Tim Connor Hits Trouble Read online

  Maria’s patter began to slow down and then stopped after about an hour. The sound of gentle and intermittently emphatic snoring confirmed that she had fallen asleep. He had intended to stop at the Watford Gap so that they could have a snack. Deciding against waking her, he pulled into the service station anyway. He stretched himself, drank some bottled water and made a call to Charlie and Rose confirming the approximate time of their arrival.

  As he restarted the car Maria awoke.

  ‘Where are we, Dad?’

  ‘We’re just leaving The Watford Gap. It’s about half-way to where we’re going.’

  ‘That’s funny.’

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘Why is it called a gap?’

  ‘There’s probably a gap in some hills near here.’

  ‘Near Watford?’

  Tim thought for a moment.

  ‘Good question. As it happens we’re not that near the town of Watford which is quite close to London.’

  ‘So why is it called Watford?’

  Despite having passed through it innumerable times, Tim had suddenly become conscious of his total ignorance of how the Watford Gap, a good fifty miles north of Watford, had got its name. He reached for an escape.

  ‘Maria, angel, we’ll look it up on Google later. Maybe there’s another Watford.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter Daddy,’ Maria sounded sleepy again.

  Moss Vale lies off the stretch of motorway that joins the M1 to the M6 – about halfway between the two. Fortunately for its inhabitants the village is sufficiently far from the motorway to allow them to ignore it other than in matters of commuting and supply. Once off the motorway, the approach to the village continues from the south-east by narrow roads, some without pavements, and heavily wooded on either side. Coming into a clearing of farmland the motorist dips into a broad, shallow valley where the village suddenly appears. Moss Vale is idyllic in a way that increasingly few English villages still are, lashed as much of the countryside is by concrete.

  They had scarcely finished parking when Charlie and Rose were out of the house ready to welcome them. Charlie was a powerful, six-foot, sixteen stone. Next to him Tim looked almost skinny. Rose was about half Charlie’s weight and almost a foot smaller. Both of them worked as social workers in Birmingham.

  Tim got out of the car to receive his friends’ usual warm greetings. Their attention though was focused on Maria who they hadn’t seen for over two years. The star of the occasion was still half asleep and not quite up to the fuss. Lifted out of the back of the car by her dad and passed from the arms of Charlie to Rose she came over grumpily shy and reluctant.

  ‘Put me down! Put me down!’

  ‘Maria, say please,’ Tim intervened.

  To his surprise she did. Better still, once back on the ground she went straight over to him, pushing up closely against his leg. He ruffled her dark curls reassuringly. He felt relieved and a touch proud that in the absence of her mother he was her base point. It felt like a minor breakthrough. During the last year in Wash and even more in Peyton she was inclined to be untrusting or ambivalent. Gina was right that spending an extended period with his daughter might open things up for them. It had begun well enough despite her uncertain mood.

  ‘Maria,’ said Rose coaxingly, ‘you must be hungry. We’ve got some lovely food for you and Daddy. Let’s go inside now and settle you in.’

  She reached out for Maria’s hand. Maria declined to budge from her father’s side but Rose had caught her interest.

  ‘What kind of food?’

  ‘Just one thing,’ broke in Charlie, ‘we have a big, friendly dog, Maria. He’s called Stanley. He likes children. He’s met Daddy already so he can go in before you.’

  Stanley, more usually known as Stan, was a huge, black German Shepherd. He briefly bristled and growled at Tim before recognition flashed and he padded up to renew acquaintance. Maria was caught between fascination and awe at Stan, but once she had stroked his glossy back became besotted.

  Rose and Charlie put themselves out to make their visitors comfortable and especially to give Maria a good time. They intended to do their bit to smooth the path of father and daughter. The food they provided for dinner was fresh and much of it home-grown or home-made, including the fruit drinks and ice cream that Maria consumed with such gusto that eventually she had to be restrained. The roast chicken that the four of them enjoyed came from a local farm. Faced with the evidence of two tasty helpings Maria agreed that it was better than McNuggets and even better than the long dead Colonel’s KFC pieces. After a couple of hours she went contentedly to bed insisting only that she shared a bedroom with Tim and that the bedroom door remained open until he came up. The agreement was honoured but as she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was unaware of this until the morning.

  Charlie and Rose arranged the next four days so seamlessly and unobtrusively that Tim began to develop illusions of effortless competence about his parenting skills. He didn’t yet appreciate how much easier and less exhausting it is for three rather than one adult to absorb and channel the energies of a child over an extended period. The four of them spent an afternoon together in a Safari park, and on other occasions rode on a steam train and took a rowing boat out on a local river. For Tim and Maria the area around the house provided as much fun as sorties into more distant countryside. There was virtually no garden at the front of the house, just a concreted yard for parking, but the garden at the back was huge. It was large enough to harbour two trees, an apple and a pear, and a galaxy of flowering shrubs. There was a small pond with goldfish that with the help of a protective-gauze survived the attentions of the local cats. A wrought iron table with matching chairs placed outside the back door gave the option of eating al fresco. On a couple of occasions they did so. For Tim it all knitted together as the ideal release from the tensions of the past few months. He even forgot about his writing. For Maria it was the perfect introduction to English arcadia.

  Adjacent to the garden was an extensive wheat field. In mid April the crop formed an army of stiff yellowish stalks with green heads, not yet the rippling blond and gold of later months. There was some uncertainty about whether the public had right of way to the path around the field but Charlie and Rose sometimes took Stan for a walk along it. On the few occasions when they coincided with the owner, their over-cheerful greetings elicited a grunt and baleful stare. But it got no worse than that. For their part, they kept Stan on his lead when walking round the field and made sure he never strayed into it from the garden. It was different in the uncultivated land further to the north of the village where Stan roamed almost at will. Maria’s friendship with him blossomed and it was a highlight of her stay when, under the eye of one of the adults, she took him out for walks.

  Maria responded well to being a child amongst grown-ups, enjoying the extra attention without being too demanding. On the couple of occasions when she became restless, a chat on the phone with her mum was enough to calm her down. Only once did Tim have to spend a few minutes resettling her into bed. Even then the problem was not a major tantrum, but a mild attack of anxiety that didn’t seem to have any obvious immediate cause. Tim stayed in the bedroom until finally she was well asleep.

  Chapter 23

  The Lord and the Lady

  The one occasion when Tim took Maria out without the buffer of Rose and Charlie, his Walter Mitty life as a parent received a sharp reality check. Both his hosts were attending an in-service training course in Birmingham that they were unable to get out of. Tim knew Coventry better than Birmingham and decided to spend the day there with Maria. Although Coventry is something of an incoherent patchwork of a city, many aspects of it are individually interesting. It offers much from several periods of history. Its medieval cathedral was bombed to a skeleton by the Luftwaffe but a fine new one was built, not in its place but next to and intertwined with its remains. They stand together as symbols of destruction and renewal. Inside the new Coventry Cathedra
l, dominating the main altar and view from the central aisle is a portrait of the risen Christ. Its powerful presence symbolises resurrection, although as a work of art the tapestry by Graham Sutherland is controversial. In her own way Maria honed in on the debate.

  ‘Why has he got such a big tummy and no legs?’ she whispered.

  ‘That’s not just his tummy, it’s a robe that covers his legs as well.’

  ‘Is that why his feet are poking out?’

  ‘Yes… Let’s go outside now. There’s something I want to show you.’

  The ‘something’ was a massive Epstein sculpture of Saint Michael the Archangel standing astride the bound and defeated Satan. It hangs on the East wall close to the cathedral’s entrance. Starkly dramatic its impact is immediate enough to impress a child. Maria was impressed and interested.

  ‘What is it about, Daddy?’

  Tim hesitated for a moment.

  ‘It’s about the victory of the good angels over the bad angels. You could say the triumph of good over evil. Saint Michael was a good angel on the side of God. Satan was a bad angel. He wanted to become more important than God.’

  ‘I’m glad the good angels won. Do the goodies always win?’

  ‘Not always, mostly maybe.’

  Maria appeared slightly troubled by this answer. Tim was concerned that he might be introducing her to life’s central moral conundrum too early. She was not quite finished.

  ‘But in the end, do the goodies win?’

  Tim decided to lighten the mood. He quickly lifted her up and face-to-face spoke in confidential tones.

  ‘Listen. I’m going to take you to see something else that’s special but first I think we should go and buy ourselves ice-creams.’

  Maria took the bait. Conveniently there was a mobile ice-cream stall outside the cathedral grounds.

  Clutching their ice creams they set off to find the statue of Lady Godiva, the naked women on a horse. In its own way the legend of Lady Godiva is another story of the triumph of good over evil or, at least, virtue over selfishness. Godiva, upset by her husband’s penal taxation of his serfs, repeatedly pleaded with him to stop exploiting them. Finally, in exasperation he agreed to do so, provided that she rode naked on horseback through the city. Lady Godiva accepted the bargain but insisted that the city folk kept their eyes averted during her ride. According to legend, a character nicknamed ‘Peeping Tom’ famously failed to restrain him-self.

  Telling the story to Maria in front of the six metres high statue of the lady on the horse was an easy pitch. But drawing a clear and simple moral message for her was more difficult than in the case of the Archangels, Michael and Lucifer. Even Godiva’s compassion for the poor was demonstrated in an odd way as well as in a fashion that provoked salacious curiosity. Maria was not wholly convinced that she should have agreed to take all her clothes off, observing that ‘she could at least have kept her knickers on.’ Tim argued the lady’s case, pointing out that she had used her long hair to protect her modesty. His own interest inclined more to the motives of her husband who had thought up the bizarre if picaresque performance in the first place. He arrived at the original diagnosis that his lordship was exhibiting ‘exhibitionism by proxy,’ a notion he did not share with his daughter. Aesthetically, though, it felt more pleasing that the lady, not the lord had ridden naked through the city. Either way it was not a stunt he would fancy pulling off himself.

  ‘Daddy, can I grow my hair long like Lady Godiva?’

  ‘It’s already long, Darling.’

  ‘It’s only down to my shoulders. I want it down to my waist.’

  ‘I don’t think you can grow thick curly hair that far.’

  ‘Yes you can.’

  Tim was tempted to pass the buck by suggesting that Maria refer the matter to her mum. But his confidence in his own parental skills was growing. Instead he employed for a second time the technique of introducing an interesting distraction.

  ‘Maria, it’s time to buy Charlie and Rose presents. Maybe we could get a small present for you as well. You deserve one. You’ve been very good this week. Think about what you’d like while we walk to the shopping mall. And I might get a new shirt or a pair of jeans for myself.’

  Maria needed no further encouragement. In the shopping mall, fending off her eagerness to find a toyshop, Tim insisted that they first buy their hosts’ presents. ‘What shall we get Rose and Charlie?’

  ‘Some flowers like you used to get Mummy.’

  ‘Right. Why don’t we get them a plant in a pot? It will last longer than a bunch of flowers and they’ll think about us when they look at it.’

  ‘We could get them a strawberry plant. I like strawberries.’

  ‘We could, but they grow their own strawberries. They taste better than bought ones.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they’re fresher, they pick them straight from the garden. We could get them a blueberry plant. They haven’t got one of them.’

  ‘Ok. What else shall we get them?’

  ‘A bottle of wine. They sometimes like wine with their dinner.’

  ‘So do you, Daddy.’

  ‘Yes, well this is for them.’

  ‘Ok, then we can get my present.’

  By the time they had bought the plant and a bottle of Chateauneuf du Pape, Maria’s excitement had built up a head of steam. They quickly found a toyshop.

  ‘Have you decided what you want?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What?’

  Maria replied carefully, apparently having given the decision much thought.

  ‘A dolly or a football.’

  ‘A dolly or a football?’ Tim repeated, struggling to get his head round the proposal.

  ‘Yes,’ she confirmed.

  ‘Having got over his initial surprise, he had no doubt which way he wanted the decision to go, but she had to make it.’

  ‘What made you decide on those two?’

  I like dollies anyway and mummy says I’m good at football. Sometimes I play football with her. She’s always telling me you like football.’

  ‘That’s true. My dad, your granddad, was a footballer.’

  ‘I think I’ll get a football.’

  Tim continued to delay the final decision, pushing her to think it through.

  ‘What about when you get back home? What will you need most, a dolly or a football?’

  ‘I’ve got lots of dollies.’

  ‘So what do you think?’

  They ended up buying a full-size, panelled plastic football.

  The next stop was a café. By now Tim was purring along in progressive parent mode. He was in the zone. He effortlessly persuaded Maria away from the rash of junk food outlets in favour of the healthy food café, Giraffe. Admittedly Maria still gorged herself on waffles, ice cream and lemonade but Tim was reassured by the quality of the ingredients. After first polishing off a couple of eggs on toast, he had the same himself.

  Whether the blossoming success of the outing caused him to relax his parental guard or whether he was simply day-dreaming is unclear, but Tim’s next move lacked lateral awareness.

  ‘Maria, Daddy has to go to the toilet. Whatever you do, you mustn’t go away from here. I’ll only be gone for a couple of minutes. I’m leaving you in charge of the shopping. Make sure you stay in the restaurant. I’ll be two minutes.’

  He was as good as his word. In fact he was less than two minutes. The crass stupidity, negligence even, of his actions hit him half way through his pee. The job remained undone and so did his flies.

  He cannoned back into the restaurant, virtually taking the toilet door with him.

  No Maria.

  Blood pulsed through his head and chest. A white flash of panic momentarily half-blinded him. He rushed staggering into the mall. This must not happen. This cannot happen. Saint f…ing Anthony, help me find my…

  The mall rolled and shifted as he veered first in one direction and then the other.

  ‘Has anybody seen a l
ittle girl? She’s six with…’

  He stopped, gripped by a feeling of unreality. People were gaping at him, accelerating as they passed, an older woman looked concerned, hesitating as though she might say something.

  He felt a tug on his sleeve.

  ‘Sir.’

  He swung round.

  ‘Sir, your daughter is inside the restaurant waiting for you. She wants to know why you’re outside?’ A young waitress from Giraffe was looking at him reprovingly.

  Almost collapsing with relief he looked through the restaurant window. Maria was sat at their table, chatting to a second waitress who seemed to be serving her another ice cream.

  ‘Mystical shit!’

  ‘Pardon Sir?’

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘Sir, your flies are undone.’

  Wrestling with his zip, Tim hurtled back into Giraffe. Lifting his daughter out of her seat he gave her a giant squeeze.

  ‘Where the…Where have you been?’

  ‘I went to the toilet too. You only said not to leave the café.’ Maria had the grace to look guilty.

  Later that day, as the four of them enjoyed a post dinner kick around in the garden, Tim reflected on a truth that he had never previously quite apprehended – at least not existentially – that it is possible to care more about someone else than about oneself. Even so, he was relieved that from tomorrow it would be Gina that would be doing the caring. Well, most of it. His occasional fantasy that he might manage single parenthood alongside his career had not exactly been extinguished, but it was now and forever deprived of its innocent glow. He was beginning to appreciate something else - it was possible he might not be up to it.