their shoes off when they enter their domain too, which is fair enough. Like most people I appreciate that the thought of dirt from the street being trampled into your carpet isn’t that nice, but they are ridiculously anal about it. To the point where I honestly think if there was a fire in the house and Hayley was stuck inside, she’d insist on the firemen taking their boots off before coming in to save her.
Gary’s just as OCD as she is though. His clothes are always immaculately ironed and their bed never looks as though anyone’s slept in it. I love the thought of a child coming along to shake things up in Evans Towers, though I’ll have to take it on special outings to dirty places in order to build up its immune system. I’ll scout out really grubby church halls and play areas, then set the child free to eat stuff off the floor and chew on grimy toys, like babies are supposed to.
I ring the bell, my mind back on the task in hand. When the door opens Gary’s standing there looking as Neanderthal as ever.
‘All right sexy, to what do I owe this pleasure?’ he says, eyeing me up and down. His voice too high pitched for one so muscular.
‘Is Hayley in?’
‘No, she’s getting her nails done. You’re lucky you caught me. I just came home to pick up some paperwork to take back to the garage. Come in and wait if you like.’
I hesitate. Did I really want to sit and make small talk with Gary? Then again, what I had to tell Hayley couldn’t exactly wait.
I shrug and my foot’s only halfway over the threshold when Gary says ‘Your …’
‘Shoes, I know, don’t worry,’ I finish for him.
My heart sinks. Damn, I’m wearing my knee-length black boots, which don’t have a zip. Getting them on is relatively easy, you just sort of pull them on and heave them into position, like adjusting a pair of support tights. Getting them off is another matter though. In the end I have no choice but to sit spread-eagled on the floor and prise them off with the other foot, going red-faced from exertion. This isn’t an approach I feel particularly comfortable taking while Gary’s standing over me, but finally they’re off. As I pull myself back to standing, I feel like I’ve had a workout.
I notice that Gary’s own feet are bare, tanned and pedicured. He obviously has regular sun beds. He pads back towards the front room. ‘Can I get you a drink while you wait. Squash, Coke Zero, Fanta?’
‘No thanks,’ I say, settling myself down on the couch, picking a copy of Grazia off the coffee table. ‘So, congratulations on the baby.’
‘Yeah, thanks,’ says Gary, looking genuinely chuffed. ‘Better be a boy though,’ he adds, which ruins any vague sense of warmth I’d just been momentarily feeling towards him.
‘Er, why? Have you suddenly turned into a nineteenth-century estate owner who needs a son and heir?’
Gary doesn’t answer. He probably doesn’t understand what I’ve said.
‘Be nice to have a chip off the old block,’ he says ‘Though I don’t care really.’
‘That’s good of you.’
‘Tell you what I will be pleased about, is getting some action again. Hayley won’t let me go near her at the moment. Says she’s worried about “hurting the baby”.’
‘Right,’ I mutter, not convinced this is any of my business.
‘Still, when you’re as well equipped in that department as I am I suppose it could be a problem.’
Stunned, I look up from the fashion pages and stare at him aghast. Did he just say what I think he did? To my horror I realise he probably did because he’s staring in the general direction of his horrid crotch, which he’s kind of thrusting. Disgusting.
‘Gary, please don’t be gross. I’ll be sick.’
‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it babes,’ he says, at which point I decide it’s time to go. Hayley will just have to wait a bit longer to find out about our dad having returned. I simply cannot cope with Gary and his revolting ways while I’ve got so much on my mind.
‘I’m off,’ I say, making a swift exit, which is hindered by the laborious process of getting my stupid boots back on, while Gary stands and watches again, smirking at my obvious discomfort. I’m totally against adult Crocs, unless you’re a nurse or medic of any kind, but find myself considering investing in a pair I could use when coming round here, to facilitate swift exits.
‘Tell Hayley I called round,’ I instruct Gary, who has seriously crossed the line today as far as I’m concerned. Honestly, just because he’s gone without for a few weeks. I shudder with revulsion.
‘I’ll tell her babe,’ he says, cretinous face leering at me.
Back in the car I wonder what to do. I feel anchorless. I can’t think of anything but what’s happened and the thought of going into work tomorrow and acting like everything’s normal – which I’m going to have to do – fills me with dread.
Right, there’s probably only one thing to do and there’s no point delaying it further, given that I’ve been waiting my whole life for it. I scrabble around in the pocket of my skirt and produce from it the, by now, very crumpled receipt.
After a few more moments of agonising, I take a deep breath and force Gary and his inappropriate comments out of my head, knowing that what I’m about to do will alter the course of my life for ever. It’s time. Time to take control of things, time to make my own decisions. I dial the number.
Just off Romford High Street, on a narrow side road, there’s a small café called ‘Ron’s’ where cab drivers tend to congregate, waiting for jobs to be radioed in. This is the designated spot where I am to meet my dad.
When I got back from Hayley’s, Mum was deeply suspicious when I said I was going out again and interrogated me for ages, so in order to get her off my back, I told her I was off out to meet Jason. I know I’ll have to come clean about what’s going on eventually but, today, I just wanted to leave the house with as little fuss as possible.
I’ve made a bit of an effort with my appearance. I’m wearing a floral tea dress and a little jacket. I’ve also plastered on the make-up. In many ways I hate Ray for everything he’s done and yet I still want his approval and for him to see me looking nice. This is too confusing to analyse at any great length, plus if I stop to think about everything for too long, my head’s probably in danger of exploding.
As I sit on the bus – Mum needs Tina tonight – I try to read a newspaper that someone’s left on the seat next to me but can’t concentrate on the words. I’m nervous, really nervous, about seeing Ray, but also strangely excited. It’s weird. Despite what he’s put us through, I don’t think I could contemplate not trying to get to know him. Of course, the fact he’s so ill has acted as a pretty strong catalyst for me, in terms of making my mind up. It’s not like I have the choice of making him sweat for a few months before agreeing to see him. Though, with regard to that, I’m starting to wonder whether maybe he’s exaggerated his illness a bit, in order to get my sympathy. It would be rather a sick thing to do but given that I’m on my way to meet him now, effective too. My doubts stem from the fact that he looks like such a big strong man. Not one who’ll be going anywhere any time soon.
After a fifteen-minute bus journey and a short walk along the high road, I shove open the door to the café, which was his suggestion for our designated meeting spot. It’s very full.
I’m the first to arrive and manage to nab the only free table left. I feel a bit like a rose among thorns. Grizzled cabbies surround me chatting away, drinking their tea and eating fried food. Still, it’s as good a place as any for our meeting, plus nobody I know is in any danger of popping in. I sit for ten minutes, but don’t mind. I’m early and on the