Her Last Tomorrow

Chapter 3

3 Nick

We’ve got some time to kill. I’m feeling pretty angry with Tasha for having got us up so early. I’m angry because I’m tired, because Ellie needs her sleep at her age and because Tasha’s insinuation was that I’m a useless father who can’t be trusted to wake up on time and get my own kid to school.

I often tell Tasha that she could spend more time with Ellie by working shorter hours, which would mean not having to get her up hours before she’s due at school. It can’t be any good for her development, and those long hours certainly aren’t working wonders for Tasha, either. She always says we need the money, but I’m pretty sure we don’t. We’ve never been rich, but we’ve never really had serious money problems, either. Besides which, it’s not all about money.

I’m sitting on the sofa, my eyes glazed over as I half-heartedly pretend to enjoy watching the cartoons on the screen. Ellie sits on the carpet in front of me, her legs crossed as she’s transfixed by the bright colours and wacky sounds coming from the TV.

I know I’m meant to know the difference between all these kids’ shows, but really they’re all the same to me. When it comes to kids’ TV, it’s just a case of bright flashing lights and lots of noise. It’s always amazed me how there’s so much money in kids’ entertainment when really it’s just a piece of piss.

I compare this in my mind to the book I’m working on right now. The bastards who write this sort of kids’ stuff don’t have to worry about plot holes. Just chuck a monster in to explain it all away. Character arcs? Forget it. As long as everyone’s throwing gunge at each other, you’re golden. Maybe I’m missing a trick. Maybe this is the sort of stuff I should be writing. What’s pride when you’ve got a nice sack of cash to sit on?

I don’t think any less of Ellie for it. Of course I don’t. She’s just like any other five-year-old, sucked in by the whole thing. Part of me would love to give her a more classical upbringing but, if the truth be told, I don’t know how. I sometimes wonder if I was ever cut out to be a father. But then I look at Ellie’s beaming smile and I realise I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve even suggested to Tasha that she get a different job that would allow her to spend more time with me and Ellie. She looked at me like I’d just dropped down from Mars. I get it. She loves her job. That’s great. But I think she enjoys the challenges and the responsibility as opposed to actually having a deep-seated love of marketing renewable-energy products. She doesn’t get the irony of her job consisting of singing the praises of a new mode of living, becoming more self-reliant and enjoying the world more – a job that she does from the confines of a stuffy office that she has to spend two hours a day getting to and from.

I look at my watch. It’s still only seven thirty. We’ve got at least an hour before we need to worry about leaving the house. I try to engage Ellie in conversation but she’s not interested. Why would she be? I rarely prove to be interesting conversation for adults, never mind a kid.

She’s a sweet kid, but she’s a child of her time. I sometimes wonder whether she’ll end up missing the experience of genuine human connection. As a family, we never just sit down and talk. Most families don’t, I guess, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a problem.

If I’m perfectly honest, I’m quite happy right now just sitting here watching her smile and gawp in amazement. She’s perfectly happy. Then again, she doesn’t know anything else. This is the world she knows and accepts. She wasn’t around to see the change.

I wonder what changes she’ll see in her lifetime. Things we can’t even comprehend, probably, just the same as our parents couldn’t have even imagined the concept of the internet when they were children, and our grandparents couldn’t have envisaged the advent of television before it was invented if they’d tried. Whatever the next big technological leap is going to be, it’ll be something that we can’t even dream up the concept of yet. That’s the sort of thing that goes through my mind sometimes, and it tends to give me a bit of a headache.

I’ve got a headache now, but that’s mainly due to the fact that I was dragged from my bed at five o’clock this morning when I could’ve easily got up later and still been fine. Tasha’s not just in our lives – she rules them, too. She has a way of doing that – worming her way in and somehow managing to become indispensable. Sometimes I think she does it by making me feel more and more useless, resulting in me having to rely on her. I know I don’t, though. I’m a man. I need to retain that level of independence.

With independence, though, comes responsibility. I’m not foolish enough to think that I’m the most responsible person in the world. I forget things. I’m serially late. I do things in the wrong order. I get my priorities muddled. But no-one’s perfect. Tasha’s the organised one in our relationship, and that’s fine. A relationship with two Tashas in it sure as hell wouldn’t work.

This is why I don’t like getting up early. My brain’s always too active and I end up thinking things like this. I sigh deeply, rest my head back against the sofa and close my eyes.