Usually, I'm barely even aware of my phone. Sometimes I leave it in the boat when I'm out all day. Now, though, I'm a teenager, fraught with worry that I may – God forbid - have misplaced it. Only now, since last night, there are two phones. My usual phone, which is blue, is in my left pocket. My new phone, the important one, is red, and this is in my right pocket. Suddenly, I am a married man with a mistress.
I glance around, aware of the look Jenny has given me and knowing exactly what it means. We were married for so long. Really, we should still be married, we both know that. The barman in the black waistcoat busies himself by slowly and meticulously updating the blackboard behind the bar with white chalk. An old lady with a Tesco bag hanging from the handles of her mobility scooter zooms from one game to another. I'm reminded of Ken and his lady friend, wonder whether he is working today, curious if he's had any more trouble from unidentified sources. I smile at a young mother, standing over a young toddler at her feet. She smiles back and I notice the wetness of her lips, the possible undertone of the look.
"Daddy, I scored a 92!"
There is a tinge of guilt as I feel the weight of my daughter on my thigh. I don't even think I would have a blue phone were it not for Emma. The rest of the room disappears as I remember the first time I set eyes on her, twelve years ago. Emma was a pink, bloody bundle with a dome-shaped head like a member of the Ku Klux Klan, and yet I stared at her, amazed that this beautiful little girl could possibly have anything to do with me. Now I'm amazed she is so tall, that she is so delightful, that she possibly has anything to do with me. I often don't absorb the words she says because my mind is fascinated by her very being. I recall what she tells me, but I am unsure what it really means.
"Is that good?"
Emma's face opens into mock frustration. She turns to her mum, who shakes her head, sharing her agony. Emma slaps her palm against her forehead. There is plenty to slap, to be honest, for her long, blonde hair is clawed back into a ponytail. Jenny chuckles, just as she used to when she was my wife, when we were happy.
"Well, it might not be a great score for say Liz Johnson..."
"Who?"
Emma turns back to her mum for support. Jenny shakes her head again, although it is clear to both of us she doesn't have a clue who Liz Johnson is either.
"Just one of the best female bowlers ever, that's all!"
"So not as good as the men, then...?"
Emma playfully punches my shoulder. Her playful punches are much harder than I remember. I'm sure she must be the tallest girl in her class. "You've just explained that 92 is a good score - for you - and so now I'm extremely impressed and massively proud. Maybe we can forget school and those awful exams and just focus on a career in bowls instead? At the very least, it justifies the £4.90 I spent for you to play..."
Emma makes a sign with her fingers which, I hope, indicated I was a cheapskate, although, to be fair, it does look very much like the letter 'L'. Jenny waves a hand in front of my eyes. I am in a trance, again, gazing open-mouthed at our daughter.
“Daddy, what did the floor say to the door?”
She still tells me a joke, every time we meet. It is kind of a thing we have going.
“I don't know. What did the floor say to the door?”
“I can see your knob.”
Wow, I think, as Emma puts her hand to her mouth, these jokes certainly have progressed with the passing years.
"So how is that boyfriend of yours?" I ask, grinning. "Jack, is it? You need to tell me if he is not treating you right, and I'll have that quiet fatherly word in his ear. I've always wanted to do that. Just like in the movies. Just give me the sign, Emma."
Emma slaps my chest. My right leg has gone numb. She really is getting big. Every time I mention this to Jenny - express my amazement that our daughter has grown - she reassures me that this is what children do, that it is perfectly normal for them to grow. "Jack isn't my boyfriend. I'm much too young to settle down with a boy, Dad, and have far too much life to enjoy first. And besides, Jack is the biggest boy in our class. He probably wouldn't be scared by your quiet word in his ear. He is nearly as tall as you are, and much younger and fitter, of course."
I ask myself if this girl really is still only twelve, or if I've absent-mindedly missed a few years. Jenny laughs. I join in. Emma jumps to her feet. "You gave me enough money for a second game," she informs me. I think that I should have checked how much a
