Rollercoaster

Rollercoaster  

The bus was crammed with young women pressed against the windows waiting for their first glimpse of the base. As the driver drew close to the drop-off point, nineteen-year-old Lottie opened her compact, and made last-minute adjustments, not forgetting to apply another layer of the aptly named Strawberry Potion to her already glossy lips. Earlier, she’d sneaked out of her home in a village less than five miles away. She had told her strict church-going parents she was staying over to watch tv with an old school friend. The part about staying over was true, but she wasn’t sure her mother believed her about the rest.

“Just because you’re a grown woman doesn’t mean you can’t get into trouble.” Her mother’s dire warnings rang in her ears like clashing symbols, but for once Lottie was going to ignore them. She dreaded ending up like her parents, married to their grocery business rather than one another. She wanted more out of life than that.

Lottie’s lovely brown eyes were overshadowed by vibrant blue makeup. She avoided the thick mascara of her companions because it always turned messy by the end of the evening. Her long wavy hair was held in place by copious hairspray.  Determined to avoid appearing what her mother called “cheap,” she wore an orange floral print jumpsuit she’d bought from Carnaby Street along with white platform shoes she’d spent months saving for. The final touch was a pair of disco sunglasses she kept in her bag in case she was overcome by shyness. She secretly dreaded no one would want to dance with her. 

The Air Force events were the highlight of many of the local girls’ lives. The atmosphere on the dance floor at the Gemini Club was electric. Lottie needn’t have bothered worrying whether she would spend most of the night sitting at one of the tables near the door or what were called the “sit-out seats.” As soon as she stepped through the door, one of the American airmen gallantly came out from the bar and headed her way. 

“This young lady is with me. I’ll sign you in,” he announced. Signing in meant Lottie wouldn’t have to pay for the club’s entrance fee. She couldn’t believe her luck. It was unfair, but the American men seemed dazzling compared to the British ones. At least the ones Lottie encountered at the shop. “That’s if you’re agreeable to the idea, ma’am,” he quickly added.

“Thank you,” Lottie said, bowled over by the man’s blue eyes, dazzling smile and distinctive uniform with its polished buttons and epaulettes. It was funny how simultaneously he took her breath away and yet made her feel at ease. As the evening progressed, Lottie’s nerves dissipated, and she felt at one with the surroundings. Everything about the club was fresh and exciting, and she adored the whisky and vermouth cocktails served with a cherry at the side of the glass. Lottie spent that evening and the Friday and Saturday evenings following for the next few months with Ben Anderson, in a kind of dream. Between drinks, the pair learnt about each other’s lives. Lottie told Ben her parents owned the village grocery where she lived above the shop. He remembered having visited it, but had never seen her. “I must have been slaving away in the back,” she said without a hint of irony. Back home, Ben’s parents had a similar kind of set-up, though on a bigger scale. When the pair danced beneath the glittering disco ball, Lottie felt she was floating. With Ben, she felt she could go anywhere, be anyone. She wanted the night to last forever.

**

I might never have known about the photo had it not been for my grandson’s carelessness. When mum decided on clearing out the attic after my stepdad died, Toby insisted on carrying the suitcase to the charity shop himself. At ten, he was going through a phase of showing off his arm muscles after coming across a set of my old Incredible Hulk comics. He was peeved when the lid suddenly burst open, and the contents spilled out onto the pavement where we’d parked outside the shop. Piles of mum’s dust-collectors including tiny Wade figurines had been painstakingly wrapped in newspaper and there was that memorable collection of my stepdad’s saucy old seaside postcards. He’d relished taking me and mum to the sea. Maybe more so because they’d never had children of their own.

“That case is useless! Don’t know why grandmama keep it,” Toby declared crossly. “Who’d want all that stuff anyway?”

The case was a dark green 1950’s one with a white handle and rusted metal clasp.

Toby poked out his tongue. “What a load of crap!” 

“Toby! There’s no need to be rude!” I chided. He was probably right, but its contents had once been mum’s treasured possessions.

It was while bending to retrieve these bits and pieces that my eye fell on an old photograph. Instantly, my stomach somersaulted. In that moment the world I’d known spiralled into something mysterious and undefined.

The picture was of a man in military uniform, maybe in his mid-twenties. He had his arm round a pretty young woman and the pair were laughing into the camera. On closer inspection, I realised the carefree young woman was my mother, and my stomach did another flip.

“What’s the picture grandad?” Toby asked.

“Oh, nothing particular.”  Needing time to process what I’d just seen I put the photo back into the pile. When Toby turned away, I slipped it into my back pocket.

Before I go any further, I’d better explain that my wife and I were childhood sweethearts when we got together. We had our children in our early twenties which makes Toby’s great grandma (my mother) less old than you might think. 

**

Later that evening I showed my wife the picture.

“That must be your mother when she was young. She’s so lovely.”  Jenny squinted to get a better view. “The man seems familiar somehow.” She kept looking at the picture, then back at me. What she said next confirmed what I’d been thinking but couldn’t admit out loud.

“Do you think? … Could this be your dad?” Jenny asked, at last.

“Well…”

“But I thought your dad had died!”

“That’s what mum told me.”

“That’s weird.” The pennies were dropping faster than those coins you see in arcade coin pushers. “Unless?”

“Unless what?” Thoughts swirled through my head until I had to sit down and catch my breath.

“Didn’t you say you once asked your mum for a picture of your dad, but she told you she didn’t have one.”

“Whenever I broached the subject, it was like getting blood out of a stone. In the end, I gave up asking.”

“What if he’s still alive and she’s kept it from you all this time?” Jenny asked.

“Why would she do that?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe she thought it would be easier.”

My wife is a wizard on the internet. Before long, she was looking at me from her laptop with a gleam of triumph. “I think I’ve found him.”

“Found who?” My stomach did another somersault. 

“Your Dad. At least, it looks like him. He’s called Ben Anderson and is American.”

I’d been both dreading and longing for news of my father, and my emotions were in turmoil.  

“So, he’s-still-alive?” The fact he existed at all seemed incredible. Almost unbelievable.

“According to this, he was born in 1944 in Minneapolis, but now lives in a town in Minnesota. He spent a few years in England serving at the air base as part of the USAF squadron during the late 1960’s, early 70’s” She named the airbase; it was about 40 miles from where we live, no longer in use.

It made sense. The Americans had used the airbase until it was decommissioned in the late 90’s. I remember reading about it. Also, when Mum was growing up, she’d lived in a village nearby.

“Anyway,” Jenny continued, “like I said, he now lives with his family in Minnesota.”

“Isn’t that where Little House in the Prairie was set?”

“That’s right.” 

“Wow!” It was hard to take in the fact that the man with whom I was so intimately connected lived another continent away.

Jenny watched me intently. “The question is what are you going to do about all this?” 

“I’m going to need time to take it all in, but I think I’m going to send a new friend’s request on Facebook.”

Jenny closed the laptop. She came and sat beside me and squeezed my hand. “Are you sure about all this Pete? It’s a big thing. You can’t tell how these things are going to turn out.”

“What you mean is he might not want to know me. I mean it’s been nearly fifty-six years.” Another thought struck me. “Maybe he knew about me all along and didn’t want to be involved. Maybe mum said he was dead to protect me from getting hurt.”

Once again, my thoughts were racing wildly. Spinning out of control.

“You’re going to have all these questions and you may not like the answers you get,” Jenny said, ever practical. “This is only the start. At worst, it could be like opening a can of worms. Can you deal with the fact things may not turn out the way you want? I mean, what about your mum? Are you planning on telling her about all this?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Not until I find out more.”

“Whatever way you look at it, it’s going to be a journey of discovery,” Jenny said.

“Perhaps he won’t even reply.”  

“Well, then you’ll have your answer.”

Fortunately, it didn’t turn out that way. Once Ben had recovered from the shock of discovering he had a middle-aged son he knew nothing about living in England, he responded to my enquiries promptly. Yet there was an air of reticence to our communications; he asked me about my work and family, while avoiding the awkward subjects. When I tentatively suggested flying to America to meet him, he said he’d been planning to visit England to meet up with some old pals from his Airforce days and it would be a chance to meet me too.  When he told me he’d booked into the Pike and Trout hotel, I was pleased. It’s always been one of my favourite places.

**

The Pike and Trout is a quaint eighteenth-century hotel cum bar not far from the airbase.  For me, one of its best features is the restaurant which looks onto the fisherman’s lake. There’s a large adjoining room where my daughter had her wedding reception. Leading on from the main oak bar are a series of dimly lit rooms needing renovation. Still, their nooks and crannies with huge fish sealed in rectangular glass cases hanging from the walls, lend an antiquated charm. Supping my beer in one of these alcoves, I waited for my “father” to appear. 

All I can say is contacting someone via the internet is nothing like meeting them in real life. Nothing can prepare you for how you’re going to feel. 

When a smartly turned-out man of stately years stepped into the empty bar, I was well into my second beer. He didn’t spot me at first. Probably needing something to fortify himself, he ordered his drink. Even with his back to me, it was a bit like seeing an older version of myself. As I rose, he saw me and stepped forward.

“Hey, it’s you. I see you’ve got a beer. I was worried you might not turn up.” He sounded a bit like me but with an American accent.

It was surreal seeing someone who was both familiar and unfamiliar. Like me, he was tall and our facial features were similar. Not surprisingly, he had lost a good deal of what had once been dark hair. As had I. Hardly knowing what to do, we half shook hands, half-embraced. 

“You made it.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Barely.” He grimaced. “I’d forgotten how narrow the country lanes are round here. I hired a car and nearly had a misunderstanding with a farm vehicle when I first arrived.”

“You have to watch it. The bends are tight.”

“You betcha.” Hearing him laugh was even more disconcerting. “And people like you to say please and sorry a lot. I’d forgotten about that,” he added.

“That’s true.”

For a while we excelled in small talk. I was surprised how long two people could hold a conversation about the conditions of the roads and the absurdities of navigating the countryside. At least he had a good sense of humour. Then I asked if the bed in his room was comfortable, and we talked at length about that. I dare say we could have gone on like this forever, but the man who was my father suddenly broke out with, “You have your mother’s eyes, you know.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Er. How is your mom?”

“Mum’s been going through a difficult time lately. My stepdad died six months ago, and it hit her hard.”

“Ah, that can’t have been easy.”

“That’s partly why I haven’t told her about meeting you.”

“Oh, right. ok.”

After downing more beer, I said, “Actually, she told me you had died. I had no reason to question it until I accidentally came across your photo.”

“Ah! Maybe because she was mad at me the last time we met. At the time, I had no idea she was pregnant.”

“Right. That’s what made her angry?” 

He took another swig of beer. “This is probably gonna be difficult to hear. I admit it wasn’t one of my best moments. You’ve got to remember I was young at the time. I mean I thought I knew it all back then, but I didn’t. You see, when I met your mother, I was already spoken for. I was engaged to a childhood sweetheart back home. So, I was in quite a pickle. When I told your mother about the girl, she broke things off. Didn’t want anything to do with me. Can’t say I blamed her.”

“And the other girl?” I asked.

He sighed loudly. “I’m still married to her. We have three grown up daughters. The oldest is couple years younger than you.”

“I have sisters?”

“You do.”

“Wow!” So, all this time I’d had another family I hadn’t known anything about. It was mind-blowing.

“Does your wife know about me?” I asked.

He studied his beer extra hard. “No. I haven’t told my family about you yet.”

“Oh… Ok.” Then, “Why not exactly?”

“I guess I wanted to meet you first, you know… to kind of get the measure of things. To be honest, my mind has been in a whirl since you got in touch.”

“Mine too.”

“But I’ll definitely tell her as soon as I get back,” he promised. “I’d really like you to be part of our lives. That is – if you want to be.”

“Three sisters! I kept shaking my head in disbelief. 

“Yeah. They’re great women. Two have grown children. They’re going to want to meet you.”

**

Before leaving, my father suggested taking a walk in the grounds.

We were standing by the lake watching the fishermen when he suddenly turned to me. His expression was one of anguish. “It’s no good Pete. I’ve gotta level with you. I haven’t told you everything.”

A dry laugh emerged from the back of my throat. “You mean there’s more?”

He searched in his pocket and handed me a faded, slightly crumpled photograph of a baby in a pram. “That’s you,” he said, and his eyes were misty. “I always kept it in my wallet. The truth is I did know about you, but not until your mom wrote telling me she was expecting when she was a few months into her pregnancy. By then, I was married, and Ada was having a baby too. My! Oh.” He covered his face. “It was quite a situation I’d gotten into! It’s not gonna be much consolation, but I never stopped thinking about you. I’ve spent years regretting I wasn’t in your life.”

“Wow!” The word was inadequate to express what I was feeling.

“I’m really sorry. I just couldn’t face telling Ada at the time. I guess should have done. One thing I did decide was if you ever got in touch with me, I’d respond right away, no matter what.”

“Well, you’ve done that alright,” I said.

Before finally leaving, my dad still seemed hesitant. Then he said, “If you do decide to let your mom know of our meeting son, please tell her I’m sorry. I wish things had been different.”

When he’d gone, I returned to my car feeling strangely empty. I lost track of how long I sat there thinking. I now know what people mean when they talk about an emotional rollercoaster. But I also know whatever the twists and turns, I’m going to keep riding it.