Stuck on Me (14 page)

‘I think I need to do this on my own,’ I say. ‘Do you two mind waiting for me?’

Vix nods. ‘Sure you do. No problem.’ She lets go of my hand and mouths, ‘Good luck.’

I smile bravely, but I don’t feel brave. I feel tiny and naked and very alone. With one last glance at my friends, I walk over towards Dad, my legs shaky and difficult to control. He
doesn’t see me coming. He’s talking to someone, laughing with them and slapping them on the back. I notice how much fatter he is, how much older he looks. Shorter, too, although that
could just be because I’ve grown so much. There’s a pint glass in his hand. Half empty.

It’s my dad. It’s my dad. It’s my dad.
Those words keep running through my mind, blocking out all other thoughts. It’s been a long time since I was eight years
old, but part of me still wants to run up to him and hug him, and let him spin me around until I’m so dizzy that when he puts me down I have to cling on to his legs for support.

But I don’t. Of course I don’t. I walk up to him, stand beside him, wait for him to finish speaking and then tap him gently on the shoulder. ‘Dad?’ I say. It comes out
like a question. I don’t know why.

He doesn’t seem shocked to see me. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes – surprise, recognition, fear, annoyance, I can’t tell – but it’s gone in an
instant. It’s almost as if he’s been expecting me to pitch up at one of his gigs, one day. Or maybe he’s just good at hiding his emotions.

‘Sky-blue?’ he says. ‘Well, well, well. How the devil are you?’ He hugs me, but it’s not a Dad hug. It’s a hug you’d give an old friend. ‘I
didn’t think I’d be seeing you tonight, so I didn’t.’

‘I tracked you down,’ I tell him. ‘On the internet.’

‘You always were a clever girl,’ he says. ‘I’m not so easy to find.’

‘No, you’re not. I . . . we still live in Camden. Just up the road. I can’t believe you’re playing here tonight and...’ I want to say, ‘and didn’t tell
me,’ but I’m scared it’ll anger him, or make him run away. ‘. . . and here you are.’

‘Camden Town’s a good place for gigging.’

‘Yes it is.’ I don’t know what else to say. I’ve had six years to think of something and now I can’t find a single word. I want to cry, laugh, shout, kiss him and
hit him, all at the same time. I want to know where he’s been for the past six years, to ask him why he didn’t keep in touch, to tell him about my life. But I can’t do any of
that. It’s not the time, or the place. We’re in a busy, noisy pub, surrounded by strangers, with his band mates and friends only inches away. A young woman with dark hair is standing
next to him, talking to the drummer. I noticed her during the gig, at the side of the stage, singing along with the band. She keeps staring at me. She must be Dad’s girlfriend, even though
she doesn’t look much older than me. I hate her on sight, just for that.

‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks.

‘Um, yes. A diet coke, please.’

‘Nothing stronger?’

‘I’m only fourteen, remember,’ I say quietly.

He peers at me, and it looks as if he’s doing calculations in his head. ‘Yes, I suppose you are. You all grow up so fast, nowadays, it’s hard to keep track.’

That niggles. I look over at Rosie and Vix, who are standing by the wall. Rosie waves. They seem awkward, like they don’t really want to be here. I’m not sure I want them to be here
either, even though I don’t want them to leave yet.

‘So what have you been up to?’ says Dad, handing me my drink, and steering me over into a corner, away from his party. ‘Are you still at school?’

What age does he think people leave school in Camden? ‘Yes, just started doing my GCSEs.’

‘Ah. And do you like it?’

‘It’s OK, I guess.’

This is far more awkward than I was expecting. We shouldn’t be making small talk. He’s my dad.

‘I see. So how are your sisters?’

‘They’re good, thanks.’

‘And your ma?’

‘She’s OK.’ I pause. ‘She doesn’t know I’m here, in case you’re worried.’

‘I see,’ he says. ‘I daresay I’m not her favourite person.’

I shrug. This isn’t a conversation I want to get into. What can I say?
My mum hates your guts and wishes she’d never met you, and she warned me not to try to find you.
Instead, I say, ‘I like your band. You’re really good.’

‘Aye, we’re all right. The boys and I go way back. I play in a couple of other bands too. I’ve done a bit of session work here and there. So do you play anything,
Sky?’

‘Not really. I’d like to learn the guitar.’

‘It’s a fine instrument.’

‘Yes.’
Maybe he could
. . . No, I can’t ask that. We stand in silence for a moment. ‘I’ve really missed you, Dad.’ I don’t mean to say it, the
words just pop out.

He seems embarrassed, taken aback. ‘Well, of course I’ve missed you too. But —’

‘Sky?’ Rosie has materialised at my side. That girl has the worst timing. ‘Sorry to interrupt but we should go to the party, if we’re going to go,’ she says.
‘As long as you’re OK.’

‘Sure.’ I’m aware I sound hesitant. ‘Dad, this is my friend, Rosie. Rosie, this is my dad.’

He shakes her hand. ‘Delighted to meet you,’ he says.

She smiles. They’ve met before, a long time ago, but maybe neither of them remembers. ‘I enjoyed your set. Do you ever play any festivals? I’ve got a friend who’s in a
band, Rufus Justice from Fieldstar. You might have met him . . .’

‘Aye, I’ve heard of them, but we’re not really on the same circuit.’

Vix appears from the direction of the toilets. She seems shy of Dad, a bit wary, maybe.

‘Hi,’ she says, quietly. I introduce them and Dad shakes her hand too.

‘So you girls all have a party to go to?’ he says. ‘That’s great.’ It feels like he’s trying to get rid of me, or maybe I’m just being paranoid.

‘Oh no, I’m not going yet,’ I say, appealing to Dad with my eyes. We haven’t talked yet, not properly. And if I go now, I might never see him again.

‘We’ll stay if you want us to,’ says Vix.

‘No, no, it’s OK, you should go,’ I say. ‘Anyway, you’ve got to be there when Rosie’s dad arrives to pick you up.’

‘Will you come along too, later?’

‘I dunno. I don’t think so. I’ll be all right, whatever. Just make up an excuse for me. And tell Rich I’ll call him tomorrow.’

‘OK, then . . .’ Rosie is putting her jacket on, but Vix seems hesitant. ‘I’m worried about how you’ll get home.’

I glance at Dad again. ‘You’ll see me home, won’t you?’

He nods. ‘Aye. I’ll see you right.’

‘Promise you’ll call us if you need us,’ says Vix. ‘And text us to let us know you’re home safely.’

‘Course I will. No worries.’

I watch them leave and then turn back to Dad. We grin at each other, awkwardly, and I’m suddenly aware that I’m now alone, in a pub, at ten p.m. on a Saturday night, with a man
who’s almost a stranger and who quite possibly doesn’t really want me to be here. Not to mention that if my mum finds out, I’ll be grounded till I’m twenty-five. I could be
with Vix and Rosie at a friend’s party, making up with my boyfriend. Am I crazy?

‘Come and sit down,’ Dad says, motioning to a table where his bandmates are now sitting. ‘I’ll introduce you to my friends.’

I look for the dark-haired woman, so I can ask if she’s Dad’s girlfriend, but she seems to have left already.

‘This is Sky,’ says Dad, as we approach the table. ‘Sky, this is John, Mike and Shane, and Mike’s girlfriend, Sarah.’

I smile at them, shyly, and Sarah moves her chair a little so that I can sit down.

‘Nice to meet you, Sky. So how do you know Connor?’ she asks.

‘He’s, um, er . . .’ Am I allowed to say it?

Dad chuckles. ‘She’s one of my long lost daughters, come to find me. Tracked me down on the internet, she did.’ He makes it sound like a joke.

That niggles too.
I’m not lost
, I think.
I’ve been here all the time. You’re the one who got lost
.

‘Ah, right, then.’ Sarah doesn’t seem surprised. Perhaps long-lost daughters track their fathers down and turn up at gigs every day in her world. ‘And where do you
live?’

‘I live here, in Camden, just down the road.’

‘Marvellous! That’s a stroke of luck.’

‘I know.’

‘Pretty girl,’ says Shane, who’s been studying me. ‘You look a lot like your dad, don’t you?’

I’m embarrassed. Now they’ll all be staring at my nose. ‘So people say.’

‘Aye, I guess she does,’ says Dad. ‘There’s no doubt you’re a Carter, my girl.’ He sounds proud, as if he’s done his dad job just by passing on his
genes.

Mike gets up to buy another round. We all sit and chat about gigs and travelling and people they’ve met along the way. Dad treats me like one of his mates, including me in the
conversation, telling me jokes that make me blush. I have a good time but it feels stilted, slightly surreal. And I don’t get a chance to talk to him the way I want to. Not alone, or about
anything important. Maybe tonight just isn’t the right time.

I check my watch. It’s almost eleven-thirty. Vix and Rosie will be leaving the party, and I have to arrive home around the same time as them, so that nobody suspects anything.

‘I really need to leave now, Dad.’ I search his eyes for a trace of disappointment. If it’s there, I can’t see it.

‘Aye, it’s late,’ he says, taking my wrist and studying my watch. I notice that he doesn’t wear one. I can’t remember if he used to. ‘Now, will you be OK
getting back?’

I nod and give him an expectant look, but he doesn’t offer to walk me home, even though he promised Vix he’d look after me. ‘Um, it’s kind of late,’ I point out.
‘Would you mind coming with me?’

‘Aye,’ he says. ‘I’ll walk you back, so I will.’

I get up from my chair. My legs are stiff. I’ve been sitting, tensely, in one position for too long. Dad gets up too. I notice that he’s not as sprightly as he used to be. His knees
creak and he holds his back with his hand. I think: you wouldn’t be able to pick me up and spin me round any more, even if you wanted to.

He has a quick word with some of his friends, and then we leave the Dublin Castle and set off down Parkway together. We don’t talk much; he seems to be in a hurry and we have to keep
skirting around the drunk people spilling out of pubs, or queuing up for kebabs by the tube station.

Once we’re on Camden Road, just past Sainsbury’s, he stops, suddenly. ‘You’ll be all right from here, won’t you? You’re only a few minutes from home
now.’

Maybe he’s afraid of bumping into Mum, I think. ‘Um, sure,’ I say. I’ve never walked home alone through Camden Town, this late. I’ll be OK, I tell myself. Walk
fast, keep your head up, don’t make eye contact with anyone, don’t stop.

He leans over to hug me goodbye. This time I’m aware that his breath smells of stale beer and cigarettes.

‘Good to see you, girl,’ he says.

‘You too, Dad.’ I hesitate. If I wait for an invitation, it might never come. ‘Will I see you again?’

‘We’re playing again in Camden in a couple of weeks. The Blues Kitchen. Come along,’ he says. ‘Bring those lovely friends of yours.’

That isn’t exactly the answer I was hoping for. ‘OK. Um, can I have your number?’ It feels weird asking my own dad for his contact details. But he hasn’t offered them and
I’m scared that if I don’t ask for them, I might lose contact with him again for good.

He looks pained. ‘OK,’ he says, ‘but I don’t want your mother to have them.’

‘Course not. Like I said, she doesn’t know I’m here.’

He takes a scrap of paper out of his pocket, and scribbles his number on it with a chewed-up biro. His handwriting is slanted, just like mine. I slide it into the inside pocket of my bag,
zipping it tightly to make sure it doesn’t fall out. He doesn’t ask me for my number.

‘Bye, then, Dad,’ I say. I hug him again and take a deep breath, steeling myself for my walk alone up Camden Road, towards my street. As I take my first steps, I turn around to see
if he’s watching me, keeping me in his sights until he knows I’m safe. But all I can see is his back disappearing into the Saturday night crowds.

’m home safe. I have so much 2 tell u,
I text Rosie and Vix, the minute I climb into bed.
I’m expecting to hear instant beeps in reply, because I know they’ll both be dying to hear about what happened with Dad, but there’s only silence. Ten minutes pass. Still silence.
How maddening – I really want to talk to them. I want to tell them about Dad and his friends, and having to walk back part of the way alone, and crossing the street to avoid a drunk guy, and
how I managed to get away without talking to Mum because she was doing a meditation session with crystals in the living room when I came in. I look at my alarm clock. It’s quarter past
midnight; surely they won’t be asleep yet? Maybe they’re still at the party. No. They can’t be. I know for a fact that Rosie’s dad was picking them up at eleven-thirty
because Rosie had an argument with her mum about it being embarrassingly early. And Rosie’s mum
never
backs down.