The Lone Alpha

Chapter Four. Davina.

Chapter Four. Davina.

I could never explain the sheer joy of seeing my son dancing from foot to foot, as he waited in line to place the protective glove on his hand and wait for the baby owl, who is just learning to fly, to land on his hand. He is absolutely loving his life right now and it makes the months of scrimping and saving for this holiday all worthwhile. As he steps forward and the lady in charge of the birds of prey for his turn, his smile is so wide it has everyone around him smiling at him. However, as he proudly pushes his arm out as instructed, the small baby owl freaks out on the handler at the other side of the small flying area. No number of raw chicken pieces or soothing words will calm the poor little thing down. The look of disappointment on Max’s face is heartbreaking. However, they bring out an older owl, and he stands there waiting patiently for the fully trained bird to fly to him.

It takes a while but finally, the owl flies to him, the lour of food too much to resist, and Max’s little face lights up like a Christmas tree again. The owl doesn’t hang around for long, but at least my son managed to have one on his arm, which is a relief for me, as his mother.

The display continued, and once again, the birds seemed to avoid Max like the plague. Maybe he is a little nervous and they are picking up on that. I hope he is not too upset, as he is watching them now, deep in thought.

“I think they are frightened of Thrax,” Max tells me in all seriousness.

I simply smile down at him; I have read varying pieces of advice online about how to deal with a child with a strong affiliation with an imaginary friend. I do not tell him ‘Thrax’ is not real, but I do attempt to change the subject.

“Hey, why don’t we head up to the caravan before your next activity and get some ice cream out of the freezer?” I ask him.

Thankfully that steers the conversation from ‘Thrax’, and he smiles, nodding his head wildly at me.

We make the half-hour walk to the north of the site, Max holding my hand as he happily skips beside me. For once, the British weather is being kind to us, and the sun is shining down, the rays prickling their warmth on my skin. It is a nice change from the drizzle and rain we normally experience, however, I need to make sure my son has sun cream on him, and I don’t have any in my bag. Now I feel like a bad mother, for leaving it in the caravan and not bringing it with me. The words of my parents rang in my ears.

“Get rid of it. You cannot look after yourself never mind a baby. You will be a terrible mother, and your dad and I will not be looking after it. We have done our duty with you!”

As we reach the caravan, I open the freezer and grab my boy his ice cream then rush to find the suncream and begin to apply it to every inch of his skin.

It works out a hell of a lot cheaper to purchase ice cream in a shop, as opposed to buying them at the Ice Cream Van. Because the sun is shining for a change, I grab a couple of chairs and take them out of the van, to sit on the grass to eat our bowls of delicious Neapolitan.

Max sits down, swinging his legs, as he licks the dribbles from the melting ice at the bottom of the spoon, then tilts his head to one side and looks up at me.

“Thrax said that his daddy is here,” Max announces to me.

Shit, bollox, s**t.

I knew the day would come when he would start to question why he doesn’t have a father. Clearly ‘Thrax’ his imaginary dog friend is his young psychological mind beginning to question why it is just the two of us.

I mean how the hell do I explain to a five-year-old that I met his father for a total of one hour when he was conceived, and then he declared he couldn’t love me and literally ran away? Or how do I answer the question when he asks his father's name? Sorry son, I was such a wanton slut that night, I didn’t bother to get his name.

The crazy thing is, I have had s*x, once in my life, I have kissed a man, once in my life, and that was his father, the man who deemed me unworthy to love, who got what he wanted, and ran off like a scared rabbit. Seriously, after that experience, it kind of puts you off getting involved with anyone ever again. I guess it is true, behave like a slut, get treated like one.

“That is nice. So, this evening we have the nature trail, after tea. What would you like to do this afternoon?” I ask, again steering the conversation to safer ground, but I know I cannot ignore the questions of my boy forever. I just hoped that I would have more time, and Max would be a little older before attempting to explain things to him.

As I predicted, Max cannot decide between the soft play, and, the big park at the back of the entertainment zone, or the science show they have put on for the kids, and as I hoped, he is busy attempting to make a choice, whilst changing his mind ten times over, which gives me a small reprieve from the conversation about ‘Thrax’s’ dad.

Finally, Max makes his decision, and we head off back down to the entertainment centre to watch the science show.

I cannot help but smile down at his little face, as the young woman around my age, with pig tails, bright coloured clothes, lab coat, and a pair of goggles makes a volcano out of red food colouring, baking soda and a few drops of vinegar. He is transfixed, thinking the chemical reaction is akin to magic.

“That is so cool mammy!” Max declares in wonder, as I agree with him, both of us clapping our hands as the foam keeps erupting over the top of the large test tube.

The experiments continue, with Max helping ‘Professor Brainiac’ make some slime, as all the kids gather around, and I get the feeling this little show will encourage more little scientific minds than normal school lessons could ever achieve.

Finished with the show, we wait in line for the tractor train to arrive, to take us back to the caravan for some tea, before coming back for the Nature Trail. As our transport arrives, we climb into one of the makeshift carriages on a long bench seat, Max facing forwards, and me sitting backwards. One of the rangers runs over, and fist pumps the driver, before climbing on in the carriage behind us.

My son suddenly stares off to the side, towards the Ranger Station, then tilts his head to one side.

“What’s wrong son?” I ask as he blinks and looks back at me.

“Thrax saw his daddy, but he is gone now,” my son declares.

“That’s nice,”

Okay, I know it is lame, but what else can I say? Maybe this imaginary dog friend is more of an issue than I thought. I wonder if my beloved son needs some help, or child counselling to deal with whatever is going through his mind. He has a doctor’s appointment when we get home anyway, for his pre-school booster injections, I think I may mention what he is saying because I am beginning to worry about this. I know it is probably just a phase he is growing through, but still, if he needs some help with the fact, that he doesn’t have a father, who am I to refuse to get him it? I know, not very English of me, to readily attempt to get my son some therapy, but right now, his conversations about ‘Thrax’ are becoming more frequent, and rather than showing signs of growing out of this imaginary friend stage, it seems to be getting worse.

Maybe I am overthinking, after all, I cannot deny I am the eternal worrier when it comes to Max, because he is my everything.

The tractor train pulls up at the entrance to our field, and we get off, as Max runs towards our caravan.

“Come on Mammy. I want to eat my tea, so I can go on the nature trail!” he shouts excitedly.

“We have plenty of time Max,” I grin at him.

As I serve our chicken nuggets with chips and peas, I sit opposite my boy. All this talk of ‘Thrax’s’ dad, makes me remember the man who was Max’s father. Not for the first time, I study my son’s face. His hair is like mine, his eyes also, but his jawline, and lips are almost identical to the man who turned my life up on its head. I think he gets his height and build from his father as well. After all, he was buff with a capital B. Once again, thinking of the stranger who is my child’s father has my heart pounding in my chest. I have never before, or since felt anything like the pull I had to him, and even all these years later, after everything that had happened, I still feel it now.

Crazy? Yeah, I know, but it is the truth.

I shake my head from such stupid thoughts, and gather Max’s empty plate, popping it into the sink for me to wash up after he goes to bed tonight, then grabbing his coat, as although the sun has been out all day, the evening is a little on the chilly side, I put it on and zip it up.

“Come on then, let’s walk down to the Ranger Station,” I smile down at my excited son, as he whoops with joy and excitement, and we once again begin the long trek down to the entertainment area for Max’s next adventure.