Little Big Man Read online

  ‘Have a guess?’ I say, but Jason looks stumped.

  Then I see the realization darken his face. ‘Jesus, really? But that’s like picking on kids ’cause they wear glasses or they’re ginger – that’s so 1980s.’

  ‘Nope, fat-shaming is alive and well, I’m afraid. His life at school is hell, Jase …’ Oh, here we go with the wobbly bottom lip. I really have to stop the crying; it’s not helping anyone. ‘And I never realized, and I’m his mum. They stole his clothes the other day, at his swimming class. They stab him in the bum with a compass, for fuck’s sake.’

  Jason passes a hand across his beard – it’s a recent thing, but it suits him, makes him look more manly, because although Jason is very tall (six foot three to my five foot four – another reason we always looked slightly odd together) he’s got a real baby face: a gummy smile and rosy cheeks, dark, tufty hair and boyishly wide green eyes. He looks like the friendliest guy on the planet and then you see him in action, putting his clients through what appears to be torture, and you think, he’s got more grit than he possibly looks like on the outside. He’s not just Mr Nice.

  ‘So what do you want me to do, come and sort the little bastards out?’ he says, mirroring my thoughts exactly. ‘Take them down in one karate move?’

  I laugh into my tea, even though I know, in that moment, he means it – that he has that same murderous feeling I had. I look at his biceps, flexed now and covered in fine dark hair; huge, strong arms that, for as many nights as I let him, held me. Part of me would love it if he’d walk into the playground, pick up Aidan Turner with one hand and deliver an if you ever fucking touch Zac Hutchinson again speech before throwing him down on the floor, like Hulk Hogan – but I also know this will have to remain a fantasy.

  ‘I’m not sure vigilantism is the way forward. Plus, Aidan’s mum is well hard. No, I was thinking more along the lines of you helping Zac to, you know, feel better about himself.’

  Jason frowns.

  ‘Like, do some exercise with him, get him interested in something physical. Anything!’ I say, slightly desperately. ‘I mean, I know he’s, like, the least sporty kid you ever want to meet, that he’s massively exercise averse …’

  Jason tuts and looks out of the window where some kids are going up and down on scooters.

  ‘Jules, how do you know he hates sport if he’s never had the chance to do it?’ he says. ‘How do you know he hates gyms, if he’s never been in one? He’s played footie with me a few times and he liked it. He was a good little goalie.’

  ‘You played football with him?’ This is news to me.

  ‘Yeah, just a kick about, when he dropped in here on his way home from school sometimes.’

  ‘He never told me,’ I say, wondering why not, and Jason looks surprised. ‘Look, obviously I’ll pay you,’ I say, and Jason laughs.

  ‘Juliet, you can’t pay me, you have no money.’

  ‘I’ll find some.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid.’

  ‘It’s important – I’ll find it from somewhere.’

  Jason leans forward, clasping his hands. ‘I’ll help,’ he says. ‘Obviously I’ll help.’

  I have a sudden idea. ‘OK, sandwiches then.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll pay you in sandwiches – since that seems to be all I have to offer people in this world.’

  Jason frowns and shakes his head, despairing of me. ‘Look, if it makes you feel better, then pay me in sandwiches by all means but I want gourmet, healthy stuff, mind. None of your bog-standard cheese on white.’

  I feel a sudden wave of gratitude.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘And I really mean that.’

  We chat for a bit, about nothing in particular, and it’s nice, without Zac, being somewhere that’s neutral, and I realize I’ve missed this, just having a chat with Jase, with another adult human being who is not in my family or Laura, then he says, ‘So, can I ask you a question? How come you went on a date with Dom?’

  I am so shocked that a loud ‘ha!’ escapes. ‘What? How do you …?’ The penny drops. ‘Oh Zac, you little bugger.’ Here I am, asking Jason for pretty huge favours, and here is Jason … ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Yeah, he’s a client of mine.’

  ‘Oh God. Look.’ Could you keep anything a secret in this town? ‘It was nothing, it was a date, it was a car crash, actually, and don’t’ – I flash him a look – ‘say why that does not surprise you.’

  Jason’s mouth is curling at one side; whether in faint amusement or hurt, I can’t tell. He leans back in his chair.

  ‘If I was a different kind of man,’ he says, ‘I could be quite hurt, you know, that you’re apparently, in your words, “too mental for a relationship” but not, it seems, with somebody else.’ He raises his eyebrows questioningly at me.

  He’s right, of course. I was too all over the place for a relationship with him, but I still am – for a relationship with anyone! I mean, what sort of grown woman attacks a guy for simply not wanting to kiss her?

  The room feels suddenly very hot, our voices loud. I lean across the table.

  ‘Look, Jase,’ I say, ‘I went out with you for a year. You were the first person since, you know, everything happened.’

  ‘Well, that makes me feel better.’

  I look at him while he picks a bit of laminate off the table.

  This seems like a very bad idea all of a sudden. I get up to go. ‘God, look, sorry, I should never have come here asking you to help us. I’m sure you just want to see the back of me after the way I’ve been,’ I say, picking up my keys and bag, but Jason makes a groaning, irritated noise.

  ‘Juliet, stop,’ he says and when I look at him I realize he actually looks quite cross. ‘Just stop, will you? Just stop reacting all the time. I’m curious, that’s all. I know it’s you not me, that you’re off your rocker not to snap me up.’ He grins mischievously.

  ‘It meant nothing.’

  ‘Zac said you were upset.’

  ‘Oh great, so you know everything. You know about me hitting him over the head with my handbag?’

  ‘Erm …’

  ‘Oh! Bloody marvellous!’

  ‘Look, Juliet.’ Jason rubs his face. I’m exhausting him. I always exhausted him. ‘I said I’d do it, all right. I think you should do it with him too, though.’

  ‘What? Why? What do you mean?’

  ‘I think you should do the exercise with Zac – or on your own, with me – but just support him either way. I’ve got a free pass for the whole centre. We can do swimming, badminton, table tennis, anything you like … I think it’ll do the both of you good.’

  I have a sudden flash of panic. I’m not sure exactly what about: him seeing me in a swimming cozzie, perhaps. Do I even possess one?

  ‘Look, Jason, that’s really nice of you, but no, basically.’ What am I even doing here? Aren’t I trying to cool off this whole friendship thing? But then, he could help Zac, I know that. He could really help him.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because this isn’t about me, it’s about Zac,’ I say.

  ‘Is it, Jules?’ says Jason, picking at the laminate again. ‘Really, is it?’

  Chapter Nine

  Zac

  Fact: The heaviest man ever recorded weighed a hundred stone.

  The Fisherman’s Chapel was built in 1966; it says so at the top of the door.

  To the Glory of God and in solemn remembrance of those who died at sea, it says. Solemn means sad and serious. I always feel solemn when I come here. It’s automatic, it just happens when you walk in. It’s sad but it’s also really interesting. There are boards with all the names of the seafarers who’ve died since 1920 (seafarers is just another name for fishermen but I like it better because it sounds dead adventurous). It even tells you what boats they went down on. One time, I’m going to come and spend the whole day memorizing the historical facts; I’m going to bring a packed lunch and memorize the names of the trawlers – it’s my all-time amb
ition. On 28 January 1932, for example, a trawler called the S. T. Leicester sank and the whole crew was lost at sea. Their bones are probably still floating around.

  I don’t just come to the chapel to read the dead men’s stories, though; I come because I’ve got the sea in my veins (not the actual sea, I’ve got blood like everyone else, it’s just a saying, it means I’m from a fishing family). So when I’m here, I feel like I’m with them, like my family’s bigger than just my mum, nan and grandad. I can’t describe it, but it’s a nice feeling. Also, I come and pray. When I say my prayers, I don’t kneel down, I just sit on the bench and say them in my head. That’s the good thing about praying, nobody needs to know you’re doing it.

  Today, my prayer went like this:

  Dear Jesus (my prayer was to God too, but I feel like I’ve got more in common with Jesus because his dad wasn’t around either, and his friends were all fishermen), I hope you’re listening because I’ve got a confession. I never put Aidan Turner’s name in the bully box. I told my mum I did to make her happy, but I didn’t, I’m sorry. It’s because if I did, he’d know it was me, he just would, and then I’d be scared of what he might do and Teagan says bullies can smell fear like dogs can. Jesus, I don’t want to be scared anymore, I hate it. It makes my belly hurt. I feel really bad about the lying but I’m going to have to get used to it and you are too, just for a bit, till I get the big prize at the end. That’s all I’m doing this for, to give my dad a chance and also to find the only man my mum ever loved. I can’t let the bullies take all my energy because I need it for my mission, and that’s also why I didn’t put Aidan’s name in the box. The good thing is, just knowing my mum loved my dad is already making me less scared, so can you forgive me for a bit longer, Jesus? You know I don’t normally lie, and it’ll be worth it. PS If you are not too angry with me, could I put in an extra request for you to help me find my dad sooner rather than later?

  Just then – it was mad – the chapel doors swung open, letting the sunshine in, and the blue glass window was suddenly lit up like a giant sapphire. Maybe this was Jesus come to answer my prayer? But it wasn’t Jesus. It was an old man; he was tall and wearing one of those caps that all old men wear. He stopped in front of me. I smiled at him but he didn’t smile back, he just walked, really slowly, around the chapel in silence. You could only hear his shoes going clip-clop on the floor. It was proper spooky. I didn’t know whether I should go or stay, so I stayed. My bum felt like it was stuck to the chair, anyway. Suddenly the man turned around.

  HIM: ‘Can I ask you what you’re doing?’

  ME: ‘Nothin’, just looking.’ (I didn’t want to tell him I’d been praying, it’s private and a bit embarrassing.) ‘Are you the owner?’

  HIM: ‘No, I’m a trustee of the chapel. Now what are you doing on your own in here? Because I’ll tell you something, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know how you boys have been coming in here recently, using it as a drop-in centre, disrespecting this place.’

  Why do some adults think all children are bad? I started walking out in protest.

  HIM (calling after me, probably feeling guilty now): ‘Well, shouldn’t you be with someone? Your mum or dad? Your family, if you’re going to come in here and just sit there?’

  ME (turning back from the door, pointing at the memorial boards): ‘They are my family, actually. Every person on that board is like my family. My grandad was a fisherman for twenty-five years! I’ve got the sea in my veins.’ (He looked very surprised.)

  I walked home. I felt angry and sad for the fishermen because I bet they wouldn’t have wanted a bossy trustee like that and they don’t get a say now they’re dead. But most of all, I felt good. I felt big, but inside me. I looked at myself in the shop window and laughed, because I was smiling my head off, even though nobody else was there.

  Teagan and I decided that Mondays would be our Find Dad mission day. Everyone knows that Mondays are the most boring day of the week, but now Mondays were the day I looked forward to the most. Mum said I didn’t have to go and meet her from work on Mondays now, either. I could just go straight home, which gave me and Teagan more time to have our Find Dad mission club. That Monday, however, had been a bad day at school. Someone had put a letter on my chair so that when we came in from break I found it. It said: Dear Jabba the Hutch, will you go out with me? I find fat boys so sexy!!! Aidan Turner and that lot laughed when I read it. It was stupid. I threw it in the bin but it made me feel horrible inside – sick but starving, both at the same time – like when I realized they’d stolen my clothes at the swimming pool or when I was just about to go on stage at last year’s Christmas play.

  We’d already had one meeting so far but that was at our headquarters on the roundabout on our estate. The roundabout is all rotted so your foot goes through the wood; it’s the perfect headquarters for a secret mission: because it’s so rubbish, nobody would suspect you were planning something as important as finding your dad on it. Today it was raining, though, so we were having the meeting in my room. Teagan was on my bed and I was on my beanbag. Beanbags are definitely the comfiest things in the world; when you sit in them, they give you a big hug.

  ‘So what have you found out so far?’ Teagan had our folder on her lap and was clicking my Man Utd pen on and off. ‘I’ll take notes.’

  Our first meeting was just about the rules, like, you’re not allowed to talk when the other person’s talking and we’re sworn to secrecy: if anyone tells anyone anything, they’ll get thrown out of the Find Dad mission club (and since there’s only two of us in it, that would be a disaster) and if you want to talk about it when outside of meetings you have to say ‘mango’ before you start. We got it from Connor. It’s our secret password.

  This was our first proper meeting, though. It felt exciting and scary, like a proper investigation.

  ‘I told you what I know,’ I said. I was embarrassed it wasn’t much after a week. I thought it was going to be easy asking Mum about Dad now I knew she didn’t hate him, but it wasn’t, it was harder, because it felt like it mattered more. And whenever I mention my dad to Nan all she says is, ‘The only thing you need to know about him is that you’re better off knowing nothing.’ So that just leaves Grandad and he’ll only talk about Dad when Nan’s not around. But then on Wednesday, we went to get fish and chips, so I asked him some questions (and I got some answers!).

  ‘I know you told me, but just tell me again,’ said Teagan. ‘So I can write in the file.’ Sometimes I think Teagan just likes writing things down in different pens, it doesn’t matter what it is.

  ‘His name’s Liam Jones, he grew up in Grimsby, and he was a deckhand when he was with my mum – which meant he did all the cooking for the crew on the boats as well as doing the fishing obviously. He was probably going to be a fisherman like my grandad.’

  ‘Did you find out anything about what he looked like?’ asked Teagan.

  ‘He’s got dark hair and he’s normal-sized.’

  ‘What do you mean, normal-sized?’ When Teagan speaks, the giant red flower in her hair wobbles. It’s her favourite thing – she wears it all the time since she found it outside Dominos – and I like it too because I can see her from miles off. ‘Like, what’s normal? Everything that exists is normal – that’s why it’s normal, because it exists. Only things that you never see aren’t normal.’

  ‘What like?’

  ‘Like people with horns or three eyes. You never see that, do you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘That’s because it’s not normal.’ She was definitely right.

  ‘I mean, not really fat and not really thin,’ I said. ‘In-between-sized, that’s what I mean.’

  ‘In-between-sized,’ said Teagan, changing from my Man Utd pen to a green felt-tip. ‘I’m going to write that in green, because it’s in the description part, OK?’ She sat back on my bed, leaning against the radiator – it’s the cosiest place to sit after my beanbag – and looked at the information in our file. Then she did a great
big sigh. ‘There’s no way we’re going to find him with this information. There’s loads of people in Grimsby with dark hair who are in-between-sized.’

  ‘Not loads of people called Liam Jones, though. Also, I know!’ I said, clicking my fingers (I’d had a brainwave). ‘We could go and ask people down the docks. If he was a deckhand, they might know him.’

  Teagan screwed her face up. Her nose looks even smaller when she does that, and she’s already got the smallest nose you’ve ever seen. It’s no wonder she finds it hard to breathe sometimes.

  ‘But we don’t know if your dad is in fishing now. Just because he’s from Grimsby and was in fishing when you were born doesn’t mean he has to be in it now – my dad’s from Grimsby, and he didn’t even have a job. He might have run away and changed jobs after you were born and then we’ll have wasted loads of time in the investigation. I think we should find out some facts about him first and where he lives. We could always look around town for people who look like you too.’

  ‘But he doesn’t look like me.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Because he’s normal-sized for a start.

  ‘I just do.’

  I wish I had a picture of my dad to help us but I haven’t. I’ve never seen what he looks like because before I was born, he ran away; he never even saw me or cuddled me, he just went. But now I know he must have had a really good reason if my mum loved him so much. And I’m going to find out what it is.

  We both sat in silence, thinking. I could hear Mum in the kitchen cooking our tea. Then I had another brainwave. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ I said, getting up. It’s quite hard to get up out of a beanbag, that’s the only bad thing about them. ‘Just wait here.’

  I tiptoed downstairs. ‘Y’all right, Zac?’ Mum called from the kitchen. I should have sent Teagan instead of me. She can go anywhere and you’d never hear her. It’s really very useful.

  ‘Yeah,’ I called back.

  ‘What’re you doing?’

  ‘Just getting something to show Teagan.’

  ‘OK, but it’s tea very soon. Tuna pasta bake all right?’