Please Welcome

Chapter One

How the hell did I get here? Me, Tina Morrison, nee Robinson; how did I come to be standing here about to go on stage in a nightclub in Croydon and sing The Greatest Love of All in front of hundreds of strangers?
"You're up next Tina alright?"

"Yeah," I say. Well I try to speak but I'm too nervous, so I just nod and make a funny noise, oh my God, what am I thinking of? How did I end up as a finalist in the annual South East Regional Karaoke Competition? Crikey, I feel like I'm on Pop Idol - I keep having to pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming.


It all started last November, nearly a year ago. Bonfire night it was - that was the night that everything changed forever , the night that life kicked me in the gut and winded my soul. We'd gone up the park to watch an organised fireworks display, me and the kids that is, my two big girls Sammy and Laura and the baby Joe.

We was expecting their dad Pete to put in an appearance but he never showed up. I remember standing there in the freezing cold, pulling my jacket tight around me and hiding under my hood watching all those fantastic explosions of light and colour cascading through the darkness and thinking to myself - Pete would love this, it's right up his street. It weren't like my Pete not to show up, he's a good dad and he loves an occasion- only the Christmas before last he didn't have to be asked twice when they needed a Santa for the school Christmas party - he was in that fat costume and beard before you could say Jingle bells and it didn't half suit him.

I remember the head, Mrs Clark remarking, "Oh he's lovely - your husband, a real sport and the kiddies adore him."

Yeah, he is that's for sure. My Pete, we were a brilliant couple, everyone said so. We're not a bit a like me and Pete. I'm from round here you see, born and bred in Holloway, not the prison but round here there ain't much difference. Where as Pete comes from 'Up North' Preston , I've only ever been up there a few times, nothing much to see not unless you like rain, grey skies and soggy chips. His parents don't even live there no more, they moved to Spain, made sure they bought a tiny little two bedroom apartment so we can't go and visit - they aren't stupid.


Pete's been down here for twenty years now but if I'm truthful he's never really fitted in. It's the North and South divide, that invisible line that stretches across the country separating us all by how we pronounce our vowels. I loved it when we first met, he used to call me his little cockney sparrow and I'd say don't be such a pillock, this is North London, not the East End, but I knew what he meant.
My mates had all settled with local lads, boys we knew from when we were kids - but not me, I met my Pete at work. I was a dental nurse , not highly skilled I know, but I had a very nice uniform and when I was wearing it I felt like a real nurse and I looked like one too, I know cause I always got half price down the cinema and a seat on the bus which you don't even get if you're ten months pregnant these days.

He came in for an RCT, that's a root canal therapy to the uninitiated. We just clicked, he was scared stiff and kept trying to crack jokes, I'm used to that. I'd just smile sweetly and reassure the patient , say things like - "Oh Dr Evans is amazing, we call him Doctor No Pain, don't worry darling, it won't hurt a bit."

Course I was lying through me teeth, Dr Evans was a mean old git who hated his job. He used to wear a little ear piece thingy that was plugged into his transistor radio so he could hear the races. Many's the time he'd be standing there, drill poised in one hand, patients life in the other and without warning, he'd jerk the drill away from the poor sods mouth and shout, "Yes!"

These days I expect he'd be struck off, but this was ages ago, and people didn't like to complain.

Pete asked me out for a drink, it wasn't the best of dates really, what with him not being able to talk much, with his sore mouth and swollen lip, he'd made that fatal mistake a lot of inexperienced dental patients do and chewed up his anaethised lip like it were gum - didn't hurt at the time but a few hours later, ooh.

Me and Pete used to have a right laugh together, down the pub or just curled up on the sofa watching the telly.
He loved that Only fools an Horses, he'd fall about he would.

"They 're just like us Tina."
"Nah, don't be such a plonker." I'd say, outraged.

"You know what I mean, always striving to be something they 're not, trying to get out of the rut, better themselves."

I didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered.

"But Pete they live on the top floor of a grotty tower block in scuzzy old Peckham and we've got a very nice if not compact, three bed roomed council house with a back and front garden."

He'd just wave his hand, "You know what I mean Tee, it's all the same at the end of the day."

When he never showed up at the fireworks display, which I must admit was spectacular even if some clumsy bugger did manage to smear ketchup all over the sleeve of my new coat, we went back home for the traditional sausages and jacket potatoes for supper hoping we'd all catch up there, I even had a stash of sparklers in the hall cupboard so as we could go out back and wave them around like great big illuminated pencils.

Pete loves Tina, that's what he used to write in the night sky, ahh, soppy I know, but that's me for you.

"Where's dad?" asked Sammy, still sulking cause I hadn't let her go over and stand with all her mates who were quite obviously smoking a joint and talking about sex like they was experts.


"Don't know love," I said, trying to put her at ease but concerned all the same. The car wasn't in the drive and his mobile was switched off.

"Perhaps he's gone down the pub mum." suggested Laura; at 13 she was very wise, takes after her dad. When I first knew my Pete he was working on a building site - he used to joke it was just so he could wind up the birds when they went passed by.
I used to say, 'That's disgusting, that's sexual harassment that's all that is."

He'd just laugh, "It's only a bit of fun love, you wait till you're over the hill, then you'll be complaining cause no one's whistling at you."

Now I know what he means.

Anyway he must of got fed up with ogling all them shapely legs and pert bosoms cause he went off and did a course at the poly tech, in computers, turned out he had an aptitude for it, he was a whiz, now he's doing very well thank you, had to go over to Japan for a fortnight a few years back, he even contemplated taking a job in Edinburgh and moving us up there. But I said, "No, it's too far".

"Too far from what?" he persisted.

"You know, London, oh no it'd do my head in if I couldn't go round me mums and anyway what about the girls they've got all their mates round here?"

He just shrugged and said, "We'll see." which loosely translates as 'anything Tina wants Tina gets.'

That's about the time we bought our house from the council, a little terraced house off the Cally Rd. We were so happy when the girls were little everything felt right. We had our mates Gary and Lisa and my sister Teresa and her kids were just around the corner, me mum was always popping over and telling what I was doing wrong and me and Pete , well we couldn't get enough of each other, mind you that was before me tits went south, oh well, I've still got the photos to prove it.

"One day we'll move out of London", he used to say, a big grin spreading over his face, "Yeah, that's what we'll do."

I always responded the same, "Why?"

"Oh come on luv, we don't want the kids growing up down here, think of the freedom they can have if we go back up North, they can ride their bikes around all over and come in late for their tea, we won't have to worry and fret about them, it'll be just like it was when I was a kid."

"Are you mad?" I'd say, "I'm not having my kids growing up in the country, it's terrifying out there, full of weirdoes lurking about and hiding in forests, and besides the shops are rubbish."

Well I know that's a bit harsh but that's how I feel and I can't help it.
I mean I'm sure their are some very nice places up there and I suppose in the bigger cities the shopping's alright too, don't get me wrong I'm hardly snob features Victoria Beckham, but I feel safe in London, I really do. When you read in the papers about horrible things happening to kiddies and old people, it's always out of London, in the country or somewhere, you see my theory is there's just too many people down here, too much going on, so you don't get all these crazy lunatics - well you do but you get used to them.

I mean I went into my corner shop the other day, just to buy some Frosties and the semi-skimmed when this woman comes in looking normal, no coat, shoes on, nice handbag, nothing obvious to prepare me for what was to come. Well, she walks up to Mr Kamal and says as brash as you like, "Excuse me, what shall I buy? " well Mr Kamal is gobsmacked, so he says, "What ever you want madam."


But that weren't the end of it, then it's, "Shall I buy some milk?" She says and goes and gets a pint of milk out of the fridge, Mr Kamal just smiles and says, "If you like." Then she gets really confused and slams the milk down on the counter and says really loudly, "What else?" So Mr Kamal, who's trying really hard not to laugh, just shrugs and looks at me as if to say, Bloody Hell what a nutter. So I look down at my shoes and try and pretend like it ain't happening. Then she says, "Shall I buy a packet of crisps?" Mr Kamal, says if you like, and points to the crisps, so she goes over and has a good look then shouts out, "Well what flavour should I get?" Mr Kamal is now pretending to be invisible and this gets her really mad, so she starts yelling, "Salt and Vinegar? Cheese and Onion, Ready salted? Which ones?" Finally she just storms out screaming, "What sort of shop is this anyway?" Bloody mad. Oh well, that's Holloway for you, wouldn't live anywhere else.

But my Pete don't agree - he had it all planned you see. When the girls left school he wanted us to move, he even talked about going abroad, the Costa Del Sol or somewhere, he worked hard on me he did. Took me out for a meal to his favourite Indian, plied me with lager even though I'd said more than once I'd prefer wine.

"Think of it luv, just you and me, we'll have a lovely big villa with a swimming pool and all the sunshine in the world," he gloated, nan bread in one hand pint in the other.
"But what will we do? " I implored.

"Well I'll get a job, you know me, I can turn me hand to anything, besides there's plenty of opportunities for computer experts like me, I could ask the firm for a transfer."

'Well what about me?" What can I do?"

He smiled at me, one of those big confidence building Pete smiles that he reserves for me.

"You can go back to your job darling."

"But Pete, I was a dental nurse, besides I can't speak Spanish, what if the dentist asks me to pass him the drill and I hand him a bunch of flowers, I wouldn't last five minutes."


So we put our plans on hold and poodled along as usual. The girls were both in secondary school and still hadn't got any convictions - everything was rosy. Sam was doing ever so well, she'd inherited her dad's brain for technology and she was excelling in her IT classes.
And Laura was surprisingly good at music, she was brilliant on the steel drum, a natural, she wants to be a nursery nurse when she leaves school, so all that banging about making music will come in really handy.

Then it happened didn't it? Just a couple of months before my fortieth, I went and got pregnant.

"You're what?" said Pete, 'what at your age, is that possible?"

Well yes Pete, despite my great age my ovaries are still in full working order as I said at the time if you recall - but no, you know best, so when you sent your unstoppable sperm hurtling down my birth canal they had a whopping great target in view.... you prat.

That's how I came to have a baby at the age of 40, bloody typical, you look forward to your big 4 0 all your life, planning a big girlie knees up and the presence of everyone you've ever known in your life, a real, rip roaring, booze fuelled rehearsal for your own funeral I suppose, champagne, male strippers, the works and how did I spend it, with me head down the lavvy, chucking up. Couldn't keep a glass of water down, horrible it was, there I was five months pregnant and losing weight just when you want to be putting it on, I couldn't look at a tin of tuna without heaving, poor cat had to become a vegetarian, never mind what any one tells you, cats love baked beans.

The other two kids were a breeze, but this little bugger, what a sod. His hormones and mine didn't mix, they didn't like each other one bit, strangers in a custody battle for my body and the intruder was winning, ousting the poor cow who'd lived their quietly all on her tod for the past 4 decades. But where will I go, I thought, the answer was nowhere, I threw up for the entire 42 weeks, yes he was over due naturally and then some, after an excruciating five hour labour, with no drugs or pain relief due to the fact that apparently it was too sodding late to administer an epidural, Joe Raymond Morrison came kicking and screaming into this world at ten past five one Monday morning in February and as far as I know is still bloody screaming.

So there I was 43 years old and mother to a toddler. I'd walk down the street with him and people would think I was his gran, some of the neighbours, just the ones you pass not the ones you speak to, thought he was my Sam's, as if, she might be a face pulling teenager but she ain't thick, she knows how angry I'd be if she went and had a baby before she done her GCSEs. The only advantage of being pregnant when you're over 40 is that people assume you must be younger than you are, let's face it, in their opinion you'd have to be a bloody idiot to get yourself knocked up at that age.

Pete was at the birth of course, like he'd been there for the girls, but he didn't seem that interested really not in retrospect. It was only when I burst into tears and begged the midwife to throttle me - did he finally look up from his newspaper and say, "What's going on now?"

He declined the doctors offer of letting him cut the chord and pulled a face like he'd just seen my placenta - whoops I think he had.

Despite Joe being a boy, Pete didn't help out as much as I'd thought he would. I mean he loved him to bits, don't get me wrong, he'd have killed anyone that laid a finger on him, but he was.... a bit distant that's all, never gave him a bath or changed his nappy or went to him in the night and he came home a lot later from work than he used to.

"We're so busy at the moment love, what the merger going through and everything."

I thought it was because boys tend to be a lot more difficult than girls, at that age anyway what with all the testosterone surges - little girls will sit there quietly playing with their dolls and dress up outfits while little boys will for no explicable reason hurl themselves against the wall shouting, "AGHHH!" My sister Teresa always says if she don't like someone and she finds out they're expecting she always hopes they have a boy, ain't that nasty?

It was perishing that bonfire night, Joe had fallen asleep in his pushchair and I remember thinking, oh bugger, that's me up at 4am then. The girls were texting their mates and giggling over some silly topical joke that was doing the rounds and everything was normal, I put me key in the lock and turned it, completely unaware that my life - our lives were about to change forever.

"Pete!" I called out, I don't know why, I knew in my heart he wasn't there.

"Mum, where's dad?" whined Laura.

"How should I know?" I snapped back and was immediately sorry but too anxious to show it.

Not a sign of him, nothing. I bunged the spuds and the sausages in the oven and put the baby to bed.

It was just when I was walking down the hall, passed the little box room that had been converted into an office that I had a funny feeling.

I'm not really one for checking my emails all the time, days can go by before I realise there's anything in my Inbox, as they say.

I wonder , I thought, there's no message on the ansaphone, nothing on my voice mail, I wonder.

I switched on the monitor and checked - sure enough right beside my name was a little blue number one - sender, Pete Morrison.


Dear Tina,

Sorry I couldn't make the Fireworks do tonight, thing is I'm not actually in London. I know you're going to be really gutted and I'm so sorry to do this to you and the girls, and Joe of course and I promise I'll come down as soon as I can, I just need to get away and sort my head out.

What? What the hell was this all about? Sort his flipping head out, has he got the boot? Has he robbed a bank and done a runner? Where in Christ's name is my husband?

I was panicking now, my heart was pounding, I swear I could see it like a cartoon character in a haunted house, it was like a train crash I couldn't look away from that terrible computer. I was being sucked into this cyber hell and there was no way out but to read on.

I've been in touch with Madeline, don't know if you remember Madeline, I told you about her, she was an old girlfriend of mine from school. Well she's divorced now and we sort of met through Friends Reunited and one thing led to another and well, I've gone to stay with her, just until I decide what to do. I know you must hate me but please believe me when I say I never meant to hurt you. Don't worry about money that will be sorted out as I've asked for a transfer to the Manchester office and it's come through.

Take care Tee,

Pete xx

The silence was overpowering but I was screaming inside, every organ that made my raddled old body function had shut down. Then I heard myself, I was saying "No!" under my breath, "No, no, no....even then I didn't want to share this disaster with anyone else.

The bastard, the bloody bastard, an email, huh, the coward didn't even have the guts to write me a letter.

I fed the girls then lied to them.

"Dad's gone to visit Uncle Jimmy, he'll be back soon."

"What, on Bonfire night, why?" asked Laura, stunned.

I lied again.

"Oh you know dad, dates were never his strong point."

"You sure he ain't having an affair?" joked Sammy, and it was all I could do from shouting, "Well as you've asked, yes, yes, your wonderful loving daddy is up to his neck in another woman!"

But I'm glad I didn't.


Later that night, as I tried to find comfort on both sides of the double bed - the dreams began. They're recurring now, but then they came as quite a surprise. So vivid, so real, first a close up of his face, his big brown eyes and strangely coifed hair, the stubble on his chin and that trademark black T-Shirt. It wasn't a sexual thing, I didn't fancy him, not a bit, I just needed something from him, approval I guess. He was seated on a chair behind a big desk, staring at me and shaking his head, and then he spoke.

"Well Tina, all I can say is that was distinctly average, and with that, Simon Cowel, Mr Nasty from Pop Idol off the telly - looked down at his notes and simply said. "Next."