’t need you feeding me. I am not a useless toddler, you know.’

‘I didn’t say you were. I just want to be there for you.’ I put the fork back on the tray and placed the tray on the end of the bed out of the way.

‘The last thing I want is you fussing over me but secretly feeling sorry for yourself. I don’t need a nurse.’

‘I’m a crap nurse anyway. I want to be your lover.’

‘Oh Graham, I am having my eye removed tomorrow.
I can’t look beyond my operation. Can’t we do this some other time?’

Amy’s ophthalmologist walked in at that point. His timing couldn’t have been better because had he not chosen that moment to enter, I was about to point out the irony in Amy’s previous words. He saved me from myself. He came to talk her through what they planned to do in tomorrow’s operation. Like me, he didn’t get off to a very good start.

‘It’s a fairly routine procedure. I have done quite a few of these over the years,’ he announced.

‘It may be routine to you but having my eye removed isn’t routine to me,’ Amy chastised him.

The doctor should have quit while he was behind, but instead he came back with a second quip, ‘Don’t worry about a thing, you’re in safe hands. We’ll make sure we get the right eye. When I say the right eye I obviously mean the left eye. Or is it the right?’

I honestly thought Amy was going to punch him. Instead she expressed her hope that his surgical skills are better than his bedside manner and sent him on his way with a flea in his ear.

Once we were alone again, Amy sighed and looked up at me. ‘You look tired.’

I sat on the edge of her bed. ‘I am tired,’ I confessed.

Amy shook her head and then quickly winced with pain. ‘I feel like shit.’

‘You look great. Your hair looks spectacular.’ I really meant it.

‘I thought you hadn’t noticed,’ she said.

‘The last time I called you gorgeous it all went pear-shaped so I opted not to mention it this time,’ I told her. I should have stopped there, but I didn’t. ‘Did one of the nurses cut it?’

‘Does it look like a bloody nurse cut it?’ Amy asked angrily. ‘Just leave me alone, Graham.’

In my defence, your honour, I had never heard of hospitals having hairdressers attached to them before today.

Once I had managed to placate the woman I seemed to be doing a pretty good job of turning into my next ex, Amy and I chatted for a while about her operation and her fear of how she would look once the procedure had been completed. Eventually she will get a cosmetic replacement eye but she won’t have that fitted until the swelling in her eye socket recedes. For a while, her eye socket won’t look particularly attractive. I offered to buy her a pair of wrap-around sunglasses to cover the eye up. ‘That’s one way of ensuring you won’t have to look at it I suppose,’ Amy commented. I couldn’t do right for doing wrong tonight.

Amy asked me how the party preparations were going. My birthday still hasn’t been at the top of my list of priorities so I haven’t done much in the way of preparation. I am not in the mood to celebrate. I haven’t seen much of Lucy lately but I am not sure she will be up for it either. I suppose I should be pleased that Amy is still happy for the party to go ahead. ‘Will you be out of here by a week on Friday?’ I asked her.

‘The doctors think I should be out, but who knows.’ It goes without saying that I hope Amy is out well before my birthday.

Tonight’s conversation hadn’t gone according to plan. As I was leaving, I couldn’t stop myself pushing once more.

‘You do know how I feel about you, don’t you?’ I asked.

Her answer was fairly succinct. ‘Graham, I need some space to concentrate on me. I need to love me again before I can let anyone else love me.’

I get it. I am just not very good at backing off.

The operation went as planned. Amy went in to the operating theatre with two eyes and came out with one. And the right one at that. I found this out from Imogen. In our phone conversation this evening, she once again suggested that I didn’t come to the hospital for a few days. This time I listened. Imogen’s advice wasn’t given in a harsh way though. Her exact words were, ‘Just give her a bit of space Graham. Once she has come to terms with her appearance, she will start noticing the things that are important to her again.’

Let’s hope I am one of those things.

Amy doesn’t want me seeing how she looks with one eye. From my point of view, I am sure the doctors will have done their best. I am getting my head around the idea. But it is easy for me. Not only does Amy have to get used to how she looks but she also has to get used to how other people will see her. I am determined to make her realise that she looks beautiful no matter what, but I am beginning to realise that it will take time.

The boys are staying with me this weekend. It is Lucy’s birthday on Tuesday and mine on Friday, the night of the joint party.

Jack has been panicking about what to get Lucy for her birthday. I have two boys and reckon there are few people in the world less qualified than me to answer questions about presents for fifteen-year-old girls. I therefore tried to get him to get some tips from his mother. His mother wasn’t prepared to play though, telling him, ‘Your dad is sleeping with her mother. Go and ask him.’ I am not surprised she is a bit bitter after her recent interview with Messrs Bodie and Doyle or whatever they were called.

We ended up heading to Kingston in search of some inspiration this afternoon. Jack was up for the trip but Sean told me he would prefer to pull his toenails out with a pair of pliers. I had to bribe him with a promise of burgers and chocolate.

The best idea for a present I could come up with, but admittedly not the most original, was make-up or perfume. We went in to one shop and the assistant offered to spray a few samples on the boys’ wrists to help Jack make his choice. ‘You are joking, aren’t you?’ Sean said as he quickly backed
out of the shop. I left with him, leaving Jack to fend for himself. Sean and I went in search of supplies for the party.

I had written a shopping list before we came out. It read:

1. Lager (approx. 20 over 18s – 150+ bottles)
   
2. White wine (6 bottles and then 4 boxes. People can drink the bottles first and then when they are too pissed to care, they can drink the boxed stuff)
   
3. Spirits – vodka for the ladies (2 bottles; no, 3, because Katie will drink one)
   
4. Orange juice – 12 cartons, for the vodka
   
5. Crisps – loads of assorted bags
   
6. Plastic glasses – big enough for vodka and orange but not so big that Katie can drink a pint of it in one go
   
7. Stain-remover for the inevitable spillages (note, Amy says no red wine because her shag pile is expensive)
   

We were wandering around the supermarket ticking things off as we went. As we passed the fizzy drinks, Sean asked what the kids were going to drink. Good question. We chucked a few bottles of Coke in. And a big birthday cake. Sean scoffed at the cake (‘Lucy isn’t four, dad.’) but everyone loves a birthday cake, right?

‘What am I going to do at this party, dad?’ Sean asked as he was bundling more confectionary into the trolley.

‘I don’t know, eat loads of crap and drink Coke?’ I asked. I had thought about Sean’s participation myself too, particularly in light of the ground rules I had agreed with my ex. Sean won’t want to mix with Lucy and her friends. He would be more capable of it than me but he won’t want to do it. I wouldn’t want to expose him to the adults either.

Even Jack has expressed a few reservations to me about the party. He might be as thick as thieves with Lucy but he is still socially awkward when it comes to girls in general. He is petrified of having to interact with Lucy’s mates. And
the dancing thing bothers him too. He really is a chip off the old block.

In the end I decided I would have to ask my ex to come and pick Sean up mid-way through the party, and possibly even Jack too if he feels he is standing out like a sore thumb. Both boys seemed happy enough with this proposal. I am not sure I should be giving my ex an excuse to be anywhere near the party but I actually feel quite relaxed about the situation. Amy’s battle with injury has helped me put petty squabbles with my ex into context. They are unimportant in the grand scheme of things.

As we left the supermarket, I couldn’t help thinking we had forgotten something. I phoned Imogen once I had dropped the children off at my ex’s. She didn’t sound too impressed as I listed the supplies I had got in for the party. ‘Graham, leave the party planning to me,’ Imogen said.

That was music to my ears.

Music. I had forgotten all about the music.