THE TAGALONG
Im so exhausted from endless parties and fleeting relationships.
Honestly, I was ready to give up on the whole business when I met Charlottea down-to-earth, cheerful, and remarkably clever woman.
After a cozy evening together at a local café, listening to buskers outside Covent Garden and chatting about my new promotion and her passion for contemporary poetry, it was almost uncanny to discover we both preferred our potato salad with apples.
I felt it was a sign: we simply had to see where this could go.
Charlotte invited me over for dinner at her flat in Clapham.
I made sure to put on my best shirt, shaved, memorised some odd lines from one of her favourite poets, bought a lovely bouquet, and picked up a decent bottle of wine from Marks & Spencer.
Buoyed by anticipation, I strolled through the evening air, heart light, confidence soaringlike an overfed cat lording over its food bowl fifteen times a day.
Everything was planned down to a Texcept for the jarring moment when the door opened and a voice boomed, Good evening, Im Tom.
Mums just in the shower, come in.
I froze as a broad, boyish face peered down at memaybe a teenager, but more like a rugby player than a lad.
Tom stuck out a hand that might have enclosed my entire head if he wanted.
My first thought?
Wrong flat, but his sneezeloud, hilarious, mouth clamped and nose pinched shutwas exactly like Charlottes, confirming Id not misread the address.
My mood quickly soured; wine felt less inviting, flowers drooped.
I walked in, taking stock of Toms trainers: so huge, I could have slipped them over my shoes and theyd still swamp me.
Charlotte herself was almost dwarfed by her son, barely reaching up to his ribs.
I couldnt help but thinkwhy cant gold grow like that?
Give a woman a ring, and ten years later its an impressive investment piece.
Lost in those tangents, I barely noticed trailing into the kitchen, where Tom was changing curtains unaided and the table was already set.
Five minutes and Ill be out! Charlotte called from the shower.
Twenty-five minutes later, she finally emerged, radiant and composed in an evening dress, with her makeup fresh and eyes gleaming.
One glance at my sullen face and her excitement fizzled.
The moodI could tellshifted.
Charlotte quietly plated up dinner for both of us, poured the wine herself, and started eating before I sat down.
Why didnt you mention you have a child? I finally blurted, unableor perhaps unwillingto mask my disappointment.
What, scared of a little baggage? Charlotte retorted with a sad half-smile.
Thats not baggage, thats an entire train.
Hes a big onetakes after his dad.
His fathers from some sleepy Cumbrian villageyou know, real lumberjack sort.
Apparently bigger than Tom here, and once wrestled a wild boar barehanded.
And where is he now? I asked, choking a little on my own curiosity.
Oh, touring, somewhere up north, with the boar, naturally.
He left us behind for the thrill of the stage.
Occasionally he writes, though youd swear the boars got neater handwriting and more decency.
How olds Tom? I nodded discreetly towards the living room.
Hes fourteenjust got his passport, officially.
By force?
Very funny, she deadpanned.
The rest of dinner passed in awkward silence.
Conversation just wouldnt stick.
May I have some more meat? I asked, pushing my plate forward.
Like it?
Honestly, best Ive ever tasted.
What is it?
Venison.
Tom cooks it himself.
Impressivehes got talent.
Inherited a cookbook and a set of knives from his dad, alongside a fishing rod, a boat, and some rubbish I persuaded him to leave behind.
A boat? My mouth watered at the thought.
Yeah, its stashed in the basementwell, sometimes.
Toms mad about fishing.
Just then Charlottes phone buzzed.
She mumbled an apology and hurried to answer.
Time to make myself scarce, I thought.
The evening held no more promise for me.
She soon returned, visibly agitated.
Nick, could you possibly stay with Tom for a couple of hours?
Theres been an incident at work, and I really have to go.
Me?
With Tom?
Why?
Well, hes still underage.
You never know these days, with all sorts knocking about”
What, afraid someone might kidnap him without anyone noticing?
Lookseriously, Ill pay you for your time and lost evening, and then never trouble you again.
Fair?
And what do I do with him?
I dont know, talk blokes stuff, keep him company.
Ive got to dash.
Before I could even answer, Charlotte was already halfway down the stairs.
Resigned, I sat in the kitchen, drained my phone battery in fifteen minutes, finished the venison and wine, and waited.
She still didnt return.
Eventually, I wandered to Toms door and heard familiar sounds.
Surely not, I muttered and knocked.
Its open.
I poked my head in.
First thing I noticed: a giant wooden target with knives and arrows stuck in it.
Not so much as a single stray hole in the wallthe lad was apparently a sharp-shooter.
An old record player sat on his desk, low musicIron Maiden, my favouritespilled softly from a speaker.
Tom was in the corner, quietly fixing up a set of fishing tackle.
I glanced around: a row of trophies, a punch-bag hanging from the ceiling, and a shiny new PlayStation by the telly.
Not bad at all, I whistled, deeply envious.
What teenager wouldnt want such a room?
Hell, I wanted it myself.
I work summers, Tom said quietly, and I suddenly felt like an absolute prat for my previous assumptions.
Charlotte wasnt breaking the bank to spoil him; turns out, he was plenty independent.
Got a mobile charger? I pleaded, holding up my dead phone.
By the train set, he gestured.
Train set? I stammered, unable to believe my ears.
I turned and there it stooda sprawling, meticulously built railway circuit.
I forgot how to breathe.
You built that yourself? I asked, almost in awe.
Yup.
I add new bits as I can.
Got a parcel of tracks delivered this week, just havent had a chance yet.
A flush of childhood excitement warmed my heart.
Could I run the train for a spin? I asked.
Go on, Tom grinned, standing to help.
***
Charlotte returned an hour later, positive shed find me long gone.
Instead, she discovered me and Tom hunched over the train set, lost in our own world.
For a moment, she seemed unsure which of us was the adult.
Nick, its getting late, she called softly.
Alright, Mumoops. I scrambled up.
What time is it?
Half ten, she yawned.
Early start for me tomorrowcrisis cleanup again, need my wits about me.
She escorted me to the door, pecked me on the cheek, and pressed some notes into my hand.
I dont take money from women, I sniffed, handing it back.
Alright.
Thanks for looking after my tagalong.
I managed a wry smile and left.
***
A few days later, I rang her up.
Hey, Charlotte, I was hoping to pop over again.
Listen, Im snowed under at work right nowcant handle relationships, always swamped.
Besides, after last time
Could I come by just to hang out with Tom?
With Tom? She sounded bewildered.
Yeah.
Maybe needs someone to look after him?
I bought him a new game for his Xbox; well have a quiet one, you can do whatever you need.
Well Okay, come round then.
That evening, I turned up in a completely different guise.
No shirt, no aftershave, no wine, no affected longing.
Just a black Iron Maiden t-shirt, backpack stuffed with crisps and Coke, and my best grin.
Keep it down, boysIve got a video call soon, Charlotte muttered, her hair in a messy bun, face masked with a sheet, oniony breath hanging in the corridor.
I nodded, slipping into Toms room.
That evening, Charlotte struggled to separate us.
We were deep in debate about Guy Ritchie versus Christopher Nolan, arguing over who made the better British film.
We even threatened a six-hour movie marathon, but Charlotte dismissed us both as men of dubious taste and shooed me out.
Dont forget the bait for Saturday! Tom shouted as I left.
What bait? Charlotte asked with a knowing look.
Oh, were off pike fishing.
I told Tom about a tackle shop with the best stuff.
I havent been fishing in yonks, cant wait.
You two are properly mates now, arent you?
No interest in spending time with me?
You could come, make some butties.
Oh sure, cause Ive nothing better to do, she smirked, but there was warmth in her eyes.
Go on then, off you pop.
At least Toms occupied, and I can find a minute to breathe.
***
A month sped by.
Charlotte was buried in work, romance a distant memory.
Meanwhile, Tom and I flourished: we perfected the model railway, went on a crayfishing weekend, started brewing ginger beer from an old family recipe passed down in Toms mums side.
Tom taught me to navigate the woods, and I helped him to finesse texts so he could finally ask out Jenny-from-next-door.
Everything was ticking along nicelyuntil one night, a hammering at the door made the ceiling lights tremble.
Charlotte swung the door open and was met by a thick waft of game meat.
Her ex-husband and Toms father stood before us.
Ive seen the light, he declared, dropping to one knee.
He still towered over Charlotte.
Potter and I are tired of the wild lifeready for a quiet family one.
Ive saved up, come back for you both.
Move to the North with me, enjoy life.
You can quit your job.
Tom and I will fish and hunt; you can finally relax.
Oh please!
Its been ten yearsnow youve had an epiphany?
Is your pig coming home too?
He landed a television gig behind my back, he muttered, bitter.
Left me for the small screen.
So thats it, Charlotte folded her arms.
You just got ditched.
Doesnt matter.
What matters is
He didnt finish, because just then I stumbled in, wearing Charlottes faded Reading Festival tee.
Charlie, I borrowed your shirtmines caked in paint from helping Tom with the train
Does anyone ever finish a sentence in this flat? Charlotte sighed, looking from one of us to the other.
Who the hell is this? her ex growled, fist raised at my head.
Thats well Charlotte started, faltered.
That was when Tom burst in, twisting his fathers arm behind his back and pinning him to the wall in one fluid movement.
Thats the tagalong! Tom spat.
Tommy!
Son, its me, your dad!
What do you mean, tagalong? the man huffed, straining against the hold.
The tagalong helps us haul all the stuff you left in our laps, Tom snapped.
But I never left you anything, her ex replied, realisation suddenly dawning.
Charlotte and I hovered in the corner, silent witnesses to this strange standoff.
Alright, mate, break, he finally yelped, and Tom let him go.
Youre a solid lad.
Takes after me.
Already ready for the wild boar, the father massaged his arm.
Mind if I take him for a spot of shooting tomorrow?
Bond a bit, try to patch things up?
I am his father, after all.
Charlotte was tongue-tied, looking back and forth between us.
I get it, I said, and gathered my things.
Sorry
***
Next morning, they left bright and early.
Tom returned late, alone.
Wheres your dad? an anxious Charlotte questioned.
Hes gone, Tom replied, kicking off his boots.
Gone where?
Just gone?
Not exactly, Tom shook his head.
Left with the boar.
Loaded it into a trailer and off they wenttraining for more performances.
Dropped me back in town.
Oh, I am such a mug, Charlotte smacked her forehead.
I should call Nick
No need, just said goodbye to himhe drove me home.
Said hed be over tomorrow.
But you left your phone here!
Howd he even know where to find you?
Said he kept an eye outwanted to make sure you and I were safe.
He actually said that?
Yeah.
Also, he reckons hes properly attached to us nowand he doubts hell ever let go.Charlotte tried to look stern, but a laugh broke through.
Honestly, Tom, is he your mate or mine?
Tom shrugged, grinning for the first time that day.
Bit of both, I think.
But Mumhe brought ginger beer.
The front door rattled just then.
There I stood, awkwardly clutching a battered rucksack and a paper bag from the bakery.
I come bearing jam doughnuts and a bottle of our latest brew, I said, waving them triumphantly.
Figured you might need cheering up.
Charlotte blinked, then let me in wordlessly.
We stood there, three unlikely companions in the hallway, shoes strewn where wed kicked them off, the scent of doughnuts mingling with the lingering memory of venison dinners and smoky festivals.
Tom reached into the bag, pulled out a doughnut, and took a massive bite.
So whats next? he mumbled, icing sugar dusting his chin.
I glanced at Charlotte.
She smirked, that familiar sparkle in her eyes.
Suppose we carry on, she said.
We always do.
Tom looked up at the two of us, lips stretched in a sticky, genuine grin.
Just dont ever call me little man again, yeah?
I laughed, and CharlotteCharlotte finally laughed too, high and clear, a sound like a bell at midnight.
There was no boar in our hallway, no grand promises, no dramatic goodbyes.
Just a quiet resolve, warm doughnuts, and a certainty blooming in the glow of kitchen lights: sometimes, the best families are the ones that tag along and decide to stay.
