Friday Night Kismet
Tommy had a secret. He’d had it for so long that he’d forgotten about it.
When it was new, it was a big, guilty skeleton in the cupboard. He’d jump whenever the phone rang, even though he hadn’t given out his number. For a while, he’d paid so much attention to Tina that she began to wonder why, so he’d eased off that. He’d had confused, anxious dreams and was constantly worried that he’d say something incriminating in his sleep.
But time passed and there was no consequence. It was just a blokey thing, all over and done with. He gradually relaxed and life went on as normal. He worked hard, paid his way, loved his wife and children. Basically, he was your all round good guy.
The past caught up with him one Friday night. He was in the queue at the off-licence, waiting to check out a six-pack and a bottle of red for the weekend takeaway. The woman in front of him dropped her purse and change fell out around the floor. Tommy, a nice lad, helped to pick it up.
“Don’t I know you?” She asked, stuffing coins into her purse. She had an open, cheeky smile.
She was about his own age, blonde, dressed in a bright orange top and short skirt. High slingback shoes brought her up to his height.
He shook his head. “Sorry, no, I don’t think so.”
She placed her basket on the counter, looking puzzled.
A few minutes later, moving away with two bags, she stopped, turned back to him and said,
“I remember now. I think you’re the father of one of my children.”
Tommy was gobsmacked.
The floor wouldn’t open up and swallow him, so he had to stand there in shock while his stuff was scanned through. His face was burning and his mind was in uproar. He looked sideways at the smiling face and couldn’t remember ever meeting her. Yet there was that secret. He hadn’t thought of it in years and he couldn’t clearly recall the woman. Or even the night.
It was during his friend Robbie’s stag party. The lads were living it large for one last blast.
They were in a club, he remembered. He was smashed enough to be happy but not completely incapacitated. There were girls, there was flirting. That was a good laugh, that club, and they all went to a chipper afterwards.
He’d almost finished his chips when he realised the weight on his left hand was a blonde, linking on to him and laughing, asking his name, telling hers. They’d moved on, she and her friends still with them. He was chuffed at being in demand. At the next club…
The checkout assistant politely called his total. He handed over some money, took his change and his booze. The woman was still there, still smiling.
“You’re... Sarah?” he asked.
“Stella,” she corrected him. Panicked, he had a vision of telling his children they had a half brother or sister. Worse, he thought about Tina. He blustered,
“Stella. Yeah. Look, it was years ago… we were very young. We were crazy that night. Doing it in a doorway. How mad is that?…” Stupid inner pride crept into his voice.
He saw her brows furrow and realised he was speaking aloud; he noticed the silence, the customers all busy listening. He lowered his voice,
“I swear I never knew there was a child.”
“Shut up!” she hissed, clearly embarrassed at the interest shown by the whole shop.
“Let’s get out of here,” he steered her towards the door but she stopped and stood facing him. The queue listed collectively towards them.
“Stella. It was a long time ago,” he squeaked.
She raised her voice, “I’ve never had sex in a doorway. Ever.” She told the listening punters.
He could see she was hopping mad. He shouldn’t have been so blunt. She’d probably glossed it over in her mind and told herself the whole thing was a beautiful, romantic interlude; a night of full moon magic when her child was conceived. But he knew there was only one time that he’d been unfaithful, ever since he’d met Tina when they were both sixteen. On that night, he remembered coupling in the tiny back porch of a club, while music blared from inside and out in the dark yard a few others were on the way to doing the same. Afterwards was a blur, there was more drinking and an eventual blackout. He didn’t know how they’d got back to the grotty guest house that Robbie’s best man had booked, but he remembered the rude awakening in the morning when they all had killer hangovers.
Stella spoke loudly again, for everyone to hear.
“I’m your daughter’s coach. The netball team. Aren’t you Alison’s father?”
Again, the ground remained intact though he wished it would give way. His heart thumped and his legs turned to jelly. Perhaps he’d faint and she’d be gone when he woke up. But she stayed put and his legs stayed upright and he stood there, mortified.
“Sorry, I thought… I thought you were someone else. I made a mistake.”
Stella said sweetly, “seems like you did – a long time ago.”
He nearly wept. “It was years ago. I was young then. A bit mad.”
“And drunk.”
“Yeah.”
“And married?”
“Well...” He floundered on, “Alison says you’re great. You’re doing a brilliant job with the netball.”
“I am,” Stella said.
“The team is great. I’m a big fan.”
“Yeah – that’s why Alison was left there after all the others had gone – that time you were supposed to pick her up. I waited with her. I was late for my French class. That’s why I remember you.”
“Sorry. But really, I love those matches.”
“Enough to miss the whole game and leave your child waiting afterwards.”
“I usually go to everything. All the time,” he said eagerly, “I keep all the dates marked.”
“So you know about our committee meeting next week then?”
“Oh, I’m not on the committee.”
“I know you’re not. But Alison’s mother is. Your wife.”
“Oh.”
“Tina, isn’t it? I must check the agenda. Should be interesting,” Giggles rippled through the queue as Stella swept out of the off licence, calling back, “when we get to Any Other Business.”
©Frances O’Keeffe
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