AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I get my shit together while Charles lowers his voice. “Adam, not wanting to share or lose people is natural. I promise sharing will get easier, and you aren’t losing anything by the twins being here. Your father and I have more than enough love for all three of you. It will be fun!” He meets my eye and winks. “And I know that is possible because before I met your father, I was often a third and I always had a great time.” He refocuses on Adam’s issue. “But it’s also wonderful that you’re letting out all of those big feelings. That’s so much better than keeping them locked inside.”
He looks over to that pram, his smile slipping.
“Those babies won’t be with us forever. Just while their mummy is poorly.” He swallows, his voice thicker, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t him playacting. “I might cry like you just did when the twins do go home. That’s what I did each time I had to give you back before we got to keep you forever. I let my sad feelings out to leave space for how much I love you. For how much Istilllove you even when you’re a maggot.”
Adam lets go of my beard then and staggers to his daddy, who hugs him, and that stabs me right in the chest too. I’ll miss this father and son—who might not be blood relations but who couldn’t be any closer than they are now.
Charles gets up to show Adam my real leaving present. “Look at this lovely storytelling chair Hayden has made for us out oflogs. It’s as big as a throne! Big enough for me, and for you, and for both of the babies.” He taps his lips as if thinking. “Shall we try sharing it with them tomorrow?” He casts a quieter comment my way. “If you had some time to add a circle of tree stumps or logs, even more children could sit and listen to whoever ends up running the nature sessions here.”
I nod. “I’ll chainsaw some stumps for you before I finish.”
Someone else speaks, sounding clipped and in a hurry.
“Leave that until Monday, will you, Hayden?”
The school headmaster has joined us, and I can’t lie, Luke Lawson is a man of many frown lines, which I guess is what happens when you try to renovate a whole boarding school in a summer. Today, those lines are deeper than ever, another sign he must be under pressure if he’s forgotten it’s my last day here. He’s particularly harried, and he isn’t alone.
The man with him is cheerier, and familiar, although I can’t quite place him.
“What’s all this?” he booms.
I do place him after he booms again.
“Come and see this, Justin.”
A frailer man shuffles out from behind him, and of course I know him—he came to every match I played before I was scouted. Now he looks up at this big guy, who tells him, “Look at all these amazing changes, Justin. Handrails,” he says under his breath, “right into the wilder areas. Brilliant.” Our eyes meet, and he continues. “Makes the woods so much more accessible for shaky people. Happens a lot after brain injuries like Justin’s. Any chance you can add some higher rails for adults?” He points in the direction of the care home on the other side of these woods. “I usually run nature sessions for my residents. I’d love to bring them down here if you don’t mind sharing.”
This isn’t my classroom to share with him. I look to Luke Lawson, who says, “Sorry, I don’t have time to discuss it rightnow. I’m needed at the chapel. Got to meet some guests, but I’m sure that would be fine.”
Charles nods like he agrees, so I say, “Sure. I’ll add higher handrails after chainsawing some stumps. I do need to take down some branches first, then I’ll get right on it.”
Luke pays more attention. “Don’t do that today.”
I know weekend work wasn’t in our contract, but at some point this summer, doing this has felt more like a gift than a chore. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Charles doesn’t agree. “It’s everything!” He points out what I’ve added to engage children’s senses. And that might also engage the senses of brain-injured adults, I notice, as that frailer guy runs tentative fingers over each addition. “Look,” Charles orders. “A ready-made Forest School, Luke. All we need is a teacher who knows all about nature.” He nudges me so hard that I almost do what Adam has twice already.
I stop myself from stumbling, but I don’t get to take a shot at asking for what would actually suit me down to the ground. Not because Luke Lawson leaves the clearing to go meet his guests. I’m silenced by that care home resident pointing directly at me and saying why my first career ended.
“Almost made the Premier League.”
He’s right. I got so close, but I also?—
“Failed a pre-match test.”
How the hell he knows that, I have no clue. It was a long time ago and hushed up. All I know is that I blurt, “I really need to get to those branches,” then I crouch for a quick toddler hug before striding away, and so what if I winch myself up to the top of the highest oak in Glynn Harber with my chainsaw just to avoid questions.
There’s no point explaining what kind of test I failed, not when I’ll be gone by tomorrow.
A half hour later,I still haven’t fired up my chainsaw. I still swing in my treetop harness forty metres up while annoyed wood pigeons stage a dirty protest. That’s okay. I’ll shower off that bird shit later. For now, I soak up this view along the valley, doing my best not to dwell on the past.
What’s done is done.
Yes, it fucked up my future. It cost my family much more, and if that means working morning, noon, and night to make it up to them, I’ll do it.
My thoughts swing like I do.
Would be good to stay in one place for a while though.
