WORTHWHILE
30 SEPTEMBER
Somehow, I end up in Wales.
I remember rejecting Sienna’s advances and necking the shot of tequila I eventually persuaded the barman to serve me, but after that things gets a bit, well, hazy.
At some point, my drink-addled brain decided it would be a good idea to take me on a magical mystery tour that eventually ended over forty-eight hours later in a place called Mumbles, just outside Swansea. Maybe it figured I could do with cheering up a bit and decided that no one can be truly that depressed in a place called Mumbles.
And it was absolutely right – up until the point the alcohol left my body.
This happened about fifteen minutes ago in a stream of vomit behind a wheelie bin parked outside a beach cafe that enjoys splendid views of the extremely picturesque Swansea Bay. It’s just gone 10 a.m. on a brisk Saturday morning and I feel ugly as all sin.
I think I spent most of last night in a beach hut belonging to a hippy named Jeff T. You can ask me how I came to meet Jeff T and I’m sure I could make something up for you, but I doubt it would be close to the truth. I have a horrible feeling that the ‘T’ in Jeff T might stand for ‘trafficker of narcotics’, but I’m going to try my hardest not to pay attention to that fact . . . and hope that the local police don’t, either.
Yes, Nathan James is in a sorry, sorry state as he orders a cup of very strong and very black coffee from the cafe owner, who has been giving me a strange look for the past ten minutes as I’ve sat huddled on one of his benches.
I’ve managed to retain all of my clothes, which is a saving grace, but I’ve been dressed in them for three days, which is not. If I go rummaging in my pockets I can find such wonderful souvenirs as a broken ballpoint pen from somewhere called Maple Heights Country Club, three small metal bolts, a torn set of instructions for an IKEA bed frame and a small, mouldy potato on which someone has scrawled in permanent black marker pen the legend ‘Herman is bastard’. I’m assuming it was me.
The coffee warms me somewhat as I sit back on the bench and contemplate my next move. That starts with looking at my mobile phone properly for the first time in forty-eight hours.
Apparently, the heroic amount of alcohol I’ve consumed wasn’t enough to stop me from sending text messages – unfortunately.
It appears I sent a text to Mum at some point in the early hours of the morning after Freddie’s funeral, when she’d messaged me to find out where the hell I was. The text I sent said, ‘Im fine mam. Just neededed som time on myy own. Will be back soone. Love u. And I need tim. I don’t have tim. I love u but I donn have tim.’
My mother’s reply was simply, ‘Stay safe, and say hi to Tim if you find him.’
There’s nothing from Allie, though.
Why should there be? I’ve put that poor girl through the bloody wringer, haven’t I?
I currently have zero idea what the state of play is between us after my disappearing act, but I’d better call her and find out what it is. If this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back and she wants to have nothing more to do with me, then I’ll have to accept it. I’ve probably used up all of her goodwill at this point . . . and then some.
I am a stupid, selfish idiot – one who should apologise as quickly as possible. Not for the first time in my life, my thumb hovers over Allie’s number. I press ‘Dial’, thumb shaking from a combination of cold and fear.
‘Nathan?’ she answers on the second ring.
‘Hi,’ I reply, wincing at the loudness of her voice.
‘Where are you?’
‘Mumbles.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I’m in Mumbles.’
There’s a pause. ‘The little town near Swansea?’ She sounds amazed.
‘Yes. How did you know that?’
‘The coastguard dropped Grandad off there in 1965 after his raft sank. He was doing a charity race out from Weston-super-Mare and got a bit lost. Are you coming home?’
‘Hopefully. Once I work out where the nearest public transport is.’ I pause. ‘You don’t sound angry with me . . . Aren’t you angry with me? After I left like that?’
She sighs. ‘I was a little at first, and I was worried about you, too – but then I spoke to your mum, who told me she’d heard from you and that you’d probably be all right and would come home when you wanted to.’
That’s my mother. She knows her ridiculous son so well.
‘I’m sorry I ran away from you like that,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around to help you.’
‘Don’t be. It’s actually given me the time I needed to do something. To arrange some stuff with you out of the way.’
Well, that’s disconcerting. I thought Allie might be mad at me for buggering off on a two-day bender, but it appears she’s quite happy about it, as it’s given her time to catch up on some important admin. ‘Um . . . okay. That’s good . . . I guess?’
‘Come home, Nathan. Come home now. I need to see you today, and I’m not taking no for an answer.’
‘Yes, Allie.’ I reply, sounding for all the world like a scolded little boy, which in many ways I am.
‘Good. Call me when you’re about an hour away from your house.’
‘Okay, Allie, I will.’
‘I’ll see you later, then.’
Allie hangs up, leaving me sat on my cold stone bench, looking out to sea, with the wind whipping around my head and a headache clanging behind my eyes. I put up with this for about three minutes, before getting up and staggering over to the cafe owner to ask him where the nearest train station is.
It’s in Swansea, so my next stop is the nearest taxi rank – but not before I divert into Boots to buy some painkillers, a bottle of Lucozade and a travel-sized can of deodorant.
I make it home – more or less in one piece – about five hours later. They are five hours spent mostly sleeping and dribbling in a pool of my own stink. I’m basically one of those train passengers you always do your best to avoid when you’re choosing which carriage to sit in.
An hour away, I call Allie as I promised I would. She is quite curt with me, which I would feel more hurt about were it not for the fact that my head is pounding so hard I have to take another three painkillers just to get it to calm down enough to see straight.
Eventually, the taxi carrying me to my door from the train station turns into my road. I’ve consumed three bottles of Evian, which has helped with the headache and the dry mouth, but this has also woken up my digestive system. I am in dire need of a bacon sandwich.
Instead of bacon, though, I get a lemon.
And a toffee.
And an orange, a sausage and a block of cheese.
The taxi bumps up on to my driveway – and standing there are The Foodies.
. . . minus Herman the Grumpy Potato.
Quite clearly I’m suffering from some kind of alcohol poisoning that’s causing hallucinations.
‘Um . . . can you see that?’ I ask the cabbie.
‘The five idiots at the end of your drive dressed as The Foodies?’ he replies.
‘Yes.’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’
‘My two youngest love The Foodies,’ he remarks, taking the cash from my hand. ‘Can’t get enough of ’em.’
‘Good for them,’ I tell him.
As the cab backs out of the drive, I slowly walk towards the living, breathing embodiments of my overactive imagination with severe trepidation. Libby the Happy Lemon steps forward and lifts up the top part of her head.
‘Hello, Nathan,’ Allie says to me.
‘Hi,’ I reply. ‘What’s . . . what’s going on?’
Allie thinks for a moment. ‘Let’s call it a wake-up call, if you like.’
‘A what?’
She gives me a look and takes my arm. ‘Come on, Nathan James. I have something to show you that you really need to see.’ She looks over at her fellow Foodies. ‘Okay, guys, in you go. I doubt they’ll wait for much longer.’
The Foodies all give Allie a thumbs up.
‘Um . . . where’s Herman?’ I ask, as she leads me up towards my front door.
‘He’s not invited,’ Allie tells me. ‘Not here. Not today.’
For some reason, this makes me unaccountably happy.
As we approach the front door, I see my mother standing there, her expression a mixture of happiness and apprehension. ‘Hi, sweetheart,’ she says with a smile, before it slips off her face. ‘This was all Allie’s idea. Just in case, you know . . .’
‘Know what?’ I try to say to Mum, but Allie is now propelling me through the doorway and into the hall, before I get the chance to learn more.
‘Right. Stand there,’ she orders. ‘I’ve gone to a lot of trouble to set this up and I want it to all go to plan.’ She looks at her fellow Foodies again, who are now lined up in front of the closed kitchen door. ‘Okay, you lot. Are you ready?’
There’s a chorus of agreement from the costumed actors. I swear I can hear Jonathan and Hamish’s voices amongst them, which must mean they’ve managed to patch things up. I do hope Hamish can keep his anger management issues under control. I’m in no fit state to break up a fight today.
‘Great, guys. Let’s do it like we practised, then,’ she tells them, and flips the top of her Libby head back down again. She then looks at me. ‘It’s time for you to see what you’ve accomplished, Nathan James. To see what you’ve done that’s worthwhile,’ Libby says, in her muffled, lemony voice. She then fumbles open the kitchen door and parades into the kitchen, the rest of The Foodies in her wake. There is a roar of approval as they do this.
Children.
There are children in my house.
I’m suddenly frozen to the spot.
‘You’d better go in there,’ Mum says from beside me. ‘She’s put a lot of effort into this over the past couple of days. That girl is one of a kind, my son.’
I give her a wild-eyed look, but do as I’m told.
I hesitantly go through into the open-plan space that comprises my kitchen, dining room and lounge. Through the now legendary expensive bifold patio doors at the end, I can see that my well-manicured garden is chock-a-block with children – a good thirty of them. ‘Oh my good fucking Christ,’ I moan quietly.
I take a few steps forward, my legs a bit shaky. Looking to my right, I can see Eliza crouched down in front of my stereo system. She gives me a wave. ‘Hello, Nate,’ she says with a grin. ‘Nice to see you made it back in one piece! Stand by for some fun!’
‘Fun?’ I say in a shocked voice, which elicits a high-pitched bray of laughter from my cousin.
Looking ahead again, I can see that Allie and the rest of the crew have now lined up at the bifold doors. I walk forward to get a better (worse?) view of proceedings. Eliza presses ‘Play’ on the stereo and I hear the soundtrack to the song ‘Come on, Give Us a Hug’ fire up.
The Foodies then launch into the dance routine for the song, which involves much hugging of one another and the children gathered. The kids are having a bloody good time with it, as they always seem to.
Among the throng of kids is one I instantly recognise. Callum is haring around the garden like a thing possessed. He’s dressed in his customary Foodies T-shirt and is being chased by another boy wearing one, too. The other boy catches up with Callum and grabs hold of him, sending both boys tumbling to the ground. For a moment, my heart races, wondering how Callum will react to this, but then he’s back on his feet, giggling his head off and hugging the other boy. I’ve never seen him look so happy.
The Foodies have now reached the chorus of the song. This is normally when Herman is supposed to give in and allow himself to be hugged by his Foodie pals.
To my horror, though, Allie has changed the lyrics somewhat. It’s been accomplished quite awkwardly on the audio track that’s belching out from the stereo. All she’s done is record over one existing lyric with her own voice . . . but it’s a profound change that makes me groan out loud.
‘Come on, give us a hug, Nathan! Come on, don’t be shy!’ the audio track now goes.
Actually, it’s ‘Come on, give us a hug, Her-Nathan,’ as Allie hasn’t quite got the timing right, but we’ll let her off, as she’s done all this in two days.
All The Foodies now start to beckon me over into the garden. It is quite apparent that I am now supposed to take the place of Herman the Grumpy Potato in the dance routine.
I quite literally want to die.
No, I don’t.
Yes, I do.
I can’t move my legs. My head shakes back and forth slowly as I realise that I am meant to be the centre of attention here and there’s very little I can do about it. Allie obviously has a point to prove, and she’s not going to let me go until it’s well and truly made.
The chorus plays once more and now the children have joined in. Still I can’t bring myself to move into the garden. I know I should just do what I’m told, but I’m paralysed by an overwhelming fear that I neither understand nor can do anything about.
The chorus plays for a third time and still they beckon me forward. Callum in particular is wildly gesturing for me to come forward. It doesn’t make any difference, though. My feet are still firmly rooted to the spot.
Then I feel a comforting hand close around my arm.
‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s go out there,’ Mum says.
I look down at her. ‘I . . . don’t think I can,’ I tell her in a small voice.
I feel a hand on my other arm. ‘Of course you can, Nate.’ It’s Eliza. ‘We’re with you. And we love you.’
‘Let’s go, Nathan,’ Mum says again. ‘Your girlfriend is waiting for you.’
‘Why is all this happening, Mum?’ I plead, still not quite sure why I have a house full of people.
Mum smiles. ‘Let her explain, Nathan. Let her explain.’
And with that, Mum and Eliza gently propel me into the garden and into the large foam rubber arms of Libby the Happy Lemon.
As soon as she takes me in a tight embrace, I am instantly surrounded by the children, who all go in for a mass hug. Tiny arms close themselves around both Libby and me, and I find myself wrapped in a warm cocoon of giggles and shrieks.
I look down to see Callum squeezing my leg the tightest. He is looking up and, for what feels like the first time in my life, he’s smiling at me.
It is, I have to say, a rather wonderful thing to experience.
The chorus of ‘Come on, Give Us a Hug’ repeats a few more times until it fades. It’s only when Eliza switches the music off completely that the hug ends and the children break away to go and be with their parents at the rear of the garden. Callum is the last to leave me, giving my leg an extra-tight squeeze before he goes to join Eliza.
‘What’s all of this about, Allie?’ I ask as she flips up the top half of her Libby head so I can see her properly again. She looks just as sweaty and red as the first time we met. For a split second, I think back to almost taking Sienna’s hand at the Elysium Bar and instantly feel very grateful that I didn’t.
‘It’s simple, Nathan. You told me you didn’t think you’d accomplished anything. You said you’d never done anything worthwhile.’ She holds out a hand, indicating the crowd of people. ‘Well, here you go. Here’s how wrong you are.’
‘I don’t . . . I don’t understand.’
She turns and fixes me with a firm gaze. ‘These children, Nathan. These children love you.’
I shake my head. ‘No, they don’t. They love you. They love The Foodies.’
She punches me lightly on the arm. ‘You are The Foodies, you idiot! Don’t you think they know that? Look at them. Look at them properly for once in your life!’
I do as I’m told and see the faces of thirty happy children beaming right back at me. Not at Libby or Smedley or Chewy, but at me. I spot Callum and his new friend, now with their arms around one another. Eliza’s son is smiling at me with what feels like the ferocity of a thousand suns.
And this is the moment that it hits me. It finally hits me.
That maybe – just maybe – The Foodies do mean something. That they aren’t just a pay cheque and an embarrassment. That the strange and bizarre singing foodstuffs that I made up in a hurry all those years ago aren’t just a load of throwaway rubbish. Not to these kids, anyway.
I’ve been searching for a way to leave my mark on the world ever since I was diagnosed with that stupid tumour – and it’s been staring me in the face this entire time. I’ve already done it.
Gosh.
‘You make them happy, Nathan. You,’ Allie tells me. ‘And thousands more like them, out there in the world. Do you know how valuable that is? To make a child happy?’
I stand there slack-jawed for a moment, before gathering my thoughts. ‘No. I didn’t. Not until now, anyway, I guess,’ I tell her in a husky voice.
Allie looks up at me, a hopeful expression on her face. ‘Do you get it now, Nathan? Do you finally understand what you’ve done? What makes you worthwhile?’
A tear gently courses its way down my cheek. ‘Yes. I suppose I do.’ I look at all of the children gathered in front of me. ‘How could I not?’
When I turn back to Allie, though, there’s confusion in my eyes. ‘But why have you gone to all the trouble to show me this, Allie? After all, you’ve only known me a short time and, well . . . you know what’s going to happen to me. You know what’s coming.’ I can barely say the words. ‘I probably don’t have . . . have much time.’
She looks to the sky for a moment, before gazing back at me again. ‘I know, Nathan, I know. And don’t think I don’t realise that. Don’t think I haven’t thought long and hard about all of this. About what might happen to you, and what that might mean for me . . .’
‘And?’
She smiles, tears in her eyes. ‘And it’s okay. I can accept it. I do accept it. I don’t know how much time we have, but I know I want to spend that time with you.’
I’m dumbfounded. ‘Why? Why would you do that?’
Allie rolls her eyes. ‘Because I’m in love with you, you bloody idiot. And love doesn’t care about time.’
Then she’s kissing me.
I’m crying, she’s crying, and she’s kissing me.
My time is short and my life hangs in the balance – but none of that matters right now, because I have left my mark, I have done something worthwhile, but most of all . . . because she is kissing me.
And my headache is gone.