Checkmate Bonus Chapter

Playing The Ace

 
“Right, rugrats. Sleep time.”
 
As predicted, I’m met with groans and protests.

“But Dad, that was a really short bedtime story.”
 
“Almost five hundred seconds shorter than yesterday’s.”
 
“A whole five hundred seconds, huh?” I ask, scratching my chin. “Well, that changes things.”
 
“You’re being played,” Erica warns me from the doorway. “I think Jackson’s calculations are off by about, oh, five hundred and one seconds.”
 
“No way, mama!” Jackson says, throwing the covers off and jumping to his feet. “I counted all by my own!”
 
“By myself,” my wife gently corrects. “And the fact remains that it is sleep time.”
 
“One more story won’t hurt,” I reply, pulling Jackson back to cuddle into my side. “If mama doesn’t mind.”
 
I can see by the look on her face that she doesn’t mind. In fact, I might have just earned enough brownie points that I’m suddenly looking forward to my bedtime.

But first, I need to pull another story out of thin air.
 
“Did I ever tell you about the time I bravely fought a flock of seagulls?” I ask the twins, who shake their heads with wide, curious eyes.
 
“No way! Were there loads of them?” Jackson asks.
 
“Duh! He said there was a flock!” Addison replies. “You really fought them all, Daddy?”
 
“I really did,” I say proudly. “Rescued a pretty girl too.”
 
“Oh, here we go,” Erica says with a laugh.
 
“Ignore her,” I reply, pulling the kids in for a tighter hug. “This story takes place in the medieval times of the early 2000s. I was fourteen years old and supposed to be enjoying my summer holidays causing trouble with my pals. Instead, your grandpa roped me into helping him out at a chippy stand…”
 

Dad had taken the job at the start of the summer, something I wasn’t surprised about after hearing him and Mum bickering about finances since Christmas. What I was surprised at was finding myself behind the counter enduring my first summer job.
 
I’d lost count how many times my pals abandoned the beach to come and take the piss, but I was the one walking out of here with cash in my pockets.
 
So who was the real loser?

Yeah, okay. Still me.
 
I hated that chippy. I hated that strip of the promenade. It was slap bang in the middle of everything and instead of being on the other side of the counter, enjoying my freedom, I was shackled to the deep fat fryer and—

“Grandpa kept you prisoner?” Addison gasps, her small hands flying to her mouth.
 
“Oh. Well, prisoner is maybe a slight exaggeration,” I admit, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Let’s just say, he was teaching me a life lesson I didn’t want to learn yet.”

“Like maths on a Tuesday,” Addison says with a solemn nod.

“Like maths on a Tuesday,” I agree.

“Stop interrupting,” Jackson whines. “I want to hear Dad doing kung fu on a seagull!”

“It wasn’t quite kung fu,” I say, wrinkling my nose.
 
“This story seems to be getting away from you,” Erica teases from the doorway.
 
“Mum!” The twins say in unison.
 
“You need to be quiet,” Addison continues. 
“And don’t put Daddy off,” Jackson agrees.
 
Erica mimes zipping her lips and I’m sure the smugness radiating off me has lost me the aforementioned brownie points. 
But man, it feels good when the kids take my side for once.
 
“Anyway,” I say in amusement, shooting a wink her way. “On this particular day, I was even extra grumpy…”

It had been raining for most of the morning. The best kind of day to go and waste twenty quid in the arcade. No one wants chips when it’s pissing it down.
 
I had begged Dad countless times to let me take the day off and every time he refused.
 
“Things can change in an instant, son,” he said for the umpteenth time. “You’ve got to be prepared for anything.”

“But it’s empty, Dad!” I whined, gesturing beyond the counter. “If I leave now, I can still catch up with Riley—”

“Or you can man the counter while I change the oil,” he said, ruffling my hair as he walked past. I shoved his hand off and slumped against the counter.

“Could have been winning a keychain, but noooo,” I mumbled to myself, knocking over the saltshaker. I watched as it spilled over the counter, tempted to leave it for Dad to find.

But you’re not an arsehole.

With a sigh, I fixed the fallen shaker and swept the spilled salt off the counter, sending it scattering onto the pavement outside.

“Hey!” 

My heart stopped as the prettiest girl I had ever seen walked into view, brushing grains of salt from her faded jeans.

“You should warn someone before you do that.” 

I didn’t even care that she was telling me off. All my usual attitude melted away until I was nothing but a nervous wreck.

“S-sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t see you. I wouldn’t have… I mean if I knew you were… If anyone was there—” 

“It’s okay,” she said with a smile. “I did kind of sneak up on you.”

Her dark hair fell past her shoulders, the front pulled away from her face with a little red butterfly clip. One of its wings was chipped, the broken edge painted with silver glitter.

Her lips were shiny with pink gloss, and something glittered faintly across her eyelids when she smiled. I tried not to stare. The last thing I needed was Dad noticing me gawping at a pretty girl and making a big deal out of it. 

“Can I have a cone of chips please?” she asked. “I want to beat the rush.” 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry too much,” I replied, pushing myself away from the counter. “Not many people out today.” 

“Look at the sky,” she teased. “The sun’s coming out and you’re about to be swamped.”

I followed her gaze to the skies and pulled a face. Unfortunately, she was probably right, and all hopes of finally beating the claw machine were dashed. 

“Salt and vinegar?” I asked. 

“Salt, no vinegar,” she replied, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

“Criminal,” I said, tapping the counter rhythmically. “Who has salt and no vinegar?” 

“People with taste,” she teased. “It makes my lips all tingly. I don’t like it.” 

Do not mention your lips. Do not mention your lips. 

“That’s part of the experience,” I insisted. “You can’t have greasy chips without salt and vinegar.” 

“Who said my chips were greasy?” 

Oh, no. I swear to God, old man. 

“Cone of chips please, Dad,” I said, overly aware of the very pretty girl still smiling at me. 

“Father and son team?” she said, looking between us. “That’s so cute!” 

“See, kid. I told you it wasn’t embarrassing,” Dad replied, clapping my shoulder. 

“Right, sure,” I muttered. “The cone of chips?” 

“Has he been polite to you, Miss?” 

“Aside from covering me in salt, yes. He’s been pretty wonderful.” 

Oh, may the ground swallow me up right now. 

“And I can be even more wonderful if I can give her a cone of chips,” I replied through gritted teeth. 

“Some work ethic on this kid,” Dad teased, winking at the girl. “Coming right up, Pet.” 

“Sorry about him,” I mumbled as Dad stepped aside to the fryer. “He seems to have made it his personal mission to get down with the kids.” 

“My Dad has him beat,” she said with a grin. “He bought a pair of Converse the other day.” 

“The horror,” I gasped. “And you haven’t put him up for adoption yet?” 

She laughed. 

She actually laughed at something I said, and it wasn’t one of those fake pity laughs. 

I made the pretty girl laugh! 

“It gets worse,” she said, shaking her head. “I caught him with my MP3 yesterday dancing to Busted.” 

Not the MP3 player—

“What’s an MP3 player?” Addison asks, her brow furrowed in confusion. 

“We used it to listen to music,” I explain. “Everyone had one, and if you didn’t you weren’t cool.”

“Well, why didn’t you use your phone?” 

Erica chuckles from the doorway. “Phones didn’t work like they do now, Petal.”

“You didn’t have Spotify?” Addison sounds aghast, and I can’t blame her. 

“We didn’t have Disney Plus either, kid,” I say, shaking my head. “It truly was ancient times.” 

“I’ll say,” Addison replies. “What did you even do?”

“Well, we were really good at—”

“Dad!” Jackson whines. “The seagulls.”

“Right! Right you are, son. The seagulls.” I clear my throat and shoot a wink to Erica. 

“So, the pretty girl wanted a cone of chips, salt, no vinegar—”

“Who does that?” Jackson shakes his head. 

“You’d be surprised, kid,” I reply. “Grandpa had just finished frying off the chips and had served them into a cone…”

My hands shook as I handed over the carefully wrapped chips. Her fingers brushed against mine as she took them and I nearly dropped them then and there. 

“That’ll be eighty pence, please,” I said, but I wished I had the authority to give her them for free. What a move that would have been. 

She handed over a pound coin with a smile. “Pop the change in the charity box,” she said. “It’s been really nice talking to you. Have a nice day, chippy boy.” 

I chuckled. “You too, pretty girl.” 

Did I just say that?!

Her smile lit up her entire face as she lingered for a moment before moving away from the counter and over to a nearby picnic bench. 

“You didn’t get her number?” Dad asked, stepping up behind me. 

“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “I don’t need dating advice from my old man.” 

“Clearly you do if you didn’t get her number,” he said with a laugh. “She’s sitting right there. Go ask her.” 

I was tempted. 

For a moment, I imagined what might happen if I walked up to her and asked her for her number. Would she politely turn me down? Tell me she had a boyfriend? 

Maybe, just maybe, she’d say yes. 

I shook my head, popping the change in the charity box like she’d asked. 

“Nah, there’s no point,” I said, clearing my throat. “Besides, I never have credit on my phone anyway.” 

“I’ll give you a tenner,” Dad said, slinging his arm around my shoulder. “Go on, son. Take a chance. She seemed nice.” 

“She was nice,” I agreed. 

Nice. Pretty. Funny. 

Oh, no. I was going to do this. 

“Atta boy,” he laughed. “Go get her.” 

I nodded, taking a slow breath as I left the booth. I just needed to think about what I wanted to say. That would help the nerves.

“Would you like to go out with me?” I muttered to myself. 

Nope! 

Far too forward. What are you playing at, Marcus?

“Hey, I was just thinking… Maybe… If you don’t mind… Could I perhaps…” 

Doofus. 

No. This wasn’t going to work. 

I needed to be confident. Smooth. 

Able to string a sentence together. 

Each step brought me closer to complete system meltdown. My tongue felt like a rock in my mouth, my feet like anchors. 

 ***  

“Swear!” Addison says, shaking her head. “Naughty Daddy.” 

“You’re right, you’re right,” I say. “I’ll pop a penny in the swear jar, I promise. Okay, let me try again.” 

I clear my throat. “If I couldn’t get my tongue to work, there was no freaking way I was going to be able to talk to her. But it turns out, she was going to talk to me first anyway….”

Yeah, your future boyfriend. 

“N-no,” I said, ignoring my own internal posturing. “I was just wondering if maybe… I mean, if you don’t want to it’s fine, no pressure. It’s just… Just… Oh, shit. Duck!” 

“Duck?” She frowned. “What do you—”

Her scream was loud and ear-piercing. But she could be forgiven for that given the two seagulls attacking her for her chips. 

I swept into action immediately, launching myself onto the table so I could karate chop one seagull in the neck and Bruce Lee kick the other in the beak—

“Yeah, Dad! Get ‘em!” 

Jackson is up on his feet, hands and feet flying as he fights off the invisible birds. 

“Keep going,” Addison encourages, her smile warming my heart. 

“And maybe stop embellishing,” Erica teases, leaning against the bed now, just as engrossed in the story as the kids. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “Anyway, there were at least fifty seagulls, and I was kicking all their arses…” 

Her arms were flailing, chips flying everywhere. The seagulls were menaces and didn’t seem to realise their free meal was all over the floor. 

I grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to me, waving off the gulls and hiding her behind me. 

Yeah, that’ll teach you.

I turned back to look at the girl, quickly inspecting her for scratches. “Are you okay?”

“Bloody horrible things,” she whined, fixing her hair. “I hate them.”

“I’m not too fond of them either,” I agreed. “We had one fly into the booth the other day. That’s how Dad has that scratch above his eye.”

“I hope he’s giving you hazard pay.” 

“I get free chips at the end of the day,” I said, finally letting go of her arm. “Does that count?”

“I guess so,” she laughed.

“Speaking of, come on. We should get you some replacements.” 

I led her over to the booth and it was only then I realised I had one hell of a scratch myself. 

Cool, battle scar. 

“Ah, brave warriors returning from war,” Dad said from behind the counter, grinning down at us. “You kids, alright?”

“We’re good,” I said with a shrug. “I was going to give her more chips.” 

“Right you are, son,” Dad said. “I’ll deal with the chips. You get in here and clean up that scratch.” 

He nodded to my arm and I sighed. I hated that he was right, but we’d learned firsthand that seagull scratches were no joke.

I smiled over at her and headed inside, listening to her and Dad talking as he served her and I cleaned up the scratch. 

“Son, not to rush you, but foot traffic is picking up.” 

Guess he was right.

I headed back to the counter and passed Dad’s arm inspection. 

“Got your chips then?” I asked. She stepped to the side of the window as a mother with two excited children approached. 

“Less flirting, more working,” Dad warned. I pulled a face and shrugged an apology to the girl, turning my attention to the mother. 

“I’ll see you around sometime, yeah?” 

“Two cones of chips and a roll, please.” 

“Right away,” I said, not looking at my customer at all. “And I hope I will. See you around that is.” 

She smiled and I forgot to breathe for a moment. With a small finger wave, she disappeared into the forming crowd. It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat that I shook myself out of it. 

“Two cones and a roll,” I repeated. “Right. Sorry.” 

“Young love,” the lady teased, smiling over my shoulder towards Dad. 

“God help me,” Dad replied with a laugh.

For the rest of the day, it was too busy for me to focus on anything else other than the string of beach-goers demanding chips and—

“Did you see her again?” Addison whispers. “Did she come back?”

I chuckle, glancing over at Erica. “She didn’t come back, I’m afraid, little treasure.” 

Jackson seems to deflate beside me. “So you never saw her again?”

I chuckle. “Well. That’s not quite true,” I reply. “I did see her again. Over fifteen years later.” 

Addison gasps, sitting up. “No way!”

“Did you get her number?” Jackson says, clasping his hands together. 

“Even better,” I say with a grin. “I married her.” 

“What?!” The kids screech in unison. 

“Daddy, you married the pretty girl?” Addison asks, and she’s got that dreamy look on her face like someone falling in love with their first fairytale. 

“Sure did,” I say. “That pretty girl was your Mum.”

Their gasps of shock are immediately silenced by Erica’s laugh. 

“No. It wasn’t,” she says, smirking in amusement. “You have to stop telling people that!” 

“I’m confused,” Jackson says. “It wasn’t Mum?”

“I certainly don’t remember it,” Erica says with a shrug. 

“I’m wounded,” I reply, clutching my heart. “And I was so brave and valiant, and—”

“You didn’t get attacked by seagulls, Mum?”

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “At least twice every summer.”

“Yeah, but did you get attacked with chips?”

Erica laughs. “At least twice every summer. You kids have been to the beach. You’ve seen what it’s like.”

“Well, I think it was Mum,” Addison says decisively. 

“Me too!” Jackson says with a grin. 

“Me three,” I agree. “Your Mum just doesn’t believe in fairytales.”

“I do so,” she says, tapping my foot. “Just not this one. Now. Bedtime for the littles, please.” 

There’s a small grumble of protest, but Jackson’s rubbing his eyes as I carry him to his bed, and Addison snuggles under the blankets as soon as we move. 

They will be asleep in no time. 

“Goodnight, Daddy,” he mumbles as I tuck him in. “I really liked when you were Bruce Lee.”

I chuckle quietly. “I love you, kid.” 

“Love you.” 

I glance across the room where Erica is soothing the hair away from Addison’s face. I step over and lean down to kiss her forehead. 

“Goodnight, little treasure,” I murmur. “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Daddy.” 

My heart swells as Erica reaches for my hand, tugging me gently from the room and closing the door. 

“Another successful story,” she whispers with a smile. “It’s almost as though you tell stories for a living.” 

“Funny.” I kiss the top of her head. “You know, after that I really fancy a chippy.” 

She chuckles as we listen for any sounds beyond the door before heading through to the kitchen. 

“Anything to save me cooking,” she laughs. “Glass of wine, babe?”

“In a minute.” I nod. “I just need to go grab something from my office. I’ll order on the app. Fish and chips?”

“Perfect,” she replies.

“Salt and vinegar?” I ask, already tapping on my phone. 

“Salt, no vinegar.” 

“Got it.” I kiss her cheek before giving her arse a cheeky squeeze. “Back in a minute.” 

I leave her in the kitchen, heading down the corridor to my office. I’d had to confiscate Jackson’s nunchucks earlier in the day after an incident with a vase. If they’re not back in the toy box when he wakes up, I might have to move out. 

I take a seat at my desk, pull open one of the drawers and grab the offending weapon. I’m about to leave when something catches my eye at the back of the drawer… 

“What have you got there?” Dad asked as I straightened up. After a long afternoon, my shift was finally over. I only had to sweep around the picnic tables and I would be free. 

And I had found a little piece of treasure. 

I opened my palm to show him the red butterfly clip with the chipped wing and silver nail polish. 

“Chuck it,” he said. “Whoever owned it probably has a million of them. Can’t escape those things.” 

“I can’t chuck it!” I replied. “Dad, it’s hers.” 

“Hers? Who’s her?” Dad asked before understanding dawned in his eyes. “Ohhh. Her. Right. Well, you don’t know it belonged to her.” 

“I do,” I said, pointing to the clip. “It must have fallen out during the seagull attack.” 

“So, what’s the play here, kid?”

Dad was probably right. It was damaged after all. It belonged in the bin. 

But she cared enough to repair the damage.

“I think I’ll keep hold of it,” I heard myself saying. “Maybe I can give it back to her one day.”

“Alright, son,” Dad said with a chuckle. “We can pop it behind the counter. Just in case.”

“Just in case,” I replied, curling my fingers around the clip…

“I think I’ll keep hold of it. Maybe I can give it back one day.”

My fingers curl around the clip, the ghostly echoes of my fourteen-year-old self ringing in my ears. 

I firmly believe the owner of this clip is currently singing to herself in the kitchen. I could show her. I could show her right now and we’d know. 

But returning it would demand an answer.

An answer I don’t actually want. 

I want the possibility. 

Maybe the girl was Erica. Maybe somewhere long before marriages, affairs, heartbreak and sending that fucking letter all those years ago, there was just a fourteen-year-old kid behind a chip counter who thought a dark-haired girl was the prettiest person he’d ever seen.

Maybe he nearly asked her out. 

Maybe a seagull changed the course of his entire life, making sure he didn’t meet the right girl at the wrong time.

And if it wasn’t her?

Who cares?

Sometimes the fairytale is more fun than the facts.