“Oh, that’s . . .” I broke off, unsure how to continue. If I said it was awful, it would seem like a criticism of the boy’s father, and while I felt criticism would be very well justified, it wasn’t my place to give it.
Thankfully, Jake returned with my coffee at that point.
“Is Logan telling you gruesome stories?” he asked.
“Well, unhappy ones, perhaps,” I said.
He nodded. “Maybe we save the sad animal stories for Beth’s second visit?” he suggested.
Jake’s presence inspired the kids to ask me questions about their pets, and before I knew it, it was time for the session to end, and my glass jar was covered with depictions of Christmas baubles, which, if you looked closely, did not look more like balloons.
“Not bad for a first attempt,” said Jake, holding it up to the light. “What d’you think, guys?”
“It’s cool, miss.”
“Thanks. It’s not half as good as all of yours, though.”
“Stick around, Beth,” said Jake. “I’ll just let this lot out.”
When Jake returned, he was shrugging on a leather jacket. “Fancy coming to the Curve Garden to see the lights? We could get a beer, and I could tell you more about the centre. They serve food there if you’re hungry.”
It was the first time since my split with Jaimie that a man I didn’t really know had invited me to anything. And Jake seemed like a really nice guy. I smiled. “Thanks. I’d like that.”
“Great,” said Jake, smiling back at me. “Let’s go.”
22
Dalston East Curve Garden was a community garden established in a space that had once been derelict railway land. Now it was an oasis of peace with trees and flowers, and a space for picnics, games, and creative workshops. I’d forgotten about it when I’d been talking to Clare the other day, but now, as I walked towards it with Jake, I thought what a bonus the garden would be for me with a young child to entertain. Sure, I had my own garden, but the Curve Garden would be a place my child and I could go to socialise with others.
My child and I . . . It was becoming increasingly real to me that sometime next year I might be a mother. That it wouldn’t just be me in the flat. Not just me I had to think about when I was doing a food shop.
Jake’s voice startled me out of my musings. “I hope Logan didn’t upset you with all his talk of puppy drownings.”
“Well,” I said, “I can’t say it was the highlight of my visit. Mostly, I felt sorry for him, though. And the puppies, of course.”
Jake nodded. “He’s all right, really, Logan. Just has some difficult issues to deal with at home. He was in bits about those puppies, actually. Sobbing outside the centre. Wouldn’t come in because he didn’t want the other kids to see him like that.”
Jake sighed. “Kids like Logan have to act tough to get by. Trouble is, the tough act can end up sticking. We do what we can for young people, but it can be difficult watching the fallout when that’s not enough. Kids can end up blaming you, holding you responsible.”
I thought about Olivia and Emily—of the walls they’d put up against me. Had I tried as hard as I could to break their barriers down? I’d thought so at the time, but maybe my own vulnerability and unhappiness had held me back when the going had got tough. Maybe I ought to have kept on pushing, been more determined to forge a relationship with them. Shown them I wasn’t trying to replace their mother.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I imagined the three of us walking somewhere hand in hand, laughing together—me, Olivia, and Emily. Me offering them something different. Something good they could love me for. But the fantasy never included Jaimie—good old beloved Daddy Jaimie swooping in and taking over, needing to be the centre of his girls’ attention, needing to be needed.
“Looks as if that’s struck a chord,” Jake said.
I nodded. “This time last year I was a stepmother to two girls. It was really hard.”
“Being a stepparent is hard. And unfortunately, it’s an increasingly likely scenario in new relationships as you get older, isn’t it? I’ve been on both sides of the equation—coparented kids that weren’t mine and suffered the pain of a stranger coparenting my kids. It’s a minefield either way. But anyway, enough of the doom and gloom. We’re here.”
We entered the garden and walked together around the paths, admiring the lanterns hanging in the trees and lined up on the walls, Jake pointing out those made at the centre. It was so pretty with all the different colours and the strings of fairy lights. The air was filled with the smell of a bonfire, of burgers and something sweet. I could hear laughter and children’s excited cries. I was really glad I’d come.
Of course, because I worked in the community as I did, it wasn’t long before I was recognised.
“Hello, Beth. What d’you think of the lights?”
“Hello, Mrs. Riches. They’re very pretty, aren’t they? How’s Patch?”
“Sulking ’cause you lot won’t let him have any mince pies, but all right apart from that. We’re sticking to his diet!”
“I’m glad to hear it. See you later.”
“Do you get a lot of that when you come to community events?” Jake asked.
“Yes. You must too, don’t you?”
“Sometimes. Speaking of which, hello, Francis; hi, Ben.”
I recognised two of the kids from the lantern-making activity at the centre.
“Is Beth your girlfriend now, Jake?” Francis asked.
“No, Francis, we only just met. As you well know. See you guys later.”
Jake and I moved on, exchanging a smile.
“Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. Just kids being kids.”
“Shall we get some food?”
“Great idea.”
We joined the queue and took our spoils to a couple of free chairs beneath the trees.
“Mmm,” I said, biting into my burger hungrily.
Jake smiled. “You look as if you’re enjoying that.”
I smiled back, taking a sip of my beer. “I am. It’s really good.”
“So,” he said. “Adoption, huh? That’s a noble thing to do.”
Was it? I hadn’t thought of it like that.
“Especially adopting an older child. They’re the ones that need it the most.”
I didn’t like to tell him my heart was set on adopting a younger child. That my call to the centre had been a reserve option.
“It can take some of our more troubled kids a while to trust, but when they do, they repay you in spades.”
“How many children have you got yourself?” I asked, thinking of what he’d said about having experienced a stranger being a stepparent to his children.
“Two. A boy of seventeen and a girl of fifteen. They live with their mum. We split up ages ago. Totally my fault. I’ve grown up since then. Or at least, I like to think so.”
“My boss was singing your praises,” I said. “That’s how I heard about you. His kids have been to some of your events. Clive, from Dalston Vets?”
“Oh, Clive. Sure, I know Clive. Always ready with a joke.”