Page 68 of How Not to Be A Loser
‘I wish I could make it up to you. Prove I’m not that selfish, immature jerk any more. I know I have a huge amount of work to do before I can earn your trust, let alone your respect or affection. But I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever you need. I hate that I wasn’t there for you. But I’m here now. Please give me a chance.’
Bleuch!‘That’s enough, Sean. I said I’ll let you know.’ Fully immune to his charms, I placed my hand on Joey’s elbow and steered him out of the café. But I knew it was too late. Desperate for a dad worth knowing – worth forgiving – with the simple faith of a child, Joey decided to give Sean a chance.
And I couldn’t blame him. I knew I mustn’t try to change his mind, that I shouldn’t allow my feelings on the matter to influence how I handled Joey’s. But, ooh, how I wished that smooth-talking, drops-in-now-it’s-convenient, not-even-a-part-time-dad had never come here. I couldn’t wait for him to go back.
35
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day Seventy-Nine
I had been invaded. Again. Only worse. It was nine-thirty on Saturday morning, Joey had headed off for an early football match, and I’d planned a lazy morning to combat the stress of the day before. However, somehow my house had become the headquarters for the Amelia Piper Swimming Centre PoolPal campaign. Maybe I should have known that sending Mel the link to the JustGiving page I’d set up would result in half the Larks plus associated children and elderly mother turning up on my doorstep, but I was still getting used to this whole friends thing.
An hour after Mel and Dani’s arrival, I was still pretending that the ratty, oversized leggings and long-sleeved T-shirt I’d worn were my outfit for the day, not that of the night before. Mel’s two older boys, Jordan and Riley, were at home in bed. Taylor was spending the weekend with her dad, so Tiff and Tate were now in my living room watching one of Joey’s old Disney DVDs while Mel chose a good publicity photo of Tate. Marjory and Bronwyn were sat at my desk, designing a logo, and Dani was trying to put together a couple of paragraphs to pass on to the press that managed to tug on heartstrings without pulling so hard they made people cringe. Bronwyn’s mother, Gwen, was assembling mince pies at my kitchen table.
‘It calms her down, see,’ Bronwyn had told me, unloading a mountain of ingredients when she’d first arrived. ‘She’s got dementia. Early onset – it’s why I joined the Larks. My dad can manage first thing, but once he’s at work she needs me around. It’s fair dos, he takes the evening shifts while I’m working. But anyway, she was a Saturday girl in a bakery, back in Swansea, and she’s not lost her touch, have you, Mam?’
Gwen didn’t answer, but she smiled faintly while adding a handful of orange peel to a huge metal bowl.
I did my best to smile back. While Joey had often invited whole groups of friends over in the past, this was the first time I’d ever had a houseful. Seeing my kitchen crammed with people –Teammates?Friends?!– discussing and joking and working together, was incredible but overwhelming. I didn’t know the rules, didn’t know how I felt about them rooting through my cupboards, moving my stuff and taking up all my space. Then I thought about the quiet, lonely tomb my house had been for the past few years and decided I felt flippin’ well over the moon about it.
‘Where do you work?’ I asked Bronwyn, while putting the kettle on, a genuine smile on my face now.
‘Oh, security at Outlaws. The new venue in Nottingham?’
‘Security?’
Bronwyn grinned, and flexed her muscles. ‘I’m the best bouncer they’ve got. Ever been there?’
‘No.’ But I’d heard of it. The rumour was that the doormen (and women, as it turned out) were checking that you’d got a suitable weapon before letting you in, rather than the usual way around. Even if I had a social life, was ten years younger and had the energy or the money for a night in Nottingham, I would have had to be a genuine outlaw before venturing inside Outlaws. And Bronwyn was in the paid employ of the crooks who ran the place. Gulp.
She wrinkled her tiny, pert nose. ‘Yeah, I know it’s not one hundred per cent morally sound, but I need the money, and they paygoodmoney. One day Mam might need full-time care. We don’t know how much longer Dad can work since his stroke, and forget a rainy day, I’m saving for the crapstorm I know is heading our way. Once I’ve got enough saved, I’ll be back in an office somewhere.’
‘If you live that long,’ Dani said, looking up from where her laptop rested on top of my hob.
‘Well, the only other way I know how to earn this much a night involves stuff that would make my Daddy cry if he ever found out. And if it all turns ugly, I know a good lawyer.’
‘You better not need this lawyer,’ Dani frowned. ‘I wage courtroom war against some nasty pieces of work, but I would consider retirement before I messed with those Outlaws. The clue is in the name.’
We were interrupted by a knock at the door. Strange. If it had been another Lark, they’d surely have just swanned in. All my friends bar one (who I knew was working all morning) were here already, plus extras. That left ex-boyfriends, pushy journalists or one of Joey’s friends. And Joey’s friends didn’t call round unannounced at this time of the morning.
While I was still wondering who it might be, hoping it would be someone who wouldn’t want to come in – I had hit my physical, mental and emotional capacity for guests about four guests ago – Marjory answered the door.
‘Oh, hello!’ she said. ‘Long time no see.’
‘Marjory,’ a voice I knew better than my own mother’s replied.
Oh no.
Who do I even introduce her as?
How do I explain knowing her?
I’mnotreadytotellthemyet. I still want to be Amy for a while longer.
PLEASE don’t tell them.
Marjory stepped back to allow Cee-Cee in, and any panic that my secret was about to be exposed or annoyance at her uninvited appearance dissolved at the sight of her dishevelled state and grey complexion as she scanned the occupants of the kitchen with shrunken eyes, before they came to rest on me.
