I expected him to run around like he’d done before, with me as a piggy back, but instead he fell backwards, almost winding me.
‘Uggg,’ I grimaced, trying to catch my breath.
Peter’s dark hair was in my face. It smelt quite strongly of grease, like my hair did when Mum told me it was time to wash it.
‘Paul!’ cried Terrie. She sounded panicked.
Peter got up off me, and turned to look as I lay on the floor. ‘Aw, soldiers never stay down for that long do they, Paul?’
I struggled up, rubbing my sore chest. Peter was much heavier than he looked. Terrie was by my side now, on her knees, still all taped up.
‘You okay?’ she asked me anxiously.
‘Yeah,’ I wheezed.
The rest of the year passed quickly, with us all getting used to each other and settling into our routines and what felt like new lives. The new year came and went and Mum and Peter had a house full of friends over to usher in 1982.
We woke up to a bomb site. Empty glasses everywhere, rubbish, streamers from party poppers, dirty plates and empty bottles decorated every surface. Whilst I looked around in stunned silence, Terrie jumped out from the door. ‘BOO!’ she shouted.
‘Hope you haven’t got plans for today, Paul. I think you’re on clean-up duty with me – Mum and Peter look a bit worse for wear!’
‘PAUL, TERRIE!’ I heard Mum shout from the kitchen.
‘Coming,’ we both shouted back in unison.
We went into the kitchen, aka the local council tip, where Peter was buttering his toast and Mum was humming to herself as she poured his coffee, both of them tired with red eyes.
‘We have some news,’ Mum pronounced as she beamed ear to ear. ‘Peter is moving in!’
‘Yeeeeeesss!’ I said, leaning back in my chair. All that was going through my head at that point was: food, toys, fun, happy. I looked over at Terrie and she looked dead chuffed as well. ‘Great!’ she said.
‘Oh, I’m glad you’re happy,’ Peter said, holding Mum’s hand on the table top – the type of affection we had never seen our Dad demonstrate. ‘I’m really looking forward to being part of this family.’
After Mum did the dishes, we all went for a walk around Irchester Park again and then for a quick lunch at the Berni Inn, stopping in at Tesco’s on the way home for a quick shop – proof in my mind that Peter moving in with us could only be a good thing.
The following day Peter arrived with boxes and crates, piling our garage high. Along with umpteen cameras, he had all kinds of Territorial Army equipment: flares, ammunition and even a couple of air rifles.
‘Wow’ I said, watching as he carefully packed them onto shelves and into metal chests.
‘Don’t touch these, Paul,’ he said. ‘They are not toys and can be very dangerous.’
I was transfixed. I longed to join the army one day like my dad and Pap.
Chapter 5
Terrie
I realised Peter was Mum’s boyfriend way before she admitted it, but I didn’t really mind. Compared to our real dad there was no awkwardness; Peter was always up for a game or a chat.
Soon after Peter moved in, Mum told us Dad was back in Northampton. We saw him every Tuesday after school, but things were tense. We never felt relaxed; we’d have to play strategy games like chess, Risk and Monopoly or sit and complete 30-minute IQ tests, which he’d expect us to pass every time. Dad would even ask questions while cooking up dinner.
‘Who knows what herb this is?’ he’d ask, holding up a multitude of green leaves. ‘What ingredients go into a curry?’
Dad had all of our family photo albums set out on a shelf, but we weren’t allowed to look at them, or take any home. Paul and I had barely any pictures of us as kids and it upset me to think Dad wasn’t giving them back to Mum just to be mean.
‘He’s got our memories and I wish he’d give them back,’ I said to Paul. It was hurtful.
But Mum was much happier with Peter than Dad, that was for sure, and that’s all that mattered. She’d started to rely on Peter for childcare, too; another strain taken off her shoulders. And the fact Peter had time for us meant the world, even if sometimes he took things a bit too far. He always seemed to have bits of rope or tape to hand and he knew how to tie proper knots as well. I often found myself tied up with rope as they both tickled me. Paul loved it, though.
Earlier in the week he’d floored Paul with what he called the ‘salt cellar’ move, placing two fingers on Paul’s neck and pressing hard. When Paul collapsed, he started crying, but Peter laughed at him.
‘Oh, you’re a bit of a wimp,’ he said. ‘I thought you were a big strong boy!’
Paul tried to look brave after that, but I could tell behind his smile he was in pain.
Things calmed down by the evening, thankfully, and we cuddled on the sofa as we watched Escape from New York, another of Peter’s films. Afterwards, Paul asked me if I wanted a game of ‘Guess Who?’.
‘Sure,’ I said. Our version of ‘Guess Who?’ was much better than the one set out in the instructions. Rather than play with just one card each, we’d often play with two, three or four. It was much more interesting to try and guess multiple people.
As we set up the board, Peter appeared at the door and told Paul to go to his room.
‘But Peter,’ I said, ‘we were just about to play “Guess Who?”’
Peter grinned at me. ‘How about you play it tomorrow? Come on, kids need their own beds or they don’t sleep properly.’
‘I’ve told you a few times,’ Peter said, as he followed Paul to his room. ‘I won’t tell you again.’
Peter came back into my room afterwards, sitting back on my bed, making himself comfy. ‘Little brothers, eh?’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ I laughed. ‘I don’t mind, though. Paul’s fun.’
It was Saturday the next morning, and Mum had already gone to work, leaving Peter to look after us again.
‘Hey Terrie, Paul,’ he called. ‘Come and join me?’
We scrambled into bed with him, just like we did with Mum when she wasn’t working, which was rare these days. I snuggled under Mum’s brown candlewick bedspread, bought to match the swirly aertex wallpaper coated in beige paint. She said she’d been going through a ‘brown phase’ when she’d redecorated after Dad left.
As we hunkered down, chatting, Peter glanced playfully down at Paul.
‘Oooh, Paul,’ he said. ‘I bet you don’t have any hairs down there yet, do you?’
Paul shook his head.
Peter reached over and pulled down Paul’s pyjama bottoms.
‘Ha ha,’ Peter cried. ‘No, you don’t, do you?’
I felt a bit sorry for Paul as he pulled up his trousers, but he was smiling shyly so I hoped he didn’t feel too bad.
Then Peter turned to me.
‘Bet Terrie has got some, though!’ he cried.
Before I could react, Peter reached and pulled down my pyjamas too. Quickly I pulled them straight up as Paul giggled.
‘Oooh, yes, I saw some hair down there, did you, Paul?’