The rebuilding of tom co.., p.26
The Rebuilding of Tom Cooper, page 26
‘I think the kids did that version as their nativity last year.’
Julian plays mock-hurt. ‘There’s no need to be sarky. It’s totally brilliant,’ he says. ‘It’s got that real fairytale magic, but without the ridiculous happy ending – best of both worlds.’ I love his enthusiasm, but I don’t know. When you see how crappy the actual world is, maybe a happy ending isn’t so bad.
After the kids have gone to bed, I wrap the remaining few presents and do the Christmas Eve parental business before ending up in a game of Balderdash. We sit down, all eight of us at the table.
‘Well, at least it’s not Scrabble,’ Mum jokes, trying to be nice.
‘Lucky for Tom,’ laughs Dad, like he’s made some conceptual jump that wasn’t implied in the original comment. Laugh all you want, big man. Little do you know, the official Scrabble dictionary is currently waiting for you under the Christmas tree.
The game is actually hilarious within about five minutes. Susie tries to bluff us by claiming that the acronym F.R.E.D stands for the ‘Federation of Reptiles, Extinct and Dormant.’ Everyone’s in stitches, like she thinks reptiles have formed a fucking Star Trek mission, boldly going where no extinct reptile has gone before. The whole thing is just amazingly fun. And, as I think about these people around me, the kids asleep upstairs, I realise that maybe what Julian was saying is right. This is what’s really important – family. Sure, they’re pains in the arse most of the time, but once in a while things fall into place, and you realise why you go through it all. And I’m sure that has nothing to do with me winning a board game for once.
Dad is in a foul mood afterwards because only one person went for his fake definition of ‘taradiddle’. I’m surprised he didn’t know the actual meaning from his archaic reference books. It’s not long before Mum and Dad go to bed, followed by Eva and Jim, and I slump in a sort of warm post-eggnog victory stupor by the remnants of the fire.
Marcus comes through from the kitchen with a hot chocolate and sits with me for a while before bed. He’s happy. Married life seems to be suiting him. We chat for a while – about Sally, about the kids, about his hangover after the wedding… eventually things turn to less pleasant territory.
‘What happened to that girl you came with? Amanda, wasn’t it?’
‘It didn’t work out.’
‘Sorry to hear that. Work get in the way?’
‘A bit. More the Atlantic. She got a job in the States.’
Marcus nods, understanding. He could never have been a straight guy – far too much emotional intelligence. ‘Well… that’s a shame. She seemed great.’
‘She was.’
Julian comes down the stairs wearing a rather flamboyant dressing gown that is far too thin to provide any actual warmth. He kisses Marcus on the head.
‘You coming to bed or what? Your family are lovely and all, but I didn’t marry them,’ he says. ‘I doubt Tom’s going to come upstairs and give me a cuddle.’
‘Sorry, no. There’s actually a guy from work I’ve kind of been having a thing with.’
Marcus smiles, and takes his husband’s hand. ‘See you in the morning.’
They go upstairs. And I sit there till the fire goes out.
Monday – Christmas Day
The kids are up at six, so I am too. We open the stocking presents and no one seems suspicious that Santa seems to have become less generous and creative since Mummy moved out, so that’s a result.
We have a big breakfast of bacon and eggs, and Coco Pops on their own that I brought from home. Auntie Eva doesn’t have Coco Pops. Like I said – classy. By the time we open the presents, the kids have already had a second breakfast of panettone and eaten an entire pack of chocolate coins, so are running around hyper, playing with various plastic PAW Patrol monstrosities and battery-powered animals. It’s not long before Arthur is also attacking everyone with a semi-automatic Nerf rifle which, come the apocalypse, may actually be powerful enough to hunt our country’s wildlife. The weak, actually existing kind. I’m aware that Carrie’s imaginary dinosaurs might require something a bit more powerful.
We sit round the tree with glasses of champagne and smoked salmon blinis while the kids hand out gifts in the elf costumes I bought them. They look awesome.
My present haul is pathetic. Two packs of socks from my parents: one of sensible black ones, and the other, novelty. Dad points towards the pair printed with the words ‘Taxi Driver’ and mouths ‘for work’ at me, without a trace of irony. I thank him, then break into a grin as he opens his Scrabble dictionary, trying not to look like his world is falling apart. Others gifts received include various jams and chutneys (one’s from Fortnum and Mason – thank you, Auntie Eva) and a Toblerone. Julian and Marcus are next to me, and all their presents look awesome – each one thoughtfully chosen and luxurious; special little accessories from posh London shops mixed with high-cost technology items. Jesus. Not a Toblerone in sight. Well, until my kids bring Marcus over a triangular-shaped parcel from my mother. In your face, Marcus – that ain’t from bloody Liberty.
Sally used to buy me great presents. She was the one person who actually knew what I wanted and got me something good. It makes me sad. That I’ve got no one in my life that knows who I am any more.
I’m thinking about Sally when Carrie comes over with tears rolling off her face, leaving dark green patches on the felt of her costume. She’s too distraught to tell me what’s happened.
‘Is it about Mummy?’
Carrie nods.
‘You’ll see her later. She’s going to pick you up at six and then you’ll have a second Christmas with her and Austin. It’ll be great.’
‘I don’t want Austin to be there. I don’t know Austin. I want it to just be you and me and Arthur and Mummy. I want things to be normal again. I want her to be here.’
‘Me too, love; me too.’
It’s just before noon when the doorbell rings.
I hardly even notice it. Carrie’s calmed down again and I’m in the middle of breaking up an argument about whether Chase from PAW Patrol could beat Kylo Ren in a fight. I try to stay neutral, but I’m pretty convinced Kylo Ren would have it. I don’t say that, obviously. Besides, KR might have a dog allergy. It would explain why he wears that face mask.
‘It’s for you,’ says Marcus, appearing behind me and the kids. I’m pretty deep into trying to form an argument about how cartoon dogs could hold their own against the Sith, so it takes me a few seconds to register.
I walk toward the door, away from the revellers. It hasn’t even struck me that Sally might be early. But who the fuck else goes round to someone’s house on Christmas Day?
‘What the—’
Standing there, about 2,000 miles from where she’s meant to be, is Amanda.
‘Hope it’s OK to come over. I was at my parents’ house for a few days, so I thought I’d pop by… as I was in the area,’ she says, trying to act like it’s no big deal. ‘I brought you your present.’
She hands over a little parcel, but I’m not paying any attention, I can’t take my eyes off her face. ‘I thought you were in New York.’
‘I got offered another job. Here. They don’t trust JC any more, so they want me to take over as Creative Director.’
‘That’s… that’s amazing.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ She smiles.
I notice my mum poking her head into the hall and I suddenly feel the need for some privacy. ‘Give me a sec.’ I grab my coat, and head out into the front garden with Amanda.
It’s not snowing, but it’s one of those magical winter days where it might as well be. There’s frost on the ground, and a crisp chill in the air that almost makes it all right that you’re in an environment that can barely sustain human life.
‘How did you know where I was?’
‘Julian Facebook-friended me after the wedding. I sent him a message. He’s pretty active on Instagram too. Well done winning Balderdash last night.’
I shake my head, laughing. Fucking Julian. Although, I have to admit he’s quite seriously in my good books at this moment.
I suddenly realise I’m standing here surrounded by the beautiful English countryside with this woman. Who I love. Like I said, I’m not going to tell her. That can wait. And she’s also my boss. That’s going to take a bit of getting used to, but right now it’s barely registering. All I’m thinking about is how she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life. And I want to kiss her.
A day kiss. A far sight from a drunken snog at an office party. Luckily, I’ve already had a couple of glasses of champagne. Thank God for Christmas.
‘At the risk of getting fired, I think I’m going to have to kiss you.’
She mulls it over for a second before answering. ‘I’ll overlook it. We’re not in the office right now.’
Our lips meet, a little oasis of warmth amidst the cold of the day, touching gently at first, softly adhering to one another as they part. And everything just feels so… right.
She looks up into my eyes, ‘Can you… hang out for a bit?’
I want to. I really want to. I want to invite her in and spend Christmas with her and my kids and eat turkey and get drunk and sit on the sofa watching shitty television, but then I remember Carrie. Crying her eyes out earlier. I don’t want to force Amanda onto them. I don’t want her to be another Austin.
‘I think I have to spend the day with Arthur and Carrie… I don’t want things to be weird for them.’
Amanda nods, understanding but disappointed.
‘It’s probably better if we take it slow around them,’ I explain.
‘OK – well… I’ll be here for a few days if you want to see me.’
‘If I want to see you?’ I can’t help laughing. It’s all I bloody want. ‘Sally’s picking them up at six. Could you come over then…? I can’t promise I won’t destroy you mercilessly at Cranium.’
She smiles. ‘Yeah. That sounds good.’
I stand outside, and watch her walk back to her car. I’ve got so much inside me I want to say to her. But there’s time. Hopefully there’s plenty of time.
We wave at each other as she drives away, and I head back into the house. With a present that might actually be all right.
As I go back inside to what might be the last Christmas day I ever spend with my kids, it somehow feels like my life’s started again. And sure, I don’t know where this relationship will go. But it’s a start.
And when you started with an ending, maybe that’s enough.
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Serious about Funny
Acknowledgments
Massive thanks to my wife for her support, encouragement, and just being generally amazing. Thanks to my agent, Richard Scrivener, for all the work he put into the book, and for being ‘on it’ to a very unusual degree – very glad to have you! – and Victoria at VLA for the initial introduction. Thanks to Sarah, my incredible editor for her great work and taking out most of the more egregious jokes. Thanks to the incredibly talented Liam Relph for designing my ideal cover. Thanks to Jimmy Ruzicka and Annabel Knight for their early reads, and buddy for trying to get through it even though he doesn’t read fiction. Thanks to Penny Bryant for her eagle-eyed proof reading (with apologies for ignoring her correct suggestions of using ‘and I’ and ‘racewalking’, and for my wilfully flitting between the American and English spellings of ‘ass’.). And finally, thanks to my parents for whatever horrible act they committed to create me, their support, and for being nothing like the parents in this book!
About the Author
Spencer Brown began performing comedy with the Cambridge Footlights alongside John Oliver and Matthew Holness, before becoming an internationally acclaimed stand up. He has performed everywhere from London’s TheComedy Store to Mumbai and the USA and his TV credits include Nathan Barley, Edinburgh Comedy, Last Comic Standing, and his own special on Swedish television, as well as the lead role in the 2019 horror comedy movie Shed of the Dead. As a TV presenter, he has fronted ITV’s Lip Service (alongside Holly Willoughby) and Five’s The Sexy Ads Show. He is also the writer-director of the multi-award-winning short film The Boy with a Camera for a Face. The Rebuilding of Tom Cooper is his first novel.
First published in 2019
by Marotte Books Ltd
51 York Avenue, London SW14 7LQ
www.marottebooks.com
Text © Spencer Brown 2019
The author asserts his moral right to be identified as author in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act, 1988
All rights reserved.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form, binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN: 9781916152632
Cover design by Liam Relph
Contents
Praise for The Rebuilding of Tom Cooper
Title Page
Dedication
The Rebuilding of Tom Cooper
If you enjoyed reading this...
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Copyright
Spencer Brown, The Rebuilding of Tom Cooper
