Another day, another awkward ‘family’ breakfast at Apple Blossom Cottage. When I got home from my day out with Alfie, Nathan told me that he and Viv had been shopping, and that he was going to make us all a special breakfast in the morning. I’d be lying if I said I was happy about this, not just because I know that it won’t be a bacon sandwich, but because I almost resent him for making an effort, because you can’t just drop in after not caring for nearly a decade and be crowned Dad of the Year.
I feel a real sense of smugness when Nathan’s breakfast bombs. Well, quinoa cereal with blueberries, almonds and strawberry ‘milk’ was never going to be a hit with us.
‘It’s interesting,’ my mum says. ‘Very interesting.’
‘Thanks,’ Nathan replies, finding a compliment where there isn’t one. ‘The strawberry milk is the best bit, and it’s just strawberries, sweetener and good old water – which means no poor cows were tortured in the making of it.’
Just this poor cow, who had to watch him making it this morning, wearing nothing but his underpants.
I look over at Frankie who is politely pretending to eat it. I remind myself to sneak him something to eat before he leaves for school, before starting an inevitable – yet oh-so awkward – conversation with Nathan.
‘So, I was thinking maybe we have a new house rule, that everyone has to dress for breakfast,’ I suggest.
‘You’re in your dressing gown,’ Nathan points out through a mouthful of breakfast. He’s holding his bowl close to his face and he spoons his food in at an alarming speed.
‘Well, yeah, what I mean is just…not being nearly naked at the table, I suppose,’ I clarify. ‘I don’t know if you’re having trouble adapting to life back in our culture or what, but…’
‘But what?’ he asks.
‘But you’re acting kind of uncivilised. You’re sitting here in your pants, eating your breakfast like you’re scared someone is going to take it off you – you’re peeing in the garden.’
I hear Frankie snigger.
‘Lil, you know me, I like to be naked, so the undercrackers are a compromise.’
‘How kind of you,’ I say sarcastically.
‘I’m eating like this because I’m hungry, because this is the first real meal I’ve had since I arrived here, because you have a fridge, freezer and cupboards filled with nothing but cruelty. And I’m peeing in the garden because you won’t let me live in the house.’
‘How about I give you permission to call me and wake me up if you need the toilet in the night, save you from resorting to doing it in the garden.’
‘Don’t have a phone,’ he says.
‘Of course you don’t.’
‘Don’t have any money to get one.’
‘You could get a job,’ I suggest.
‘You need someone at the deli, right?’ he says, and he’s being deadly serious.
‘Do you have any experience selling meat?’ I ask sarcastically.
‘No.’
‘Could you recommend a cheese to go with a bottle of Rioja?’ I persist.
‘Of course not,’ he replies.
‘Well then sorry, buddy, but the job isn’t yours. I’m desperate for staff, but not so much that I’d employ someone who will actively encourage people not to buy things.’
‘Fair point,’ he replies. ‘Guess I’ll head into town today and see what I can find.’
‘Good idea,’ I reply.
After nearly a decade apart, it might not be fair to say that I know Nathan all that well any more, but I did once upon a time. Sure, he had jobs back then, but only casual gigs to pay the rent on his flat. He would only work zero effort jobs with no responsibility and that was that. He worked to live – but only as much as he needed to. I’ve always been a little different, I fantasised about having a career and a job where I felt like I made a difference. Sure, running a deli isn’t changing the world, but it makes people happy, and I like putting my passion for food to good use. Even when the plan was to travel, we were going to work for charitable organisations, and work hard and, when we got enough money together, I wanted to set up centres for women in places where providing support for women wasn’t high up on the agenda. Nathan always used to say we’d never be able to do that, but I figured he just didn’t have the drive, so he didn’t believe in us. I’ll never know what could have been now.
None of this prior knowledge of Nathan gives me especially high hopes that he will find a job – and then, of course, there’s the fact that he knows me, and no one likes me.
‘I thought we could go for a kickabout after school, Frank,’ Nathan suggests.
‘I don’t really like football,’ Frankie admits.
‘Don’t really like football?’ Nathan booms, causing poor little Frankie to jump out of his skin.
‘All right, calm down,’ I insist. ‘Not all men like football.’
‘When I was coaching kids football in Togo they lived for the beautiful game, and here you are, surrounded by fields with easy access to balls, and you don’t want to know.’
‘Ignore him,’ I tell Frankie. ‘Your dad has ridiculously old-fashioned views for a liberal.’
I remember back when we lived together, Nathan invited some friends over to hang out. The men were watching football in the living room and the women were banished to the kitchen, but it turned out one of the women loved football, so she went to sit with the men. She asked what the score was, and the men looked at her like she was crazy and asked her why she wanted to know. By watching football rather than complaining and insisting they turned it off, she was confusing the men. She told them she liked football.
‘Go on then, what’s offside?’ Nathan persisted – like a firm grasp of football is exclusively reliant on an understanding of the offside rule. He didn’t expect her to know, but she did (come on, it’s not rocket science – even I could have answered that question) and suddenly, the menfolk were in awe – a female person who knows what offside is? How adorable!
It annoys me that men are allowed to like manly stuff without it being cute, or seeming like they’re only doing it to impress the opposite sex. Men like Nathan think it’s adorable when females like video games, action movies, sci-fi TV shows, sports, etc.
This makes me think of Alfie and his dad, who didn’t think he was manly enough because he didn’t like sports and farming. I don’t want to show Nathan up in front of his son, but I’ll take Frankie to one side later and explain to him that it’s OK for boys not to like football. Maybe I’ll ask Alfie to have a word with him, because Frankie respects him, and he’s obviously turned out just fine.
‘You want to give it a go?’ Nathan suggests. ‘It can’t hurt to try, can it? Maybe you can grow up big and strong like your dad, travelling the world, teaching other little boys to play football.’
‘OK,’ Frankie replies, a little glimmer of excitement in his eyes. I’ve noticed that he spends a lot of time staring at Nathan, a mixture of curiosity and – dare I say it – adoration. Frankie is fascinated by people with interesting stories, like Henry and his war stories, and now it turns out he’s got a dad who is full of it – I mean full of them.
‘Or you could end up selling cheese, like your mum,’ he adds. I don’t rise to it.
‘Are you two OK to pick Frankie up from school today?’ I ask Viv and Nathan – mostly Viv, but I really am trying to make an effort with Nathan.
‘Of course,’ she replies.
‘Thanks, I’m going to drop him off and then check in at the deli, make sure the fitters left everything tidy. Still no news on the licence, so I’ll give my boss a call, see what he says. In fact, we’d better get off now, Frankie,’ I say, giving him a wink that only he can see.
If we set off now, we’ll have enough time to drop in on Henry and Clara and see if they’re open for breakfast because, I don’t know about Frankie, but I’m starving! Of course, it’s nice that Nathan is making an effort, but we can’t starve just because we don’t like his cooking. Anyway, what Nathan doesn’t know won’t hurt him, will it?