Slam (8 page)

I couldn't eat any cake, of course. I told them my stomach wasn't good, and Mum remembered me rushing off to the toilet after breakfast, when I had to send Alicia a text. So I sat there, and picked at my food, and listened to them tell stories, and fiddled around with the mobile in my pocket. I wasn't ever tempted to put it on, though. I just wanted one more day of my old life.

I blew the candles out.

“Speech!” said my dad.

“No.”

“Shall I make one, then?”

“No.”

“Sixteen years ago today,” said my dad, “your mum was in the Whittington Hospital, making a lot of noise.”

“Thanks,” said my mum.

“I got there late because I was on a job with Frank, God rest his soul, and I didn't have a mobile then, and it took ages for anyone to track me down.”

“Is Frank dead?” said Mum.

“No, but I don't see him anymore, do I? Anyway, I got a bus going up Holloway Road, and you know what that's like. We just sat there. So I had to jump off and leg it, and by the time I got there, I was cream crackered. Seventeen years old and I was wheezing like an old man. I was still smoking roll-ups then. Anyway. I sat down on one of the old flower bed things outside the hospital to get my breath back, and—”

“I love this story,” said Mum. “We hear it every year. And every year there's no place either for Sam or his mother. There was only one hero that day. There was only one person who suffered for his firstborn. And it was the man who ran all the way up the Holloway Road.”

“Last time I looked, women hadn't completely taken over the world,” said my dad. “Men are still allowed to speak. Probably when your next birthday comes around, son, we'll all be in prison with gags on. But let's enjoy our freedom while it lasts.”

You look at my mum and dad now, and you can't believe they ever lived in the same borough in the same century, let alone got married. Let alone…Well, we don't need to think about that. She went one way and he went another way, and…Actually, that's not true. My mum stayed here, and my dad went to Barnet. But my mum has come a long way, and my dad has gone nowhere.

They've only got one thing in common, and that one thing is talking to you now. They wouldn't even be speaking if it wasn't for me, and I can't say that makes me feel proud, really. Some people shouldn't speak to each other.

You could tell what I spent the afternoon thinking about. It was like it wasn't my birthday anymore. It was somebody else's, someone who hadn't even been born yet. There were three of us that afternoon. How many would be there for my seventeenth?

 

We didn't go out in the evening in the end. I told Mum I was still sick. We watched a DVD and she ate scrambled eggs on toast, and then I went up to my room to talk to Tony.

“Alicia might be pregnant,” I said to him. And then, “I'm shitting myself.”

“She called to tell me she'd taken the test and that I was going to be a dad,” said TH.

“How did you feel?” I asked him. I knew the answer, but I wanted to keep the conversation going.

“It was not exactly what you'd call expected, but I was happy just the same.”

“You were twenty-four when you had Riley, though,” I said. “And you were earning decent money. You could afford to be happy.”

And now we come to the part that I was talking about before, the part where I don't know whether what happened really happened.

“Tricks are strange,” said TH. “I'm extremely proud of some of the ones I've invented, and some of them are hilarious to look back on and wonder what I was thinking at the time.”

I looked at him. I knew what he was talking about: skate tricks. He says that right at the end of the book, before going through all the tricks from back in the day. But why bring that up? I didn't want to know about skate tricks.

“Yeah, well, thanks a lot, man,” I said. I was cross with him. You couldn't talk to him about serious stuff, even though he was a dad himself. I was trying to tell him that the whole world was about to end, and he wanted to tell me about kickflip McTwists and half-cab frontside blunt reverts. I decided to take the poster down whether Alicia was pregnant or not. It was time to move on. If he was so great, how come he couldn't help me? I'd been treating him like a god, but he wasn't a god. He was nothing. Just a skater.

“How the park locals stopped themselves from beating me up I'll never know,” said TH. “I could be a real idiot sometimes.”

“You said it,” I told him.

 

And then TH played a strange trick on me, so he probably is a god after all.

I know this
sounds stupid, but normally, you know when things have happened to you, don't you? Well, I don't. Not anymore. Most of the story I'm telling you happened to me for sure, but there are a couple of little parts, weird parts, I'm not absolutely positive about. I'm pretty sure I didn't dream them up, but I couldn't swear that on Tony Hawk's book, which is my bible. So we're about to come to one of these parts now, and all I can do is tell it straight. You'll have to make your own minds up. Suppose you were abducted by aliens during the night, and dumped back in your bed before breakfast. If that happened to you, you'd be sitting there eating your cereal the next morning and thinking, Did that really happen? And you'd be looking around for evidence. That's how I feel. I didn't find any evidence, and I'm still looking.

Here's what I think happened. I can't remember going to bed, or falling asleep; all I remember is waking up. I woke up in the middle of the night. I wasn't in my own bed, and there was someone in the bed with me, and there was a baby crying.

“Oh, shit.” The person in bed with me was Alicia.

“Your turn,” she said.

I didn't say anything. I didn't know where I was or even when I was, and I didn't know what “Your turn” meant.

“Sam,” she said. “Wake up. He's awake. Your turn.”

“Right,” I said. And then, “My turn for what?”

“He can't need feeding again,” she said. “So he either needs winding or he has a dirty nappy. He hasn't been changed since we went to bed.”

So this baby had to be mine, and he was a boy. I had a son. This is what I got for not turning my mobile on. I felt sick with shock, and I couldn't speak for a little while.

“I can't,” I said.

“What do you mean, you can't?”

“I don't know how.”

I could see that from her point of view that must have sounded weird. I hadn't had much time to work all this out, but Alicia must have gone to bed with a different Sam, right? She must have gone to bed with someone who at least knew he was a father. And if he knew he was a father, then presumably he'd winded a baby, and changed a nappy. The trouble was, I wasn't that Sam. I was the old Sam. I was the Sam who'd turned his mobile off so that he wouldn't find out if his ex-girlfriend was pregnant or not.

“Are you awake?”

“Not really.”

She whacked me with her elbow. She got me right in the ribs.

“Ow.”

“You awake now?”

“Not really.”

I knew I was going to get another whack, but the alternative was that I got up and did something terrible to this baby.

“Ow. Ow. That really hurt.”

“You awake now?”

“Not really.”

She put the bedside light on and stared at me. She looked terrible, to be honest. She'd put weight on, so her face was much fatter, and her eyes were puffy from sleep, and her hair was greasy. I could see that we were in her bedroom, but it was different. We were sleeping in a double bed, for example, and she used to have a single. And she'd taken down her
Donnie Darko
poster and put up kiddy stuff in its place. I could see this horrible pink-and-blue animal alphabet.

“What's wrong with you?” she said.

“I don't know,” I said. “I just seem to stay asleep no matter how hard you hit me. I'm asleep now. I'm sleep-talking.” That was a lie, really.

The baby carried on crying.

“Just pick the bloody baby up.”

I was pretty confused, obviously, but I was beginning to work some things out. I knew, for example, that I couldn't ask how old the baby was, or what he was called. That would make her suspicious. And there wasn't much point in trying to explain that I wasn't the Sam she thought I was, that somebody, maybe Tony Hawk the skater, had put me in some sort of time machine, for reasons best known to himself.

I got out of bed. I was wearing a T-shirt of Alicia's and the pair of boxer shorts I put on that morning, or whatever morning it was. The baby was sleeping in a little cot at the end of the bed. He was all red in the face from crying.

“Smell his bottom,” Alicia said.

“What?”

“Smell his bottom. See if he needs changing.”

I bent down and put my face near him. I was breathing through my mouth to stop myself from smelling anything.

“He's all right, I think.”

“Just jig him about a bit, then.”

I'd seen people do this with babies. It didn't look too hard. I picked him up just under his armpits, and his head went flying backwards, as if he had no neck. He was crying even harder now.

“What are you doing?” said Alicia.

“I don't know,” I said. And I really didn't know. I didn't have a clue.

“Have you gone mad?”

“A bit.”

“Hold him properly.”

I didn't know what that meant, obviously, but I had a guess. I put one hand behind his head, and the other hand against his back, and I put him against my chest and jiggled him up and down. After a little while he stopped crying.

“About bloody time,” said Alicia.

“What shall I do now?” I said.

“Sam!”

“What?”

“It's like you've got Alzheimer's or something.”

“Just pretend I have.”

“Is he asleep?”

I looked down at his head. How were you supposed to tell?

“I don't know.”

“Have a look.”

I carefully moved the hand that was holding his head, and it flopped over to one side. He started crying again.

“He was, I think. He's not now.”

I got him back against my chest and jiggled, and he went quiet again. I didn't dare stop, this time, and I kept jiggling, and Alicia went back to sleep, and I was alone in the dark with my son on my chest. I didn't mind. I had a lot to think about. Like: Did I live here now? What sort of a dad was I? How did Alicia and I get on? Have Mum and Dad forgiven me? What did I do all day? Would I ever go back to my own time? I couldn't answer any of these questions, of course. But if I really had been projected into the future, then I'd find out the next morning. After a little while I put the baby back in its cot and got back into bed. Alicia put her arms around me, and eventually I went back to sleep.

As I was waking up, I was convinced that I'd had this really weird dream. I moved my legs forward under the bedclothes, just to see if I kicked Alicia, but there was nothing there, so I opened my eyes. The first thing I saw was the animal alphabet poster on the wall, and then I looked down the bed and saw the empty cot. I was still in Alicia's bedroom.

I got out of bed and put on the pair of trousers I saw draped over Alicia's armchair. They were mine, I recognized them, but the shirt underneath them was new. It looked like a Christmas present from somebody, because I couldn't imagine I'd have bought it. I never wear proper shirts with buttons, because buttons are boring.

I went to the kitchen, just to see if anybody else was around, and they were all in there—Alicia, her mum and dad, Rich. The baby was in there too, of course. He was sprawled out in Alicia's lap, holding a small plastic spoon in his fist and looking at the lights in the ceiling.

“Oh, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” said Alicia's mum.

“Hello,” I said. I was going to say “Hello, Mrs. Burns,” but I didn't know whether I called her that anymore, and I didn't want to start the day with that whole Alzheimer's thing.

“You were so weird in the night, I let you sleep in,” said Alicia. “You feeling better?”

“I don't know,” I said. “What time is it?”

“Nearly
eight
,” she said, as if eight o'clock in the morning was like lunchtime. “Roof did well, though.”

I had no idea what this meant.

“Yeah?” “Yeah” seemed like a safe thing to say.

“Yeah. Seven-fifteen. You're a good boy, Roof, aren't you? Yes you are.” And she lifted the baby up and blew a raspberry on his tummy.

This baby—my baby, Alicia's baby,
our
baby—was called Roof. Whose idea was that? What did it mean? Maybe I hadn't heard right. Maybe it was a boy called Ruth. I think on balance I'd rather he was called Ruth than Roof. At least Ruth was a name.

“What's happening today?” said Alicia's dad.

“I'm going to college this afternoon, and Sam's looking after Ruth,” said Alicia. To be honest, she said Roof again, but I was going to stick with Ruth for the time being. Being called Ruth wouldn't cause him any trouble until he started school, and then he'd get the shit kicked out of him.

“Have you got college this morning, Sam?”

“I think so,” I said. I wasn't sure, though, because I didn't even know I went to college, or where that college might be, or what I studied there.

“Your mum's helping you this afternoon, isn't she?”

“Is she?”

“Yeah. You told me she's taken the afternoon off.”

“Oh. Right. Is she coming round here or am I going round there?”

“You made the arrangement. You'd better call her.”

“Yeah. I'll do that.”

Alicia's mum handed me a cup of tea.

“You'd better get your breakfast if you're going to get to college on time,” she said.

There were bowls and milk and cereal on the table, so I helped myself, and no one said anything. At least I'd done something normal. It felt like I was playing some sort of game that everyone else knew the rules for except me. I could do or say anything at any moment, and it would be wrong, and I'd be out. I tried to think. College probably started at nine, and it probably took me half an hour to get there. Most places take you half an hour to get to in London. I decided to walk out of the door at half past eight. Until then, I'd just try and keep out of the way.

Even though I didn't need to go, I went to the downstairs toilet, locked myself in and stayed there for longer than anyone usually stays in a toilet.

“Are you OK?” Alicia said when I finally came out.

“Bit of a weird stomach.”

“You OK to go to college?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You can't go out like that. Go and put your coat on.”

My parka was hanging up with all the other coats in the hall. I did as I was told and put it on. Then I went back to the kitchen, hoping that someone would say something like, “Hurry up, Sam, you've got to catch the number 4 to So-and-So College and then walk to room 19 to study art and design.” But no one said anything like that, so I said good-bye to everyone and walked out the door.

 

I didn't know what to do or where to go, so I walked home. No one was in, and I didn't have any keys, so that was a complete waste of time, but wasting time was sort of the point, so I didn't mind. I wandered around for a bit. Nothing had changed. No one was zooming around on flying scooters or anything like that. It was just the future, not, you know, The Future.

 

I was thinking a lot while I was mooching around. Most of it was just the same little thought, over and over again: I've got a baby, I've got a baby, I've got a baby. Or: I'm going to have a baby, I'm going to have a baby, I'm going to have a baby. (See, I didn't know whether I already had one or whether I was going to have one—whether that was it, now, whether my old life was over, or whether TH was going to project me back into it at some stage.) And I thought about how come I was living at Alicia's house, and sharing a bed with her, and I thought about whether I could find out the results of some horse races or the next
Big Brother
or something, so I could bet on them if I ever got sent back to my own time.

 

And also, I thought about why TH had done this, if it was him. The way I saw it was this: if he'd done it a while back, before I'd had sex with Alicia, then there'd be a point to it. He could have been trying to teach me a lesson. If I'd been projected magically into the future then, I'd have thought, you know, Aaaagh! I don't want a baby yet! We'd better not have sex! But it was too late for a lesson. Back in my own time, there was probably a text message on my mobile phone telling me that my ex-girlfriend was pregnant, so what was I supposed to learn from this? It was like TH was saying, Yo, sucker! You shouldn't have had sex! That just seemed mean to me, and not like him. He wasn't mean.

I was about to go home when I saw Rabbit sitting on the steps that led up to his flats. He had his board at his feet, and he was smoking, and it didn't look like a cigarette.

“Yo, Sammy! Where you been?”

At first I didn't want to talk to him, because it seemed as though I couldn't talk to anyone without making myself look like an idiot. But then I realized that Rabbit was actually a pretty good person to talk to. You couldn't look like an idiot when you were talking to Rabbit, unless there was someone else apart from Rabbit there to witness it. Rabbit wouldn't notice. I could tell him anything and a) he wouldn't understand it, and b) he'd forget it anyway.

For example:

“Sam,” he said when I'd walked over to him. “I been meaning to ask you. How old is your mum?”

“We've been through this, Rabbit,” I said.

“Have we?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged. He still couldn't remember, but he was prepared to take my word for it.

“When was the last time you saw me?” I said to him.

“I don't know. I got like this feeling that it's been ages.”

“Have I got a kid?”

“Oh, Sammy, Sammy,” he said. “That sort of stuff you should remember. Even I wouldn't forget that.”

I wasn't so sure, but I didn't say anything.

“It's not that I've forgotten,” I said. “But I couldn't remember if I'd told you or not.”

“You didn't have to tell me,” he said. “I've seen you with him loads of times. You bring him over to see your mum, don't you? Little…What's his name again?”