Just This One Thing

IDIDN’T know Nathan well. He was about to become my grandson, in a way, but we’d met only five times since my daughter Kelly began her relationship with Alec, Nathan’s dad.

So as Nathan sat in my kitchen that morning, frustrated and anxious, I saw a job ahead.

“I won’t wear that tie,” Nathan said. “That’s all.”

He was sitting with his head bowed, mumbling as only an eight-year-old can.

“A different tie, then?” I suggested.

I was sure the bride and groom would allow that, and my husband had several in his wardrobe. Alec and Kelly did need Nathan to wear a tie. The wedding was to be formal.

He looked up.

“I don’t want to wear a tie,” he said and his head went down again.

“So you’re a casual dresser?” I said. “Me, too.”

I was still wearing the top and jeans I’d thrown on that morning. I hoped to be able to put my glad rags on once I’d found a way to get Nathan down the road to the hotel without mishap.

He had never seemed the kind of boy who’d have fits of temper. He seemed sensible and well behaved. Nathan ignored me. His suit was a small version of the one Alec and his brothers were wearing. Alec had told me that Nathan loved the suit, so it was odd that he objected to the tie.

Nathan liked Kelly – he’d told me that and I knew he wasn’t just being polite. I can spot when an eightyear-old is pretending. He was happy about the wedding.

“Toast?” I asked. “I fancy some. Long day ahead.” Nathan shook his head. He knew my daughter well. It had been five years since his dad’s divorce and three since Alec met Kelly. The new family set-up looked like it was going to be a big success.

But that morning, while everything was progressing in the usual wedding day way, Nathan had lost his cool.

He’d been fine, watching from the top of the stairs, but then he’d thrown the tie down, slammed several doors and locked himself in the loo. Puzzled, Alec had wheedled him out, but Nathan dug his heels in.

“Nathan’s old enough to co-operate on his dad’s special day,” Alec said.

I thought once again what a good dad he was – loving, but understanding boundaries.

Later Kelly braved my not-always-spotless kitchen flagstones to come and show Nathan her gown, hoping that would alleviate his unidentified fury.

“Your dad bought the ties to match this,” she said, showing off the green band around her waist.

“Yeah, I know,” Nathan replied, studying the floor.

Kelly was trying hard not to get annoyed, and I could see she was surprised at his behaviour.

“He’s not usually attention seeking,” she whispered. “Any tie within reason will do, Mum.”

Nathan and I sat in silence. Beyond the kitchen the bridesmaids were arguing about something, Alec’s brother was yelling that he’d mislaid the service sheets, and Alec was asking if somebody could give an opinion on a joke.

“You’ve been amazing, Nathan,” I said. “Kelly tells me you helped out with all sorts.”

No reply.

“You picked the hotel for the holiday you’re all going on?”

I looked at his combed hair and thought of the inner-city kids I’d taught – so different from Nathan in their poverty, the chaos of their lives, their needs.

“And you designed the front cover of the programme thingy,” I said.

“I’m not wearing the tie,” he repeated.

I wondered if there was something specific here – a bad experience with ties, or a teacher he was scared of who wore a tie.

“Just this one thing,” he said with gritted teeth.

“What did you say, Nathan?” I asked. “Nothing.”

His skinny arms were braced against the seat, and he looked exactly like the kids I’d taught.

My head cleared. I remembered my first headteacher saying to me, years back, “They have no control of

This little boy was about to become my grandson, and he needed my help . . .