Chapter 13 - Nick, Monday

I hate early shifts on a Monday - it’s the only day you have to get up early and open the store - every other day it’s been open all night, so it’s got it’s own momentum, there’s a cross-over of staff and it just seems to run really smoothly. Sundays are different because it’s a later start, and by the time you’ve had enough the day’s over anyway. But Mondays, no. Everyone turns up at the same time, with that same unhappy to be back at work feeling and it just feel likes all day you’re struggling uphill. Of course by the time the afternoon shift come on everything is up and running and they just look at you like you’re an idiot for even complaining.
Honestly, you can’t believe there’d be people queuing for groceries on a Monday morning. They’re mostly old people - what have they got to do all day? Why do they need to be here at 8am, cluttering the place up before we’ve even got any tills open? I’m not really fond of the bunch of staff I’ve got either. The Bens are at college, Brenda’s doing lates, and the rest of the crowd from Saturday aren’t in so it’s just me and a bunch of middle-aged women who just look at me sourly. Give it a rest girls, none of this is my fault!

The christening turned out to be a lot more fun than I’d expected, when it finally crawled to an end. We all waited in the churchyard to take pictures, and Emma even managed to stop crying long enough to smile for the photos. The baby slept through it all of course, oblivious to the fact that he was the cause of all the fuss. His Dad didn’t stop grinning all day, chest puffed out like the proud Dad he obviously is. I just wish he was a little less straight, then I might be able to get on with him a bit better. He has an air of a rugby playing public schoolboy about him, although he’s none of those things. He’s prone to stupid macho things like punching you on the arm in greeting, which would be fine if he weighed seven stone, but there’s a lot of him and he invariably leaves a bruise!
Emma’s Mum was fussing over the baby, while trying to cling onto her silly hat. Mum would have laughed - a hat at a christening? Who does she think she is? She’s actually Dad’s sister, and her and Mum never really got on. Mum doesn’t really get on with many people though, so I’m not surprised. I think she thought her brother could have done a bit better, which makes me wonder what she really thinks of Shirley.
Dad wasn’t outside the church when I got out, so I assumed he’d snuck off, but it turned out he was round the back of the church having a crafty fag. When we were kids we didn’t even know he smoked - Mum would never let him do it anywhere near us, so he always used to sneak off outside when he needed to, and if it was summer and we were already outside and could see him he’d wander down the street on some pretext. I kind of know what Mum was thinking, but we were going to smoke if we wanted to so I don’t know why she bothered. It was probably just another way of punishing Dad for being such a disappointment to her.
We exchanged nods in the churchyard but didn’t speak till later. Turned out there was food in a local pub. The landlord was a good friend of theirs so he shut the pub specially, despite the fact he could have filled it with people for lunch. They made him godfather, although I’m sure that had more to do with him being an old friend than having a suitable venue! How fantastic to have a godfather who runs a pub - I can’t even remember who mine are. I think the relatives were all used up on Simon, so I got friends or neighbours, people who I’ve not seen in years and who never made much of an impression on me in my youth. I wondered why they bothered at all? It’s like middle names - why bother? Why do I need a name I’ll never use? Christopher. You can’t even shorten it to Chris, like you would do if it was your first name, and like I do with Nicholas. I’m no more a Nicholas than I am a Christopher! This baby got saddled with Callum Samuel. Heavens. Samuel is a family name apparently, although why they didn’t just shorten it to Sam and give him that is anyone’s guess. Callum? Oh dear.

As we strolled round to the pub I caught up with Emma, who’d momentarily lost the baby to her Mother. She really did look well, giving up work suited her and she seemed more relaxed than I remembered. She tactfully didn’t mention Mum or Simon, which was a relief, but she did seem pleased I’d come. I just hoped she’d like the gift. In an ideal world I’d have liked to have bought a silver rattle from Tiffany’s, just for the gorgeous blue box really, but supermarket wages don’t stretch that far and I’m not even sure Emma would have appreciated the significance of it. There’s a particular kind of person that practically genuflects at the merest mention of the name, but to everyone else it’s just another jewellers, and a rattle is a rattle. Of course the sensible thing would have been to use my staff discount to get her a pile of nappies, but that’s not much of a gift, sSo I settled on a silver St Christopher from a second-hand stall on the market. I doubt it’s very old or even valuable, but I liked the idea of giving something with a history to somebody who has no history of their own yet. Of course it will spend its whole life in a cupboard, but I felt better for buying it.

The pub was surprisingly nice - one of those gastro-pub type places where the food is a lot better than scampi and chips in a basket. They made it look nice inside, to appeal to the kind of people they were hoping to attract - lots of pale colours and wood, prints on the wall, single flowers artfully standing in oddly shaped vases. It’s the kind of place that would be a nightmare to drink in - it was practically a restaurant in all but name, which is fine if that’s what you’re looking for, but fifteen kinds of red wine are no use when you want a decent pint! Thankfully they had that too, and a queue formed at the bar matching the one that formed at the baby. It wasn’t divided along the sexes as you might think - I got chatting to the woman in front of me who turned out to be the godmother. I didn’t recognise her without her hat on, and we had one of those frivolous, flirty chats that make the wait seem shorter. She wandered off with her Guinness and I was about to head outside with mine when I turned round and bumped straight into Dad.

“Hello Dad”
“Hello son”

Oh I wish he wouldn’t do that, I know he was just doing it to make us feel closer, but sometimes I thought he did it because he couldn’t remember which one I was.

“Shirley not with you?”
“No, she’s in Spain with some girls she used to work with. They go every year to get some sun and get away from their husbands.”

That must have felt odd - Dad had never married Shirley although I’d never bothered to ask him why. I wonder if he didn’t want to make the same mistake twice? Or perhaps he was just happier as they were. He certainly looked well.

“Lucky woman, sounds fun.”
“Yeah. So how you keeping? You look a bit tired.”
“I’m OK, late night. Hungover. Should really still be in bed.”
“Why? You leave someone in there?”

That was said with one of those men of the world types grins. He knew that anyone I’d have left behind would have been a bloke, he just liked to think he was talking one gigolo to another. If he’d have given it any thought he’d have known I wasn’t like that, and I doubt he was anymore.

“No Dad, I mean to sleep. A few more hours would have been nice.”
“How’s your Mum?”
“OK I guess, we don’t see as much of each other as she’d like, but Simon makes up for it.”
“And how’s he?”
“He seems fine. You could always speak to him yourself.”
“Why? Is he here?”

He looked slightly panicked at the idea. I think he though Simon would start a row if they ever met, but in truth Simon was no more likely to cause a scene in public than I was. In that respect we were very much our mother’s sons.

“Don’t panic, he couldn’t make it.”
“Didn’t want to bump into me more like”

Silence. I wasn’t going to lie to him. He knew how things were between them, he was a grown-up, he didn’t need me to cover it up for him.

“Yeah, I thought so. Uptight little prick.”
“Dad, don’t start, it’s old news”
“Yeah it is. Well, I’m glad you’re OK, you should come round and see us, Shirley would be pleased to see you.”
“OK Dad, I might”
“OK, now I better go and see what that sister of mine wants. She’s been waving her bag at me for ages trying to attract my attention. What does she look like in that hat?”

With that he grinned and wandered off. That wasn’t so bad was it? I honestly don’t know why Simon makes such a fuss about it. I guess it’s because he’s still tied to Mum’s apron strings. Oh good , they’re serving food - I wonder if there’s time to grab another drink?