Extra Ordinary

Jack was half-way through his second straight pot of coffee when the buzz kicked in. That was when he realised he was in for a day to remember. He refolded The Times and laid it on the kitchen table. Then he picked up the Daily Mail – his wife’s – and read it as fast as he could. That task completed, he got up and stretched, the extra sausage and egg he’d recently consumed lodged heavily in his stomach.
Anna, his wife, was still in bed, although not for much longer, he imagined. As he neared the top of the stairs, he heard the familiar sounds of bickering children. So they were awake. That was a good thing as there was no time to lose. He and Anna had two children, twin boys (which was apt, he supposed) aged four years. He strode into Ben’s and Matthew’s room and saw the two playing with cars on the carpet.
‘Right, you two: downstairs.’ He clapped his hands twice, like the king of Siam. Normally, he and Anna took a child each, to get through it more easily, but today he took both boys through the familiar eating, washing and dressing routine. Although he rushed it, he made no mistakes; Ben and Matthew looked shell-shocked as he took them through everything, and they stood there and quietly let him do stuff to them. Eventually they were trussed up in their clothes. He left them, telling them to clean their teeth and that their mum would be up soon.
Jack left the house earlier than normal, despite the extra breakfast, coffee, newspaper and child. Saturday was his day! He planned to make the most of it, before Sunday arrived, when roles were reversed and Anna had her day of leisure. This had been their routine for four years, since the twins arrived.
But today was not about routine, although it would be ordinary. He planned the most god-damned ordinary day it would send shivers down the spine of the average gangster. This Saturday – his day – would be so brimming full of ordinary things, he would never yearn for an exciting life again.
Firstly, he took his Volvo to the car-wash. Normally, he would lovingly clean it with a sponge at home, but he decided, with time-constraints and all, he would allow himself to take it through the automatic. He was second in line, behind a woman in a Golf who was frowning at the faded instructions on the side of the car-wash. She had parked with her wheel on the sensor, then got out, and was now entering her code on the key-pad. ‘Code accepted,’ he imagined it said. ‘Enter car wash.’ As she walked back to her car, she looked up and saw the big brushes expand as they started to spin. She continued walking and looking, looking and walking, agog as the big arm came down towards her. Too slow to react, the wheel-brush tripped her and she fell against the side of the car. The big side-brush was upon her before she knew what was happening. She was being mangled like a bin-bag in a refuse lorry. Jack got out and hammered the red STOP button. The rotation was instantly stilled and there was silence apart from dripping water from the brushes, and whimpering from the woman, prostrate in a puddle, her eyes closed, and – it occurred to Jack – the red skin of her face was whipped extraordinarily clean.
He gave the car wash a miss and went home. As usual, he phoned his mum, to see if she needed anything. No, she didn’t need anything, although she could use a new hip if he had one spare. He laughed; the old joke hid a sad truth. He said he’d see what he could find down the market but he might need to sell one of the boys to afford it. Jack, she tutted, was just like his dad.
After about ten minutes discussing ordinary things, they exchanged goodbyes and he put down the phone. His hand lingered over the receiver and then picked it up again. He produced from his jacket a small piece of paper and dialled the number that was written on it. He waited for someone to pick up. At last, someone did.
‘Hello? Dad, this is Jack.’ He explained that he got the number from Mum some time last year, just in case anything happened to her. No, there was nothing wrong. He just wanted to talk. They talked for about fifteen minutes and agreed to meet up.
‘Morning, Jack.’ They kissed. Anna was pleased to see him. ‘You were up early.’
‘Yeah, I wanted to wash the car.’ He didn’t elaborate, and it occurred to him that the car was still dirty. Are the kids ready?’
They appeared on cue, wearing identical thick coats and Wellington boots. This cheered him up. ‘Okay – let’s go!’
They drove forty minutes into the forest, and parked in a lay-by. They had talked a couple of weekends ago about bringing the kids up here. Jack and Anna used to come walking regularly before they were married. They seemed to have more time then.
The lake looked beautiful in springtime. As he walked, he became conscious of not actually looking around him. He was wondering what else the day had in store for him. How much more could he fit in?
‘Any chance of you slowing down?’
He looked back and was surprised to see Anna so far behind. She was carrying Ben, while Matthew had one arm clamped to her jacket and looked determined not to take another step.
‘Come on, love, we’ve hardly started. I thought you wanted to get out of your comfort zone and actually do something.’
‘You’re being a dickhead, Jack. Give me the car key – we’re going. You can do what you like.’
Jack, as planned, completed a circuit of the lake. Then, another task ticked off, he set off towards the main road where he knew he could get the bus into town.

* * *

‘O’ course, Jack, it was ‘ard but I never regretted it.’
A fug of laughter, big screen football and rattling air-conditioning encroached on the small, round table. He couldn’t remember the last time he drank in a pub without ordering a meal. He became conscious one elbow was resting in a beery puddle, and sat up straighter.
The man opposite Jack was focussing somewhere behind him. ‘Y’see, there comes a time when you’ve just got to say, “Well, ol’ chap – this life isn’t working; it’s time to go out there and get me another one.” So that’s what I did.’ Jack found it unsettling to be holding a conversation with someone who was looking somewhere else. Especially as the man was talking about his decision to leave his wife – Jack’s mum – fifteen years earlier. He involuntarily followed his dad’s gaze. There were two women hunched in conversation on another table. They were, he noticed, very attractive. ‘So whaddya think of ‘em, son? I’d fackin’do either of ‘em, given the chance. Or both.’
The old man’s comment brought fourth laughter which developed into a hacking, wheezing cough. He looked his son in the eye (‘At last,’ thought Jack) and took another drink of his bitter. Then he placed the pint glass next to his other drink, a rum chaser.
He rose from his chair. ‘Fancy a smoke?’
Jack didn’t but went outside with him. It was just getting dark, and a northerly wind made him feel less than comfortable under the tarpaulin.
‘Fack me, son,’ he said, exhaling smoke with venom. ‘Two of everything? Are you right in the ‘ead?’
Jack tried his best to explain, but perhaps it didn’t come across well. He attempted to clarify, about how he never had time for anything any more. He used to do interesting things but had to cut back on those and only do ordinary things. Now, he never seemed to have time even for the ordinary things. So why not spend a day fitting everything in and see what happened? He just woke up one day with this idea of filling his day with as many ordinary things as he could, and no matter how he tried, the idea wouldn’t leave him.
Despite the thickening gloom of the evening, Jack knew that his dad’s eyes were squarely on him. He had opened himself up more than he had with anyone really close. And even though the two men were all but strangers, Jack cared – really cared – what his dad’s reaction would be.
The old man let his cigarette stub fall from his fingers, looked down at it while he stood on it, and blew out the last of the smoke thoughtfully.
‘Come on, let’s have another drink.’

* * *

Back inside, they were greeted by the sound of Final Score. Jack looked round, but couldn’t locate the TV. They managed to retrieve their table, despite the bar being noticeably busier.
‘I’ll get these, Dad. Do you want another tot of rum as well?’
His father assented with a quick nod. ‘Of course a tot in the navy was always quarter of a pint. Not like the miserable dribble you get nowadays.’
As far as Jack was aware, his father had never been in the navy, but bought him a double.
Jack disappointed himself by noticing that the two women on the next table had gone, and had been replaced by a team of students.
‘Fackin’ wasters.’
Jack wondered if he was trying to get a reaction from him, or whether he genuinely didn’t know that he had graduated with honours a decade earlier.
‘Y’know, last time I saw you, you were a right zitty greasepot. Shit, I’d never’ve guessed you’d ‘ave a fackin family next time I saw you.’ He put the creased photograph on the table; Jack scooped it up and replaced it in his wallet, before it was ruined by the spilt beer.
Jack remembered the sixteen year old he was when he last saw his father. Pale, skinny, with an Iron Maiden T-shirt faded from black to grey. He pushed his wallet back into his pocket. ‘You should come and meet them, Dad. The kids. Anna.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘You’d like it. Playing Grandad for a while.’
‘We’ll see.’
Jack didn’t push it. He realised that he had only just found out he was a grandfather, which must be a shock.
‘So wotcha think of married life, son?’
‘Good,’ replied Jack. ‘Great, in fact.’
‘So good you need some weird quest to feel ‘appy?’
‘It’s got nothing to do with the family. It’s just about having no time.’
Jack watched his father’s face contort in disbelief. ‘What you need, son, is an ‘ealthy ‘obby. Two of ‘em, if you prefer. Or a fancy woman. That’d pep things up.’
‘No, that’s not going to happen.’
‘Didn’t do me any ‘arm.’ He sat back in his chair, confident he’d nailed the problem. He drained his rum in one go. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

* * *

‘She’s got two of everythin’, son.’
The street that Jack had allowed himself to be led down was known locally as Randy Lane. The dark doorways of industrial buildings were inhabited at this time of night by the shabby glitz of silk and bare skin. Occasionally a voice would call out to them as they passed: welcoming, entreating, arousing.
Jack felt drunk. Drunker, he believed, than his father although he’d had a good deal less alcohol. He felt a falling away of control as he tottered along. His dad would surely look after him. Daddy.
‘Jack,’ said a voice. ‘Jack, over here.’
Jack started to his senses. Who would know him here? He had a sudden dread of being recognised in Randy Lane.
His father slowed and returned the greeting. ‘Gloria, my darlin’, you look lovely tonight.’ They walked over to the woman, who stepped out of the doorway so she could be better seen. She wore a skimpy white dress through which a red bra was visible. Over her shoulders hung a fake fur gilet, similar (it occurred to Jack) to his wife’s.
‘I haven’t seen you for ages, Jack darling. Give me a hug.’
It took Jack a while to realise she was addressing his father. The older Jack hugged her like family and kissed her on the cheek. They remained close together. ‘Who’s you’re friend, big boy?’
His father looked briefly over at him. ‘That’s my son, that is. Good lookin’ bloke, wouldn’ya say?’
Gloria laughed. ‘You’re a dark horse, Jack! You should bring him along more often, there’s always room for a little one.’
‘He can sort himself out, you naughty mare!’ He slapped her playfully on the bottom.
Jack felt the colour rising to his face and was glad of the darkness. He watched the man and woman in front of him walk slowly away, arms linked, the conversation flowing.
‘See ya, son,’ was the only thing said to him.
Alone, and suddenly feeling the cold, he pushed his face further into his coat and put his hands deeper into his pockets. He walked quickly away from this place, paying no attention to the calls.
It seemed somehow wrong that having a conversation with his father should be such a momentous event. He only had a mum, which was so very ordinary. He wanted something more than ordinary, something twice as good. Hey Dad, how you doing? Did you see the game yesterday? Yes, I’m fine. Love you.