The following night, they were driving to Newtown, with Emma asleep in the back. The car smelled like French fries and there was a half-finished Coke in the cupholder. They were driving through a rural area, and passed several old, boarded-up buildings. They looked like farm houses.
"How old is this place?"
"Yeah I know. It's really old. I can only imagine some sarcastic urban planner deciding to call it Newtown."
She had the map open in front of her, and was crumpling it in all the wrong places. She traced lines across the map with her finger and frowned.
"Are you sure you're going in the right direction?"
"Not really. It's around here somewhere, though."
"You don't know where your own town is?"
"I haven't been back for years."
"The place you grew up?"
"Look it's really small place. It's not on that map of yours for a start. It probably barely shows up on a map of Newtown."
"Calm down. We'll get there."
"Yeah."
"That was funny, by the way."
Eventually they pulled into a neglected driveway, but still better maintained than the road leading to it. He looked around.
"Well, this wall is new."
They got out and he rang the doorbell. There was no response. Petra rang the doorbell again, but held it in for a longer time. Then she knocked.
"You did tell him we were coming?"
"Yes of course."
"Just checking."
They walked around the side of the house, where a light was flickering through the window. They peered inside, and saw an old man ensconced in an armchair, a can of beer open beside him watching a sports show on a small television. Petra knocked gently on the window. The old man leaned forward, pulled the curtain back slightly and stood up slowly. The window swung out, nearly smacking into her. The old man registered an expression of disappointment.
"Oh, it's you."
"Yeah. Hi, Dad. We rang the doorbell, but maybe your hearing is off."
"There's nothing wrong with my hearing. I disconnected it two years ago."
"Oh. I see."
"I had to. The 'Please Go Away' sign wasn't working."
"Oh. Well, I'd have interpreted that as irony."
"Misinterpreted you mean. So what sort of trouble are you in this time?"
"I'm not in any trouble. I just came back to- look. Is there any way we could just come in. It's dark and cold."
"Yeah fine. No sense in letting the heat out, is there?"
He slammed the window, and shuffled his way to the back door. They followed him into his living room. It was furnished in a fashion which was probably the height of good taste in 1975. Everything was covered in a nice layer of dust, except for a track from the door to the old armchair in the corner, completely at odds with rest of the room. There was a two-seater sofa next to the armchair. Petra didn't seem too pleased about sitting down, and made a half-hearted attempt to clear away some of the dust. They sat and watched a game none of them understood for a while, with Emma in the middle asking occasional silly questions and being hushed for her temerity. When it was over, the old man turned to the intruders on his sofa, and nodded to Petra while talking to his son.
"So, this is the latest."
"Yeah. She's called Petra."
"I thought you were still married to that little blonde girl - the one who makes the cakes."
"Yeah. I still sort of am. We're going through a thing at the moment."
"Does this one make cakes?"
"I'm sitting right here!"
"I know, love. That's why I'm being nice and not saying F star star K."
"You can if you like."
"Oh thank fuck. I feel better now."
"Also, I don't make cakes. Sorry. I made a baby, though."
"Oh Jesus, she didn't tell you it was yours did she? Don't believe it. This is what women do, you know. They trick guys like you into looking after someone else's baby."
"I'm sitting right here!"
"It's not my baby."
"So what - you're actually volunteering to look after someone else's baby? What school of logic does that come from?"
"Well, it turns out that Petra is a two-for-one deal."
"You're a moron-for-one deal."
"No, wait. You have to talk to Emma. She's really something special."
"She's a little girl. What could she possibly have to say that's so fucking special? In fact, I'm pretty sure she's not said anything of importance at all in her entire life. Hey, kid, say something. Now's your chance to shine."
"You have something on your nose. HA!"
"Yeah. Exactly. Only my son could find the babbling bullshit of a five-year-old riveting."
"I'm six!"
"She's four."
"You're a fuckwit. I'm never getting any grandchildren, am I? What happened to the other one?"
"Which?"
"The one you're married to! Why didn't you have any children? Are you broken down there as well as up here?"
"No. Nothing's broken. She just wanted to concentrate on her career and wait for a while."
"Career. When I was your age, having babies was the best career for a woman. So, Petra, what exactly do you do with your time?"
"I write comics."
"Do you actually write comics, or are you just fucking around?"
"What do you mean?"
"Have you actually published anything that someone bought, or are you waitressing while waiting for your big break slash inevitable failure?"
"I have a comic in print right now, and I'm working on several others."
"Are you making any money?"
"Not a lot, but we're in the black at the moment."
"OK. I like you now. Can you please explain to my son that he's a useless shit wizard?"
"Shit wizard. That's a new one."
"Shut up. I'm not talking to you; I'm talking to the girl. So do you think you can explain it to him?"
"I could... try?"
"Good girl."
"But I have to declare something in the interests of full disclosure - I don't actually think he's a shit wizard. Whatever that is."
"You've heard of the Wizard of Oz, right?"
"Yeah, I've seen the movie loads of times."
"It's the same as that, but with shit instead of Oz."
"Are you sure?"
"Follow the yellow brick road."
"It's just that I've known him for some time now, and he's never-"
"He's a fucking shit wizard!"
"OK OK fine. I'm... one of those. Can we move on?"
"Oh god. There's more? Does it get better or worse?"
"No, it's not that. I just don't want to talk about me being a shit wizard anymore."
"Fine. Why are you here again?"
"I just wanted to say hello. And I wanted you to meet Petra and Emma. And Petra sort of demanded that we see you."
"Still letting yourself get kicked around by pretty girls, I see. Are you ever going to get sick of being weak?"
"He's not weak!"
"Really? Well let's hear it from him."
"Well. What she said."
"Yeah, what she said. That's the story of your fucking life, isn't it? What she said."
Emma started to get restless. He pointed at her.
"Maybe when she gets to be a bit older, she can push you around too."
"Hey..."
"No, really. Maybe the two of them can play ping-pong with you for fun."
"Be nice."
"That's if she hangs around long enough. You have a habit of driving them away."
Emma escaped from her mother's grasp and ran over to the old man sitting in the chair. She stopped right in front of him and pointed so that the tip of her finger was almost touching his nose.
"You look like Casey's grandpa!"
"Who the hell is Casey?"
"My best friend. She sits next to me."
"Yeah, well make the most of it kid, because it won't last."
"I'm not a kid!"
"You're close enough for jazz."
"Who's jazz?"
"Jazz. The music. You know? Jazz."
"I know a song!"
"Oh god. Petra, how are you raising the child?"
"I don't have any jazz records. I have some metal. Industrial stuff."
"What? Industrial isn't a type of music - it's a type of estate."
"That's just what they call it. I'm sure I'll get her around to some jazz eventually."
"Make sure that you do."
They sat there for a while watching Emma run around in circles. After falling over, she sang a song indicating she wanted to go to the bathroom. Petra asked to be left alone with his father, so he took her out. As soon as Petra confirmed they had left, she leaned towards him.
"I was sorry to hear about his mother, you know."
"Yeah. Well that was a vat of shit from beginning to end."
"Yeah. You know, I've known him for a long time. We've been friends since I was a teenager."
"Yeah. Look, you're a pretty girl and you seem more or less not a total idiot. What are you doing? Can't you do any better than this fool?"
"What's the deal with you guys? Don't you like him? Why are you so mean to him all the time?"
"It's for his own good. Look at the size of his head!"
"It looks normal to me."
"If it gets any bigger he won't be able to walk through doorways without turning sideways."
"You know he's clever, though, right?"
"Clever? Oh yes. He's got plenty of that, for all the good it did him."
"He got a book published!"
"A book no one bought, yeah. I bet he's still paying off on whatever it cost him to get it done. A small part of me died when I heard about it."
"What? Why?"
"Because I love books, you know? Hemingway, Tolstoy."
"Yeah, the good stuff."
"And just knowing that he's in the mix somewhere. It just devalues the rest of them."
"Have you read it?"
"Oh Lord no. It's probably about how stupid he is. Oh, here he is now. What the hell took you so long?"
"Nothing. Sorry."
"I was just talking to your lady friend about how you ruined literature for everyone."
"You finally got around to reading it, then?"
"I did not!"
"Oh. Right. Well, we better be going to bed."
"You're staying here?"
"Well, yeah. That was the plan."
"Can't you stay somewhere else?"
"Well, it's just with the kid, and it's late and-"
"And blah blah whatever. Right. Fine. You can have the far room. Don't make any noise."
"What about my old room?"
"It's my room now. Good night."