Tom was exhausted the endless barhopping, the onenight flings, the relentless string of dates. When he met the brighteyed, witty, clever Emily, he thought, at last, this was the real thing. They slipped into a little café on Camden, listened to a busking violinist, talked about his climb up the corporate ladder and her love of contemporary poetry. When they discovered a shared fondness for a Walthamstow salad with sliced apples, they both knew they had to see where this could go.
The next step in their rapid romance was Emilys flat, where she had invited him for dinner. Tom pulled on his best shirt, shaved clean, memorised a few odd verses from one of Emilys favourite poets, and bought a bunch of roses and a bottle of red wine. He walked to her door buoyant, sure that tonight would be unforgettable. His confidence could have made any cat, patting its bowl fifteen times a day, jealous. Nothing was left to chance everything was plotted to the last detail, except for the line that would shatter the script: Good evening, Im Jack. My wifes in the shower, come on in.
Tom froze. A square, boyish face stared down at him from the doorway, a hand stretched out as if it could envelope his whole head. At first Tom thought hed knocked on the wrong flat, but when Jack sneezed loudly, pinching his nose without opening his mouth just the way Emily always did the mistake was impossible. Toms mood began to spiral: the wine soured, the roses wilted.
He stepped inside and, seeing Jacks battered trainers, let out a gasp. Those shoes could have been slipped straight onto his polished oxfords and would still have been a size too big. Emily, bent over a kitchen counter, was about waisthigh in a pot. Tom suddenly thought of how women never seemed to treat gold with the same reverence. He imagined handing her a ring, only to have a wedding band appear on his finger ten years later a tidy investment. He drifted toward the dining table, already set, while Jack wrestled with curtains, refusing a stool.
Just five minutes, Ill be out! a muffled voice called from the bathroom.
Five bursts of five minutes later, the door finally swung open and Emily emerged, wrapped in an evening dress, makeup glistening on her face. She caught the sour look on Toms face, instantly understood the cause, and the tension drained from the room like a tide receding, taking the romance with it.
She placed the plates down in silence, poured the wine herself, and began eating without waiting for Tom.
Why didnt you tell me you have a child? Tom blurted, feeling cheated.
Scared of the trailer? Emily replied with a rueful smile.
Its not a trailer its a whole train, Tom shot back.
The big one? Emily teased. Hes a proper lad from a remote Yorkshire village. Bigger than Jack, who once wrestled a bear barehanded.
Wheres he now? Tom asked, his throat tight.
Out on a gig, with that very same bear. He left us for the big stage. He writes letters now, but the handwriting looks like a bear with a conscience larger than his own.
How old is he? Tom gestured toward the wall.
Fourteen, just got his passport.
Strong?
Very funny, Emily snapped, cutting the tension with a sharp edge.
They ate in a strained silence. Conversation sputtered.
More meat? Tom asked, reaching for the plate.
You like it?
Its the best Ive ever tasted. What is it?
Moose. Jack cooks it.
Wow, hes talented.
It came from his dad, along with an ancient cookbook, a set of knives, some fishing rods, a boat, and a bunch of other junk he bragged about.
A boat? Tom swallowed hard.
Yeah, its stored in the cellar. Sometimes its there, sometimes not. His sons an avid fisherman.
Emilys phone buzzed. She apologized, slipped into another room to answer.
Its about time I head home, Tom thought. Hed got nothing left to catch here.
Tom, Ive got a problem, Emily returned, looking uneasy. Theres been an accident at work. Could you mind looking after Jack for a couple of hours?
Me? With Jack? Why?
Hes a minor, you never know what could happen. People are wandering the flats right now
Are you afraid hell be snatched away?
Listen, Ill pay you for the lost evening and for babysitting, and then I wont call again. Deal?
What am I supposed to do with him?
Just talk mantoman. Ive got to run.
Tom hadnt managed a reply before Emily was already out the door, bag in hand. He lingered in the kitchen, drained his phone, finished the moose, polished off the wine, but Emily never came back.
When he reached Jacks bedroom door, familiar sounds drifted from within.
Cant be, Tom muttered, knocking.
Open, a voice called.
He pushed the door gently and entered a childs room. The first thing that caught his eye was a massive wooden target riddled with knives and arrows, yet the walls were unmarred the archer never missed. A vinyl record player sat on a table, lowvolume Iron Maiden crackling from a speaker Toms favourite band. Jack sat in a corner, mending fishing tackle. The room held trophies on a shelf, a boxing bag hanging from the ceiling, and a brandnew gaming console beside the TV.
Nice setup youve got, Jack, Tom said, halfenvy, halfwonder. A kid could only dream of this.
I work in the summer, Jack replied, and Tom felt a pang of shame. He imagined Emily scrambling for an endless wallet for the child, when in fact the boy seemed selfsufficient.
Do you have a charger for my phone? Tom asked, holding up his device.
Theres one near the railway line, Jack gestured.
The railway line? Tom repeated, disbelief in his voice. He turned and saw a real set of tracks behind the house, the iron rails sprawling like a beast. He could hardly breathe.
You built this yourself? Tom whispered, not wanting to break the spell.
Yeah. Im buying bits here and there, planning a second tier and a few bridges. A new box of rails just arrived; my hands cant seem to keep up.
Heat rose in Toms chest and head.
Can we run a test loop? he asked.
One minute, Jack said, setting aside his tackle, standing tall, and crossing the room in a single stride.
***
Emily returned an hour later, convinced Tom had already left, and rushed straight to Jacks room, catching the two boys assembling the railway. At a glance it was hard to tell who was older.
Tom, you should go home, she whispered.
Whoa what time is it? Tom sprang up.
Oneeleven, Emily yawned, exhausted. Ive got an emergency at work tomorrow morning, need to sleep.
She escorted Tom to the door, kissed his cheek, and handed him a few notes.
I dont take money from women, Tom said, disgusted.
Fine. Thanks for watching my trailer, Emily replied.
Tom forced a thin smile and walked out.
***
Hey, Id like to come over again, Tom called a few days later.
Im swamped at work, no time for dating. And our last meeting Emily hesitated.
Can I still see Jack?
Jack? Emily asked, puzzled.
Yes. I could keep an eye on him.
Im not sure Ill have to ask him.
Ive already texted him. Hes fine. I bought a new game for his Xbox, well hang out while you get on with your life.
Alright, come tonight.
That evening Tom arrived in a completely different guise. No shirt, no perfume, no wine, no lingering looks. He wore a plain black Tshirt emblazoned with his favourite band, a backpack stuffed with crisps and soda, and a goofy, boyish grin.
Just keep it quiet Ive got a twohour video call soon, Emily greeted him in a soft bathrobe, a fabric mask covering her face, onion breath lingering.
Tom nodded and slipped into the playroom.
Emily eventually coaxed Tom and Jack apart they were arguing fiercely about the merits of Balabanov versus Guy Ritchie, each defending his favourite director as if it were a lifeordeath matter. They were about to launch into a sixhour film marathon when Emily stepped in, declared both men victims of bad taste, and ushered Tom toward the exit.
Dont forget to buy bait on Saturday! Jack shouted from the room.
Bait for what? Emily asked Tom.
Were going pikefishing. I told Jack theres a shop with topnotch bait. I havent been on a fishing trip in ages.
So youre mates, then? Not interested in spending time with me?
You can come, slice the sandwiches, Jack offered.
Fine, Ive got nothing else to do. Go fish, Emily said, ushering Tom out. Work always eats my time anyway. At least the kid gets something to do.
***
A month passed. Emily threw herself into work, romance drifting far beyond reach. Meanwhile Tom and Jack made good use of the time: they finished the railway, caught crayfish, brewed a batch of homemade ale from an old family recipe Jack had inherited, Jack taught Tom how to navigate the woods, and Tom gave Jack a crash course in flirting, helping him secure a date with a girl from the neighbouring school. Everything ran smoothly until one night a frantic knock rattled the flat, and a cascade of ceiling lights fell with a crash.
Emily opened the door to be hit by a wave of bearmeat aroma. On the doorstep stood her exhusband, tall and looming, with Jacks father behind him.
Ive finally figured it out, the man said, kneeling. Even bent, he towered over Emily. Potter and I are tired, we want a quiet family life. Ive saved enough, Ill take you and Jack back to the country. Youll quit your job. My son and I will fish and hunt together.
Ha! Youre a comedian, Emily snorted. Ten years gone by and you suddenly have an epiphany? Did your bear also decide to come home?
No actually Ive signed a contract with a film studio behind my back, the husband muttered.
So thats it, Emily crossed her arms. You were just dumped.
It doesnt matter! The point is Im He choked off, as Tom burst into the hallway wearing Emilys Tshirt, stained from the days work on the makeshift locomotive.
Emily, I grabbed your shirt cause mine was ruined while we were repainting the engine with Jack, Tom said, panting.
Can anyone finish a sentence in this flat? Emily asked, eyes darting between the two men.
Whos that? the husband demanded, fist raised toward Toms head.
Its its Emily stammered, at a loss.
Jack burst from his room, shoved his fathers arm against the wall, the man howling in pain.
This is a trailer! Jack hissed.
Jack! Son! Its me, dad! What trailer? the man croaked, twisted.
Its just a trailer that helps us haul everything you and mum left behind, Jack said.
But I never left anything, the man replied, finally seeing the truth in his own words.
Tom and Emily huddled together in the corner, watching the two giants clash.
Alright, alright, break, the father snarled, releasing his grip. Youve done well, son. Could we go boar hunting tomorrow? Talk about the lost years? Im a father, not some stranger, he said, eyes on Emily.
Emily stared between her ex and Tom, unsure what to say.
Yes, I understand, Tom nodded, gathering himself to leave.
Sorry
***
The next morning the father and son left at dawn, returning late that night as a lone figure.
Wheres dad? Emily asked, frustrated.
Hes gone, Jack said, slipping off his shoes.
How can he just… go?
Not completely, Jack shook his head. He took the boar, loaded it onto the trailer, and drove off to train it. He found a new partner for his shows, dropped me off in town and left.
Stupid me, Emily muttered, slapping her forehead. I should call Tom.
Hes already gone, Jack replied. He drove me home. He promised to drop by tomorrow.
How did he know where to pick me up? He left his phone at home.
He said hed been watching us, making sure we were fine, Jack said. He also mentioned hed attached himself to us, and might never detach again.
