Cold Feet: The Lost Years Page 2

  He remembered that morning, when Adam and Matthew had walked down the stairs for their breakfast. It was their first time in Belfast and they were all awkward with each other. Neither Bill nor Adam knew what to say nor how to behave. This was new territory, son visiting father as an adult. In fact, he had never been in this house before. Adam was raw from all the changes in his life.

  Added to that, the last time they had been together was at Rachel’s funeral in Manchester. So on that first morning they both felt unsure of themselves. As they stood awkwardly in the kitchen, Bill said, ‘I used to sing this silly ditty for you, when you were a baby, same age as him.’ He nodded towards Matthew. He coughed, clearing his throat, then he started to sing. Bill’s strong, beautifully timbred voice filled the kitchen, making both Matthew and Adam turn to stare at him.

  ‘Oh Matty boy, the porridge, the porridge is ready.

  The tea, is wet and waiting for your daddy and me.

  And when we’ve eaten and stuffed all our faces,

  we’ll change your nappy and wipe your little bum

  till it’s shite free!’

  By the time he got to the final line, Adam yelped with laughter. He’d not expected that!

  And so, a new tradition for the three generations of the Williams boys was created. Adam now sang harmonies and this week, to both their amusement, Matthew had started to sing along too. There was no doubt about it, he was definitely trying to join in, humming and making noises, in an attempt to form words and notes.

  ‘That bloody tune. Can never get it out of my head now,’ Adam said, as the last note rang round the room. Adam watched Bill secure Matthew into his high chair in two quick precise moves.

  ‘Look at granddad, a pro now,’ Adam remarked, and Bill laughed, remembering his dire first few attempts.

  ‘We never had anything so complicated when you were a baby,’ Bill said. ‘You sat on my lap most of the time. And you had the boniest of arses too, I might add!’

  Adam always found it bittersweet when Bill mentioned his childhood. It was a subject that he found difficult to think about, even though he’d forgiven his father for walking out of his life when he was a teenager. ‘Have you, though?’ a voice in his head asked.

  At the very least Adam understood a little bit more why Bill had left. He had no choice. He now knew that Adam’s mother had made it impossible for him to see his son, once news of his gay love affair became common knowledge. But despite Adam knowing this now, he still didn’t quite understand it all. And the nagging feeling that Bill had given up on him too quickly heckled him. Now that he was a father himself, he knew that there wasn’t a reason in this world that he’d be parted from him.

  And the flashback to his mother earlier this morning had unnerved him. He’d trained himself to not think about either of his parents for years. Self-preservation, it hurt too much. Rachel had been estranged from her parents too, so they’d joke together that they were well met. They had each other. They were all the family that they needed. But Bill was back in Adam’s life now and it appeared that his mother wasn’t as banished from his head or heart as he’d liked to think.

  They sat down and started to eat their breakfast in companionable silence. Adam spoon-fed Matthew, who greedily ate each mouthful like it was his last. Well, the bits that went into his mouth. He still managed to get a lot over his face and hands.

  Adam felt his father’s eyes resting on him and he snuck a glance from under his curly dark hair. Bill looked worried again. Damn it. Adam hated that his actions were resulting in his dad stressing himself out. He kept telling him that he was fine. And he thought he was doing a pretty good job of going through the motions, showing him that he was coping okay.

  When he was in Didsbury, at their home, he used to talk to Rachel all the time. But nobody was there to question him. Here he had to remember he had an audience. He would have to make his conversations silent. They would become telepathic communicators. Ha! That could be a name for a great sci-fi movie. He must remember to tell Rachel that one, next time she came to visit.

  ‘You were away with the fairies there,’ Bill said.

  ‘I was always a day-dreamer. That’s what Mum always told me anyhow.’

  ‘I’ve not heard you mention your mother in a long time,’ Bill said. When Adam ignored him, Bill continued, ‘Anything on your mind that you want to talk about?’

  Adam wondered what his father would think, if he asked him what the correct etiquette was on having a relationship with a ghost. He figured some things were better left unsaid.

  ‘More tea?’ Bill held up the brown teapot.

  Adam nodded, passing him his cup. Something told him that his father, in fact nobody, would understand about Rachel. They’d try to tell him it wasn’t ‘normal’. That he should ‘let her go’. It was best to keep Rachel and their chats to himself.

  Even so, he was grateful to Bill. He’d have been lost without him this past few weeks. Not just for his songs and tea-making, which in all fairness were excellent. It was more than that. He wouldn’t have survived those days after Rachel died and then the funeral, without his daddy by his side.

  And the more time he spent with him, in particular here in Belfast, just doing normal everyday things, the more he liked him. They were becoming more than father and son. They were becoming friends.

  When he was feeling fanciful, usually after a second can of lager, he began to suspect that something else governed Bill’s decision to come back into his life, exactly when he needed him most. Some might call it fate, others might just say it was dumb luck.

  Whatever it was, Adam was thankful for it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The ducks and the Dolly Parton fan

  Botanic Gardens, Belfast

  ‘It’s a nice day out there,’ Adam remarked when they’d finished breakfast. He looked out through the kitchen window into the long, narrow garden at the back of Bill’s terraced house. He’d lived on this street, close to Queen’s University where he lectured, for nearly ten years now. The garden didn’t have much in it. As Bill himself said, he wasn’t very green-fingered. Plus, they were only a short stroll away from the Botanic Gardens, which already had become a firm favourite of the trio.

  Bill had plans to get more lawn laid out the back. He wanted Matthew to have a place to play football in as he got older. This made Adam nervous. He had no idea how long he was going to stay with Bill. Right now, it was as if he had no anchor and he was drifting along, at the mercy of the tides of his grief.

  He wasn’t sure he’d ever find a safe harbour again.

  When Adam tried to say this to Bill, he just shrugged and said that they’d still want somewhere for a kick-about, even if Matthew only came once or twice a year to visit.

  Adam liked that Bill wanted a future with them both in it. That he saw beyond the next few weeks, which right now was all Adam could get as far as.

  ‘Will we go to the Botanic Gardens for a walk?’ Bill said. ‘We should take advantage of the nice day that has presented itself to the world. I’ve no lectures until this afternoon.’

  ‘Let me check my day planner,’ Adam joked, pretending to open a fictional diary. ‘Would you credit it, Matthew and I are wide open. Who’d have thought it. We’re in!’

  ‘Good man,’ Bill smiled.

  Matthew was now ten months old. He already had a strong personality and knew what he liked – or didn’t like, as the case often was. And as far as the local park went, he was totally enamoured with it. They could navigate their way around the circular walk in under an hour. Bill always saluted the statue of Lord Kelvin when they passed it. He almost had Matthew trained to do the same. It was the Rose Garden that Adam loved though. Something about walking down the steps and then through the stone pergolas always reminded Adam of his favourite childhood book, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It was Narnia-like. It was as if he stepped into another world each time he walked down those steps.

  Adam could see why Bill loved liv
ing here. His house was a few minutes’ walk to the university where he lectured. And a brisk walk had him into the centre of Belfast.

  It was very different from Coleraine, where Bill and Mary had grown up. As a boy, Adam had spent the greater part of his own summer holidays there, visiting his four grandparents. Most of those memories were filled with laughter and craic, courtesy of his many Irish cousins.

  Now all of them were grown up with their own lives and families, scattered all over the world. He’d lost touch with that part of his life, his heritage.

  He needed to talk to his dad about Coleraine at some point. He needed to understand why Bill never went there any more. But not today.

  ‘Hey, you big slacker,’ Bill’s voice teased him. ‘That child won’t get ready himself.’

  Adam mock-saluted him. ‘Your granddad is a right auld bossy boots,’ he whispered to Matthew as he picked him up. He changed his nappy, then once dressed, he put his jacket on. ‘Hat or no hat, son?’ He waved the woolly red Fireman Sam hat in front of Matthew, who snatched it and stuffed it in his mouth. ‘Hat it is,’ Adam said, laughing.

  Adam grabbed some bread from the kitchen. While a park with a large playground was in the not-too-distant future, for now it was all about the ducks for Matthew. He particularly liked pegging bread in their general direction and the more they squabbled and squalled as they fought over a crust, the more Matthew enjoyed himself.

  Adam added cooled-down water from the kettle into three bottles. He poured three measured scoops of formula into one and shook it vigorously over his head, while he made faces at his son.

  Matthew appreciated a good show.

  He remembered shaking a cocktail for Rachel and Jenny, years ago, at the Giffords’ house, after they’d watched the Tom Cruise movie – Cocktail. Rachel and Jenny had howled with laughter. He smiled at Matthew, committing the memory to his mind. He’d tell him about his mother’s laugh one day. Her wicked sense of humour.

  Bill walked back into the kitchen and said, ‘Nappy bag is now replenished and good to go.’ He peered inside the contents, checking off each item as he did. ‘Muslin cloths, baby wipes, Sudocrem, nappies, nappy bags, all present and accounted for, in their correct position.’

  ‘He’ll surely work up a thirst halfway around, so bottle made too. Have you a spare set of clothes in there?’ Adam asked. They both shuddered as they remembered the previous week’s poonami incident when they were out. They had no choice but to wrap Matthew in Adam’s sweatshirt and hightail it home.

  ‘Affirmative!’ Bill replied, placing the folded vest and babygro into the bag. ‘That bottle ready?’

  ‘Check.’ Adam squirted a drop on to the inside of his wrist, nodding in satisfaction. ‘Will be a perfect temperature by the time we need it.’

  As Adam picked up Matthew from the floor, Bill unfolded his stroller from under the stairs and they high-fived each other.

  ‘All set to go for the royal walk, with his lordship,’ Bill said, looking down at his pride and joy. Matthew rewarded him with a toothless smile and both men felt their hearts constrict in love.

  All things considered, the three generations were doing very well. In many ways it was hard to fathom that it had only been two weeks since they arrived. At first, it was difficult, as they all adjusted to their new normal. Bill’s house, with over a decade of life with only a bachelor to consider, wasn’t child friendly. Certainly not for a curious ten-month-old who was on the move all the time. But Bill never once complained, he just got on with the business of child-proofing the house. In fact, he was never off the Internet, reading advice from mother and baby forums. He joked that he was going to set up a grandfathers’ forum, because he’d noticed there was a gap in the market for that.

  Adam and Matthew had slept in the same bed, that first night they arrived, for ten hours straight. Adam had given Bill no time to prepare the house for their arrival. But when they awoke, they found a note from Bill, who said he had gone shopping. A couple of hours later, a taxi pulled up outside the house, and Bill came in with half of Mothercare in its boot. He had bought a cot, high chair and enough nappies to last Matthew until he was in long pants.

  So while they had a few false starts as they got used to living side by side with each other, the three generations quickly settled into their new normal. And somewhere along the way, they had become a perfectly coordinated tag team.

  ‘We’re doing all right, aren’t we, son?’ Bill asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

  ‘I think we’re doing just fine, Dad.’ Adam nudged his father’s shoulder with his own. Then, before things got too emotional, he said to Matthew, ‘Right, let’s go find those duckies.’

  ‘He loves pegging bread at them, doesn’t he?’ Bill said.

  ‘The bread!’ they both shouted together.

  Bill went back into the kitchen to get the bag of crusts Adam had left on the counter.

  As they walked towards the Stranmillis entrance to the park, Adam realised he was smiling. Today was turning into a good day. The sun had a way of doing that, bringing light into a sometimes dark mind.

  Within a few minutes, they arrived at the large wrought-iron gates of the park. The sounds of children playing together on the green drifted towards them. Students in between lectures sat cross-legged on the grass.

  ‘Everyone’s got the same idea as us,’ Bill remarked. ‘Suppose it would be a shame to let a good day like today go to waste.’

  They started their walk around the circumference of the park.

  ‘Won’t be long before we’ll have to find a park with a playground for his lordship,’ Bill said.

  ‘I used to love the swings,’ Adam said.

  ‘I remember,’ Bill replied.

  Adam looked at him in surprise. Adam had no recollection of ever being in the park with his dad. There were a lot of blanks in his head from his childhood. It was as if, when Bill walked out of his life, he took a lot of Adam’s memories with him too.

  As if reading his mind, Bill continued, ‘We used to go to Fletcher Moss Park in Didsbury. Do you remember?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Back then, the playground was pretty basic. None of these fancy wooden things you see now. But what you don’t know you don’t miss. We used to put hours in with you when you were a nipper.’

  Adam thought he could feel a memory tickling the back of his mind. But then it disappeared.

  ‘I used to watch you running up and down the steps of the slides. I was in awe at your energy. It was endless. I couldn’t keep up with you! But the swings were always your first choice. You would swing so high, I thought you’d touch the clouds. And you’d shout at me, over and over, “Push me, Daddy, push me higher!” ’ Bill smiled, lost in his memory. ‘I think of those days a lot.’

  Adam didn’t answer. He wished he shared these memories with his father, but they were gone, or perhaps buried too deep to recollect.

  ‘You don’t remember, do you?’ Bill sighed.

  Adam shook his head, and saw the disappointment flash across his father’s face. He took no joy in that.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dad,’ Adam said, and he was.

  ‘Ah, you were young, I suppose. I never forgot, though. Everyone has their happy place, where they go to when they need to escape. And that’s mine. Those memories of you on that swing. Back before it all went wrong.’ He patted Adam’s shoulder, squeezing it for a second, as if he was going to say something else.

  But Matthew’s squeals of delight as they reached the Lagan towpath put a halt to any more trips down memory lane. They walked down to the water’s edge and laughed as the ducks became startled by Matthew’s noisy shouts. But they also knew they were on to a good thing, so they started to swim lazily towards the river’s edge, anticipating their reward.

  Bill pulled out the bag of bread and passed some to Matthew who threw it, about a foot in front of them. Adam grabbed it and pegged it into the water and they all oohed and aahed when the ducks attacked it with glee. To prevent a bloodb
ath between two particularly rapacious birds, Bill threw in some more bread.

  ‘Come on, son, let’s get you out of that,’ Adam said, unbuckling the straps of the stroller. Matthew reached up his arms and Adam hoisted him high in the sky.

  ‘Come to granddaddy,’ Bill said, his arms outstretched. ‘I haven’t had a proper cuddle all morning.’ He pulled him in tight and breathed in his smell.

  It was unfathomable to Bill that only a few months ago he’d not seen his son in twenty years. An unhealable rift between them both, or so it seemed, for such a long time. But somehow or other, now he not only had his son back, but his grandson too.

  Late at night, when the lads were asleep upstairs, he’d sit with a mug of tea and think about it all. Mary. Their marriage. When he and his young bride left Coleraine together, to go live in Manchester, finally finding their way to the quiet suburb of Didsbury. Their utter joy when Adam came along. They had it all.

  They lost it all.

  Bill lectured at Manchester University. Mary stayed at home with Adam, by choice. She was besotted with her son. And it was idyllic. By the nature of Bill’s job, he had lots of holidays, so they’d come home to Coleraine months at a time, staying either with Bill’s or Mary’s parents.

  For the longest time it was good. But they managed to screw it all up. They threw away what they had. Like it was nothing. How could they have done that? To each other? To Adam?

  Mary had been so determined to remove Bill from their life. She succeeded. She got to keep Adam all to herself. The irony that she lost Adam anyway, wasn’t lost on him.

  She was a hard woman.

  But she hadn’t always been that way and he knew he had to take responsibility for his part in that metamorphosis.

  Matthew’s cries of Dada and Gaga, the name he’d given Bill, filled the air and he shook his head to rid his mind of memories. If it wasn’t for this child, there was a good chance that he’d not have found his way back into Adam’s life. Having a child changed Adam. Made him open to look at his own relationship with Bill.