Page 51 of The 3am Shattered Mums' Club

Aisha hadn’t been thinking much about the figure in the street because her mind was now consumed with the conversation she needed to have with her mum about the letter she’d found under the bed. It all felt like such a cliché, and to have the secret lurking under the bed like that, she realised the truth had been so close to her for so many years.

Since Charley’s birthday, things had smoothed out between them. Charley had become a little more attentive and had been offering to do a few extra things to help out during the day, but Aisha still felt the anger bubble inside her when she heard the sound of Charley walking down into the basement. It was her place of escape, and Aisha was jealous that Charley had that and she didn’t, especially as she felt she needed it more than her.

It was a warm but cloudy day, so Aisha had thrown on a thin spring jacket she hadn’t worn since last year. As she walked and pushed, she slipped one hand into her pocket, which brushed against a pair of earphones. Aisha had subscribed to Audible before the babies were born, thinking she would sit up in bed listening to books as she fed the boys. She stopped the buggy and selected a book – a Women’s Prize for Fiction winner. It had been recommended to her over and over by friends she used to work with, waiting staff who were only at the restaurant for the good tips to get them through university. They weren’t there because they loved the hospitality industry the way Aisha did. To them it had just been a job but she had maintained a few friendships as well as some good book recommendations. She plugged the earphones into her phone and pressed play. She kept the volume down low, and her eyes were constantly flicking between the boys and the road ahead. They finally began to look as though they were slipping off into a sleep. Aisha prayed it would be a long one after the amount of time they had been awake last night.

As the book began, Aisha found she relaxed into her stride, each step becoming seamless until she was no longer thinking about walking, but simply gliding instead. Her shoulders dropped, and her mind began to wander off to the places she was hearing described in the book. So, when, after a few minutes, she needed to cross over the road, she stopped the pram and looked to her right. Her heart jumped right up into her mouth as she saw the man standing a few feet away from her. She had thought she had imagined him, made him up, but there he was, standing and looking right at her. It was the closest she had ever been to him. He had a green lightweight parka-style jacket, zipped right up so the bottom of his face was obscured. A slight grey stubble escaped above the top of the coat collar. He then pulled the zip down so that his whole mouth was exposed, and then his mouth was moving. He was speaking now, actually trying to say something to her, but all Aisha could hear was the narrator’s voice through her headphones. She put her hand to the wire where there was a volume control and pressed the button, but the narrator’s voice became louder; she was pressing the volume up. She grasped at the wire again, but could no longer find the control pads. There was a gap in the traffic, and so Aisha dropped the prams off the kerb and made to cross the road, but she had misjudged it and with a blaring voice in her ear, she only just turned in time to see a car careening around the corner, and she stepped back and tried to get the buggy back onto the path but she couldn’t pull it backwards – it had begun to tilt at an angle. Now the narration had become heated, and there was shouting in her ears. Suddenly, she felt the weight of the prams becoming lighter and she turned to see the man with his hands on the handle, lifting it, trying to pull it away from her. She should yell for help, she should push him away, but her hands were gripped firmly on the bar, fearing if she let go, he would gain full control. Her mind rushed with all the thoughts she had been having recently, thoughts that she had begun to align with new motherhood tiredness and that were totally irrational. Now, it turns out, they were not. She should have listened to her intuition. And she should have mentioned something to Charley. There could have been an injunction out by now. Why hadn’t she gone with her gut instinct and reported it as stalking, which she now knew very clearly it was?

In the few seconds it had taken Aisha to process these thoughts, she realised the prams were back up on the path and the man had released his grip. The narrator talked loudly in her ear as the man in front of her continued moving his mouth. All she could hear was the muffled sound of his voice. She yanked at one side of the wire and then other and both earpieces popped out. The man was smiling inanely at her.

‘That was a close one,’ the man said with a strong Midlands accent.

‘I don’t know, I wasn’t sure what happened.’ Aisha looked around her to see if anyone was close by so that she might be able to shout out to help her. If she just stayed calm and kept talking to him, nothing bad would happen.

‘I saved yours and your babies’ life.’

‘Well, I suppose I should say thanks then,’ Aisha said, her voice trembling.

‘You don’t need to thank me, Aisha.’

Aisha’s gut dropped and her mouth went dry.

He knew her name.

He knew where she lived, he knew her name.

He was here to do something very bad and there was no way she could wrestle two babies out of his hands. She would have to choose between one of the twins. This was her version ofSophie’s Choice. How could this be happening to her?

‘Don’t you recognise me, kid?’ the man said, and Aisha shifted uncomfortably.He thinks I know him.Aisha shook her head and looked briefly around again for anyone who might be able to step in and help.

The man reached out and placed one hand on the side of her arm.

‘It’s me, kid. Ya dad.’

* * *

The sun had come out and Aisha had removed her jacket, so she was just sat in her hoody. The man, who had just proclaimed to be her father, was sat next to her, a metre between them. The initial terror had subsided, and she was now dealing with a whole host of new emotions. Confusion, frustration, sadness with a tiny side order of joy.

‘So, you’ve been following me all this time?’ Aisha asked.

‘Hey, ain’t been following ya, kid, just trying to find the confidence to come a-knocking.’

Aisha shook her head in disbelief. ‘I find it really weird that you would just show up like this. What am I supposed to call you then? Dad? Jon?’

‘Jon’s fine. I’ve hardly been a dad to you these last twenty years, have I?’

Aisha turned to look at Jon. ‘I didn’t recognise you. Why didn’t I recognise you?’

‘That’s cos I ain’t had your mother feeding me up for the last two decades. Had to fend for meself like. I was always slim compared to ya mum like, but now I can’t keep any weight on me. It was all that fried food. But no matter where I went to try to find food like that, I just couldn’t. So I’ve trimmed down. A lot.’

Aisha nodded. Looking at Jon, trying to see the man she knew as a father when she was just ten years old, there was a glimmer. The years hadn’t been kind to his face, which was a sea of lines and wrinkles. ‘And so you haven’t met anyone else in all that time?’

Jon shook his head. ‘Na. Met a few women on me travels but no one would have me.’ He let out a low, gravelly laugh.

‘I read one of your letters,’ Aisha said.

‘Oh ay.’ Jon looked at her intrigued.

‘I saw there were more under Mum’s bed. Letters you’d written to her. I grabbed one when I was over at the house the other day. It said stuff about your depression. I had no idea. I wish I had known.’

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