Open Writing

At the time a lot of people called me a bastard. A few patted me on the shoulder and said “Good for you. Just what I would have done.”

My Mum said nothing. She knows when to keep quiet. But I know what she’s thinking. She doesn’t have to say anything. My sisters think there’s something wrong with me, a thirty-odd year old, living at home with my Mum. They couldn’t wait to leave home. It’s different for girls.

I’d better explain about me and Janet and the l word.

Janet and I got on reasonably well together, although she’s not very bright. I say that in a neutral kind of way without judging her, if you understand what I mean. Certainly everyone who knew Janet would agree with me. Except her parents. Perhaps. I made our relationship very clear. I don’t mean that I sat her down in front of me and said “Sex - OK. Marriage - not OK. Babies - not OK. Long-term commitment - not OK. Just see how we go. All right ?” Nothing as crude as that. But I did make my attitude clear more than once in various ways. And she accepted our relationship on those terms. Or at least she said she did.

She was on the pill. One of my mates said he reckoned she’d been on the pill since she was about ten and then apologised. No need, I said. No offence intended, he said. None taken, I said.

I’ll explain about the l word. Women need the l word, but men hate that kind of language and most of us try not to use it. It slips out from time to time in the heat of the moment, so to speak, and we usually regret it. Some men I know use the l word all the time and they always regret it. Most of us despise them for it. My motto is: Don’t use the l word unless you really mean it.

Janet certainly knew my views on the l word, so she didn’t use it or expect me to use it. I appreciated that. She knew that as far as I was concerned she could let other men use the l word with her. It was up to her, I said. I don’t think there were other men, but I knew that if there were I couldn’t complain. You’ve got to be fair about these things.

When she told me she was pregnant, I could have asked her if she knew who the father was, but I didn’t. That would have been cheap.

“So we’ve got a problem,” she said.

“Correction,” I said. “You’ve got a problem. You told me you were on the pill.”

“Well, I came off the pill. And you didn’t take precautions.”

“Because you told me you were on the pill. What are you going to do ?”

“What do you think we ought to do ?”

“I’m not going to do anything. What about you ?”

“You bastard.”

“You deceived me, Janet. It’s not going to work. Remember: no long-term commitments; no babies; no marriage. Let me know what you decide.”

Although she had deceived me I didn’t feel angry. It was up to her. She’d broken our agreement, not me.

That didn’t stop other people calling me a bastard. And others patting me on the shoulder and saying “Good for you. Just what I would have done.”

My Mum said nothing. The baby must have been conceived in her house, but she never reproached either of us. She always made sure we had a good breakfast. She’s that kind of Mum.

Janet went away and, I think, had her baby. Well, I say “think” because I didn’t know one way or the other at the time. I do now.

I came home one day about a fortnight ago and my Mum said quietly “Janet’s been in touch.” She knew I appreciated quiet conversations. Some of my mates had shouting matches at home. I am not the shouting match type. Never have been.

“Why ?”
“She wonders if you’d like to see your daughter.”

I confess I felt proud then. It was the words your daughter. No-one had ever used them to me before, of course. I would now be able to say my daughter. I felt good. Some people would say that I hadn’t earned the right to say my daughter, but you can’t get away from facts, can you ?

My Mum was looking at me. A thought came into my head.

“You’re a grandmother, Mum !”

“Yes,” she said. “And do you know how long I’ve been a grandmother ?”

I thought and then whistled.

“Christ !” I said. “About ten years.”

We both said nothing. My Mum made some tea. We usually have a cup of tea when there’s something to discuss. She put me in the picture.

Janet had gone to her parents and had given birth to Natasha. She got married to Steve and had a son by him. I knew Steve. Nice chap. Had the right idea about the l word I remember. He knew Natasha was mine. They became a family: Janet and Steve,
Natasha and Adam. Natasha came home from school one day. For homework she had to write an essay about her ideal father and ideal mother. A bit dangerous, I thought. Parents wouldn’t be too happy being slagged off in school like this. Janet read Natasha’s essay and talked to Steve. They agreed the time had come. They told her. She said she wanted to see me. I don’t know whether her mother told her I was a bastard. Janet and Steve were willing to abide by my decision. This time I had a problem. My Mum waited. She never leant on me. I know some parents her age thought she was too soft on me.

“I’d like to see Natasha,” I said. “Would you like to come along ?”

A meeting was arranged. My Mum and I were invited to tea. I was tickled pink, as my grandmother used to say. When Janet and I had agreed about our relationship, neither of us had thought it might turn out like this. You know: “Natasha, this is your father. And this is your daughter.” What would have happened if I’d said “OK, we can have a baby, but I don’t want to clap eyes on it till it’s grown up.” Put like that, I really would have been a bastard, don’t you think ? I think I’d have to agree with you. But a ready-made, up-and-running ten-year old daughter ! I could hardly wait.

The tea party was quite a success. At least, I think so. My Mum did just what she always does. She was bright and cheerful, knew what to say and when, knew when to say nothing. Steve and Janet were a bit uncertain. I can understand that. It must have been a weight off their minds, I suppose, letting the truth come out at last.

Natasha was quiet to start with, but opened up when I started to ask her about school. She took me up to her room and showed me her CDs and her posters. She’s learning the recorder and she played a couple of pieces for me. She was nervous, of course, I could understand that. I don’t know much about that kind of music, but it sounded OK.

She showed me her photo album - friends and Janet and Steve and pets and gran and grandad and Disneyworld, that sort of thing. Then she showed me a big card which she had made specially for me. And there it was ! The l word ! For me ! I gave her a big kiss and a hug and said it was the nicest thing anyone had ever given me. I meant it. Janet and Steve looked at each other then. I think I may have cried a bit. The l word ! A ten-year old girl has used it on me !

I will have to think some more about the l word. Some people might say I’d left it a bit late.