2. Nappy Days

Previously: Terry reacts angrily to the news that his daughter, Kelly is pregnant.

I tell you what, if one more person tells me that I will love being a Grandfather, I’ll fucking smack’em. To be honest, I don’t really know what the big deal is. Both of mine died before I was born so I’ve never even met them and I am pretty sure that I won’t be around long enough for my Grandson to meet me either.
When I was a kid my dad used to tell me stories about his father. I suppose that it is the sort of thing that most people do. Do doubt our Kelly will do exactly the same to her child when it is growing up. Hopefully, she will have better things to say about me than my dad had to say about Grandpa. Reading between the lines, dad thought Grandpa was a bit of a bastard. Well actually he was more rounded than that. He was a total bastard. It appears that he didn’t think that much of my Dad either. He never had anything good to say about him at all. A fact that seems strangely unanimous. Grandpa thought that Dad was a disappointment as a son and I happen to think he is a pretty crappy father too. Me and my Grandpa were generations apart, yet we were agreed on at least one thing, that my Dad is a useless tosser.
When my Mum booted Dad out I was initially distraught. Nobody likes to be part of a broken family, except me. When I say that I was upset, I mean that I was bothered that I might have to go and live with him instead of staying with Mum.
Mum on the other hand is great. She is a real mother, one who stays at home and makes sure that her children get some kind of first hand guidance in life. If there is one thing that I can’t stand, it’s working mums. If ever there was an ingredient for guaranteeing wayward children, it is having parents that spend all their time out at work.
Like I said, my mum was a proper mum. She was always there for me and my sisters. Even when dad left, she still made sure that whatever job she had, she always made time for her family.
These and other reflections were going through my head as I approached mum’s house on Sunday morning with my washing. You might say that these thoughts kept me company during the journey. I shouted her to let her know I was there before I went in because I wouldn’t want to walk in if she was giving Pete a blow job or something. Having said that, he was more likely to be giving her one, after all he is a bit of a limp dick and she definitely wears the trousers in that house.
I stepped into the kitchen and lobbed my washing bag into the corner of the room near the washer. Then I stepped across to Pete who was sat at the breakfast bar, smoking his pipe.
I offered my hand and he shook it, like men do. It is a thing that I believe in, men shaking hands. For me it is like a form of respect.
I kissed mum on the cheek and pinched a sausage out of the pan that she was tending.
‘Any chance of a cup of tea, mum?’ I asked.
‘Sure, Tel. Just pop the kettle on for me will you?’
‘Pete,’ I asked, with a thumb directed toward the kettle. ‘GKO, mate, I need a piss.’
As I left the room, Pete jumped up and put the kettle on without the merest hint of complaint.
He is a good bloke really. A bit of a wimp who guards his wallet like it’s got the cure for cancer in it. But to be honest, even though I do think he is a pathetic pillock, I think that is a willing host. Whenever I am round their house, I know that I will always be looked after.
When I returned to the kitchen I was still struggling to get my flies done up and the sausage that I was still eating was burning my lips. I chewed it and swallowed it quickly.
‘Fucking hell!’ I shrieked. ‘That was one hot sausage!’
I hope you aren’t talking about your todger, Tel,’ joked Pete, much to my amusement. I wasn’t used to Pete being funny.
Nevertheless, ‘I haven’t got a todger, Pete,’ I replied. ‘Mine is a mighty serpent.’
‘Is it bollocks!’ announced our Sandra, peering around the door from the living room.
‘Where the fuck did you appear from?’ I asked her. She posed elegantly.
‘I was wafted here from paradise.’
Maybe I’m showing my age here but the first thing that popped into my head was Lorraine Chase saying, ‘No, Luton airport.’
‘Sandra,’ I asked her. ‘Am I babysitting for you on Friday?’
‘Please, Tel,’ she replied. ‘Will you be alright with the littl’un?’ she asked.
‘With the nappies you mean?’ I replied. ‘I can get them off OK. I just struggle getting them back on.’
‘Will you be alright though,’ she asked, genuinely concerned.
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘What can they do while I’m dithering about? Shit again?’
Sandra giggled. ‘Shelly wouldn’t but chances are that little Jimmy will Tel. So be prepared.’
‘Generation after generation,‘ interrupted Pete, cryptically.
‘What Pete?’ I quizzed.
‘Every generation wipes the bottom of the next,’ he said. ‘It’s an eternal cycle.’
Pete was having a pensive moment then mum added her two pennyworth.
‘Except that you two,’ she said directing her attention to Sandra and myself. ‘You two might have to wash our bottoms too one day.’
Of course she was right but it was a thought that I really didn’t want to think.
‘Sure mum,’ I replied. ‘I’ll keep a beach towel handy.’
Mum laughed. ‘My bum isn’t really that big is it?’ Pete looked sheepish as if he wasn’t sure if his wife actually wanted to hear the truth.
‘Double scoops, mum,’ I informed her. ‘I’ll tell you what though, mum. It would be too weird for words changing my own mum’s nappy.’
Mum rolled her sleeves up and looked at me with a concerned expression.
‘Not as weird as it was changing your nappy, Terry,’ she stated.
‘Don’t start on that again,’ I told her, pathetically. The truth was that some things remain unbelievable regardless of how many times the tale is told. The story had been churned out a million times. However, this next reliving of mum’s anecdote would be the first time that I had heard it where I actually understood it. The trouble was that I wasn’t sure if I wanted Pete to know the truth, or mum for that matter.
‘Our Terry,’ started mum, bright-eyed, relishing the opportunity to embarrass me. ‘Our Terry did some very strange things when he was a baby.’
‘What like beating the other babies in the crèche to a pulp for playing with his toys?’ interrupted our Sandra.
‘Or trying to breast feed from every woman on the street?’ offered Pete with a nervous giggle.
Sandra’s spotty boyfriend, Barry was next to disturb mum before she even had the chance to get into her flow. He stepped in through the back door, wearing a shell suit and holding a can of lager that was almost as big as he was.
‘Baz,’ I said to gain his attention. ‘You’ve got some pizza on your chin, mate.’
He rubbed his face with his free hand then inspected his palm.
‘Oh no, sorry mate. I tell a lie,’ I offered. ’It’s just a clump of zits.’
Ignoring my remark, he turned to Sandra. ‘Sorry I’m late, Sand. I couldn’t find my wallet.’ Of course, my initial thought was that it might be hidden away with Pete’s somewhere. I looked Barry up and down, particularly noticing his usual unkempt appearance. When I say, unkempt, what I actually mean is, grubby. What our Sandra sees in this bloke I’ll never now. I guess it is his age. He is ten years younger than her. So I suppose he is hired for his stamina because I’ll tell you, this guy is short, stupid, his hair is always greasy, his fingernails are indelibly lined with grime and he seems to have worn the same clothes every day since I met him
‘I couldn’t find it anywhere,’ he announced.
‘Did you look under the soap?’ I asked, straight-faced as if I were genuinely offering a suggestion.
‘No, Tel,’ he replied. ‘I’ll check there when I get home.’
Dickhead!
‘What was up with you last night?’ asked Barry as if he actually cared.
‘Me? Nothing,’ I replied, feigning my innocence.
‘Your Kelly said you went off in a huff.’
‘I fucking never!’ I blurted. I fucking did though. I had left as soon as I could. I was furious and I was scared. The voice was taunting me as if it wanted me to take out my anger on Kelly. Well that is what it felt like and that is why I left, just in case it convinced me.
‘What happened then, our Terry?’ asked mum, concerned.
I could feel every eye in the room burning into my secrets.
‘Nothing,’ I replied, though reluctantly I opened up the slightest of cracks in my armour. ‘She’s pregnant,’ I announced.
Sandra went pale in the face. ‘Oh no, Terry. That’s terrible.’
‘What the fuck is terrible about it?’ asked Barry.
‘Yes,’ agreed mum. ‘What the, whatsit is so terrible?’
I made sure to shoot our Sandra a look that clearly notified her that she had said too much.
‘I’ll tell you when I know you better mum,’ I informed her.
‘I’m your mother Terry. When are you going to know me better?’
‘Well,’ I replied. ‘Don’t hold your breath then mum will you.’
Our Sandra stepped across the room, grabbed me assertively by the ears and looked me directly in the eye.
‘It’ll be a girl, Terry. Don’t you worry.’
‘What?’ asked mum.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I told her. ‘Just get on with the fucking story.’
‘What story?’ she asked, clearly distracted by my announcement.
‘The story about when dad was changing my nappy,’ I reminded her.
‘Give over, our Terry,’ she replied with an assertive slap on the kitchen table. She was clearly not to be distracted from this new mystery.
‘Let it go, woman,’ I told her, as if to make it clear that I wasn’t going to tell her a thing. ‘Get on with the fucking story will you!’
‘Oh yes,’ she replied. ‘It was the strangest thing that ever happened.’ She got up out of her seat and stepped across the kitchen.
‘Where the fuck are you going?’ I asked her, frustrated as if she would never get on with it.
‘I’m looking for my glasses,’ she said.
‘Glasses? What the hell do you want your glasses for?’ I yelled.
She rummaged through piles of post and sifted through a bowl of pegs.
‘Mum?’ I asked, distracting her. ‘They’re hanging around your neck y’dozy mare!’
‘Oh yes,’ she replied, as she peered down at her chest, carefully grasped her spectacles and placed them carefully on the bridge of her nose as if she was about to read the small print on an important contract. As she did, the silver chain that they were hanging from dangled over her cheeks like the outline of huge floppy ears.
‘Mum,’ interrupted our Sandra. ‘Why do you need your glasses to tell a story?’
I was getting a bit impatient.
‘Who fucking cares?’
Mum’s eyes scanned across both Sandra and myself.
‘Your father ought to be the one who tells the story,’ she said. ‘After all, I wasn’t actually there the first time.’
‘The first time what?’ asked Pete.
Before anyone could answer, the doorbell rang.
‘Get that for us, our Terry will you?’ asked mum, much to my annoyance. Nevertheless, I reluctantly rose from my seat and marched to the front door, stomping my feet enough to make sure that everyone present was aware of my frustration.
When I opened the door, I became caught in a dilemma. On the one hand, I was both disappointed and irritated to see my father standing in the doorway, on the other hand even if his presence wasn’t welcome here he had at least arrived in time to tell the story that mum seems incapable of even starting.
Normally, in the past I would have shut he door on him already. I had hated the bloke. The thing is though, I have recently concluded that it was the voice that hated him, not me. So, I stepped aside and without saying a word, I ushered him indoors.
‘Thar’s not letting that tosser in my house is thar?’ asked the voice, disbelievingly.
‘Shut the fuck up!’ I demanded, in reply.
‘I never said anything, our Terry,’ replied my dad, defensively.
By the time I had gathered my senses and forgiven myself for talking to the voice out loud, I re-entered the kitchen half way through my dad’s explanation for his reason for his visit.
I gathered that he had been talking with our Kelly.
‘She seemed a bit upset,’ he was saying as he turned back to me.
‘What?’ I responded, as if offended by the implication that I had done something wrong.
‘She’s really upset. Tel,’ he told me.
‘She should have thought of that before she got herself banged up,’ I replied, hiding from the truth as best as I could.
‘I don’t know what you’re worried about,’ said my father. I knew what was coming next and I could feel my blood begin to boil.
‘You’ll love being a Grandad.’
‘Fuck off!’ I shouted as I stormed into the garden to gather my thoughts. Dad took abuse quite well. That was one of the many things that I had learned about him recently. It was part of the reason why I was trying to forgive him.
‘Y’alright, Tel?’ asked Sandra, as she stepped out after me.
‘No,’ replied, sulkily. ‘I’m going to die soon.’
‘Not necessarily,’ she replied. ‘Like I said, it might be a girl.’
‘No,’ I said. ‘My friend Marmaduke doesn’t have a sister. Sandra’s eyes said it all. They were defeated. She stared down at her chest as if her tits had just become incredibly interesting. Which of course, to her, was unlikely.
We stood silently, smoked a cigarette together and kicked stones around the yard. There was nothing we could really say. By that time we had talked this thing inside-out. I had hoped that mum’s story might shed a little more light on things for Sandra. It was a part of my story that I had never told her.
Barry poked his spotty head around the back door.
‘Is that right, Tel?’ he asked, cryptically.
‘How the fuck do I know?’ I replied, by means of a clue that more information was required. To be fair, Barry caught on straight away.
‘Your dad just said that when you one and a half years old you told him that changing nappies was women’s work.’
I nodded. ’Yeah, apparently he was changing mine at the time.’
‘You had your priorities right from an early age, Tel,’ Barry announced.
‘Oi!’ interrupted Sandra. ‘Watch it!’ she rebuked, pointing a finger at her feller.
‘More to the point, Barry,’ I replied. ‘Somebody else’s priorities were in my head from an early age.’
‘Fucking hell, Tel. Are you telepathic?’ he asked, eagerly.
‘I don’t know, Baz. What do you think?’ I asked as I stared him angrily in the eye.
‘Fuck off Barry!’ I thought. ‘The last thing that I am going to do is let you in on my secret.
Much to my dismay however, Barry shrugged his shoulders and disappeared back into the kitchen. For a second or two I wasn’t sure whether he had backed out of a potential confrontation or he actually heard my thoughts.
‘Fair enough,’ he replied, timidly as he retreated.
I flicked my fag butt over the garden wall, shrugged at Sandra and headed back indoors. While I got a beer out of the fridge I was surprised to hear my dad defending his father.
‘We never really saw eye to eye,’ he said. ‘He was a tough old feller who had a really hard life.’
I bit my lip. I wanted to argue, which wasn’t unusual for me but in this instance I wanted to tell my old man what a monster his father was.
‘I don’t care how long he spent down the pit,’ argued mum. ‘Changing nappies is part of being a parent. There’s no reason why he shouldn’t change a few even if it was a token gesture.’
‘He was too tired,’ replied dad.
I had had enough at this point. I wasn’t about to hear this man defended any further. I knew more than anyone what the guy was about. I knew everything about him.
‘Too pissed, more like.’
But then I had a thought. ‘Why are we talking about Grandpa?’ I asked.
‘I just told the story about when your dad was changing your nappy and you told him that it was women’s work,’ described mum.
‘And?’ I queried, none the wiser for the explanation.
Pete filled in the blanks. ‘Your dad said that it was the sort of thing that your Grandpa would have said.’
A shudder shock down my spine as my family teetered on the precipice between normality and my reality.
‘The man was an idiot,’ I told my dad. ‘A lazy, bigoted, womanising drunk who bullied you mercilessly. So, don’t fucking defend him to me,’ I demanded.
‘Tel,’ replied Dad timidly. ‘You don’t know how a hard life down a mine all day can grind a man down.’
‘He didn’t spend all day down a mine. He spent most of the day down the pit and the rest either in the pub or someone else’s wife’s knickers.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that, Tel,’ pleaded father.
‘I fucking do and I’m telling you that the man was a loser.’
‘What doe’s thar know, thee?’ yelled the voice.
‘I know everything,’ I yelled. ‘Absolutely fucking everything. So, shut the fuck up and leave me alone!’ I slammed the door behind me, blocking out the astonished faces of my family as I left.
Sandra chased after me as I stormed down the road. She wobbled desperately down the road on stiletto heels as elegantly as she might eat jelly with chopsticks.
At that moment I didn’t really want to talk to anybody, not even our Sandra but I knew she wouldn’t give up on me. I didn’t have the heart to make her run any further, so I waited at the end of the drive for her to catch up.
‘Don’t say a word,’ I told her, sternly.
‘Listen,’ she replied. ‘You’ve got to talk to Mel,’ she urged.
‘What?’ I couldn’t believe my ears. Mel had kicked me out of the house and she was probably quite justified in doing so. She wouldn’t trust me any further than she could throw me. She was the last person that I would consider confiding in.
‘You’ve got to tell her,’ repeated Sandra.
‘Tell her what?’ I asked, feigning ignorance.
‘Everything.’

© Copyright 2005, Harry Parry. All rights reserved. No part of this nonsense may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.