Now, he picks at the knee of his black shorts as a distraction. They’re tattered, fraying at the edges and at least two sizes too small for him, tight around his thighs and hips. His T-shirt is a brand that went out of fashion when he was twelve. Unlike his school mates, he doesn’t wear the latest trainers or sports gear. It’s why he doesn’t go out with anyone at weekends, or in the evenings. He’s too embarrassed about his clothes, and what people might say about them. What they might think of him and his family.
The only person he trusts, who never judges him, is Ray. Leila’s grandad. When he’s with the older man, he knows he won’t get sympathetic glances or be asked awkward questions. Ray knows Jake’s situation is difficult, although not the full extent of what happens behind closed doors. He doesn’t try to stick his nose in, although he mentioned once there are services that can help Jake and his mum. Jake shut down when Ray said that, and left quickly, so Ray hasn’t brought it up again. Recently though, Ray has offered Jake the opportunity to do occasional chores, giving him little brown envelopes of coins, feeding him hot meals after every task he completes. Jake keeps the money at Ray’s house so his dad can’t take it and spend it on alcohol.
Ray’s house is only three properties along, and Jake can easily see into his back garden because of the bend in the road. Jake often hears what’s going on in Ray’s house, particularly as he tends to leave his windows open. Most of the time, it’s not much – the muted sound of a presenter talking on TV, a jazz tune on the radio, Ray telling a cold caller that no thank you, he doesn’t need what they’re selling – but today is different. There are two voices approaching the back of the house from inside, getting louder as they reach the garden. Ray and a large pink man with scruffy blond hair step onto the shorn grass, walking over to the green plastic circular table and matching chairs. Jake recognises Leila’s dad, Henry, although they only met once in passing.
Ray’s carrying a round cake with a white base, hot pink icing and matching candles, while Henry balances a tray with porcelain cups, silver spoons, a teapot, jugs and sugar, which he places on the table. It’s the same set Ray uses when Jake sneaks around for tea.
His heart lifts. He’s been waiting weeks for this, ever since Ray mentioned their visit. He hopes he got it right. He would have given it to her himself, but his dad gave him a black eye yesterday. He’s too ashamed to show the purpling bruise and bloodshot retina to anyone. There would be too many questions. Usually his dad is more careful to hit him in places where bruises can be hidden. In the end he decided to just post the gift through the door late last night in an envelope with a simple L on the front.
Jake sits forward to get a better look as Leila comes into view. She’s grown a little since last year. Her long silvery blonde hair is as lovely as ever. She’s wearing it in a high ponytail, with her fringe pinned back in a mini-quiff. There are red and purple streaks of hair mascara in it right through to the ends. Her jeans have lines down the side of the legs and she’s wearing a black T-shirt that ends a few inches above her waistband, exposing her stomach.
‘Happy Birthday, Leila!’ Ray smiles, holding a big knife aloft before pointing it at the cake. ‘How does it feel to be thirteen? Officially a teenager?’
‘Yeah, y’know. It’s okay.’ She shrugs, dropping down into the seat next to her dad.
‘Leila, manners!’ Henry says.
She flushes, ‘Sorry.’
‘Do you want me to light the candles?’ Ray asks his granddaughter.
Jake shuffles further forward to watch, careful to dig his toes into the roof tiles.
‘Yes, please.’
When Ray holds a match to them and they’re all lit, her dark eyes sparkle and her pale skin flushes with excitement as she leans forward to blow them out. Managing them all in one go, she grins.
‘What did you wish for?’ Henry asks as she sits down, and Ray starts cutting the cake into neat slices.
Leila looks at her dad steadily for a moment, her grin fading. ‘A dog,’ she mutters at last.
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ But her eyes skitter away from his, like she’s lying.
‘This arrived last night.’ Ray produces an envelope from his back pocket.
‘Thanks.’ Grabbing it from his hands, she rips it open eagerly.
Jake leans further forward, watching, holding his breath, wanting to hear. A car roars along the road, at risk of drowning out her reaction. Bugger off!
‘This is really cool,’ she says, holding up a small silver charm. ‘A tiny pencil! Mum must remember I like drawing. She remembered it’s my birthday!’ She beams, looking delighted. ‘There’s no note but that’s okay. Oh my God, I love it!’
Oh. Jake wraps his arms around his raised knees, biting his lip.
Ray opens his mouth to say something but subsides. Henry glances at him, and they exchange a look.
Leila fastens the charm on the bracelet and grins at it, before jumping up and crossing to the apple tree on the other side of the garden. She traces a shape on the knotted bark with her finger. Jake knows there are intricate patterns carved into the tree, a series of waves, circles, and hearts. He once asked Ray what they were and who put them there, but the older man’s face set into concrete lines and he changed the subject. Jake suspects it was Leila’s mum who engraved the bark.
Henry and Ray settle in the chairs with cups of tea in front of them, leaving the cake on its plate in the middle of the table as they chat. Jake’s stomach rumbles at the sight of it. Because he can hear and see everything, he feels somehow part of the scene. Almost there, but not quite touching. He knows that, even without a mother present, this is how a family should be. People who take care of each other and enjoy each other’s company.
‘We need to talk about that charm.’ Ray squints at Henry in the summer sunlight. ‘I’m not sure if—’
‘I know,’ Henry interrupts, glancing around, ‘but not right now.’
‘Soon,’ Ray says, and Henry nods. ‘So, what present did you get her this year?’
Henry lets out a short laugh. ‘I didn’t. She just wanted money to spend on stuff herself. CDs, clothes, and lip gloss, I think,’ he sighs.
‘She’s growing up.’ Ray’s smile is wry. ‘I remember those days. Except with Amelia it was the early 80s, so it was stomach-baring white T-shirts with rolled up sleeves and low-slung jeans with big hair. She used to get through so many cans of hairspray. Anna and I called it the Madonna effect.’ He chuckles, before trailing off. Henry’s staring at him. ‘Sorry,’ Ray says, ‘I forgot who I was talking to.’
‘No, it’s okay.’ Henry clears his throat. ‘She was my wife. I would’ve liked to have known her back then. Perhaps if I’d understood her more, then what happened—’
‘You can’t blame yourself. My daughter is who she is, and I doubt anything you’d have said could have changed things. At the end of the day, she lived three doors down from me. You were out at work trying to earn a decent living and pay for the house, and your family. If she was struggling, she only had to come and knock on my door. I would have listened. Would have tried to help.’ He pauses, ‘It is a shame about the house though. I know how much you loved it.’
‘It’s just a building.’ Henry shifts in his seat, craning his head to watch his daughter. ‘My home is wherever Leila is.’
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