The World According to Bob

He looked a little nonplussed.
    ‘So will me and your mother be in it?’ he asked.
    ‘You might get a mention,’ I said.
    ‘I’d better get on to my lawyers then,’ he said, smiling.
    ‘No, don’t worry. The only person that comes out badly in all this is me.’
    That made him change tack a little.
    ‘And is this going to be a long-term thing?’ he continued. ‘You writing books.’
    ‘No,’ I said, honestly. ‘I’m not going to become the next J.K. Rowling dad. There are thousands of books published every year. Only a tiny minority of them become bestsellers. I really don’t think a tale about a busker and recovering drug addict and his stray ginger cat is going to be one of them. So, yes this is going to be a short-term thing. It’s a nice windfall, and no more.’
    ‘All the more reason to be careful with the money then,’ he said, seizing the opportunity to give me some sensible fatherly advice.
    He was right, of course. This money would ease the stress on me for a few months, but not much longer. I had debts to clear and my flat was badly in need of some refurbishing. I knew I had to be realistic which meant that I had to keep my job with The Big Issue going. We talked about this for a little while, but he then went off into a lecture on the relative merits of various investments and savings schemes. At that point, I did what I had so often done when my parents spoke to me. I tuned out completely.
     

Chapter 12
    The Joy of Bob
     
     
     
     
     
    Being with Bob has been such an education. I’d not had many mentors in my life and had spurned the few well-meaning people who had tried to guide and advise me. I always knew better than them, or so I imagined.
    It is a bizarre thing to admit, but with Bob it has been different. He has taught me as much, if not more, than any human I’ve come across. Since being in his company I’ve learned important lessons about everything from responsibility and friendship to selflessness. He has even given me an insight into a subject I thought I’d never really understand – parenthood.
    I doubted whether I would ever have children. I wasn’t sure whether I’d be up to the job and, truth be told, the opportunity hadn’t really presented itself. I’d had a couple of girlfriends over the years, including Belle, to whom I was still really close and thought the world of. But starting a family hadn’t ever been on the horizon. As Belle once succinctly put it, I was too busy behaving like a child myself most of the time.
    Caring for Bob has, however, given me a glimpse into what it must be like to be a father. In particular, it has made me realise that parenthood is all about anxiety. Whether it is fretting over his health, watching out for him when we are out on the streets, or simply making sure he is warm and well fed, life with Bob often feels like one worry after another.
    It actually chimes with something that my father had said to me after I’d been missing in London for a year or so. It had been at the height of my addiction and both he and my mother had been beside themselves with concern about me.
    ‘You have no idea how much a parent worries about his or her child,’ he had shouted at me, furious at what he called my selfishness in not being in touch with them.
    It hadn’t meant much at all to me then. Since being with Bob I have begun to appreciate what hell I must have put my parents through. I wish I could turn back the clock and save them all that grief.
    That is the bad news. The good news is that, in amongst the anxiety and worry, ‘parenthood’ brings with it a lot of laughter too. That is another thing Bob has taught me. For far too long I’d found it hard to find much joy in life. He has taught me how to be happy again. Even the slightest, silliest moments we share together can bring an instant smile to my face.  

    One Saturday lunchtime, for instance, I answered a knock on the door and found the guy from the flat across the hallway standing there.
    ‘Hi, just thought I’d let you know that your cat is out here.’
    ‘Sorry, erm, no. Must be someone else’s. Mine’s in here,’ I said, turning around to scout around the living room.
    ‘Bob. Where are you?’
    There was no sign of him.
    ‘No, I’m pretty sure this is him out here. Ginger isn’t he?’ the guy said.
    I stepped out into the hallway to discover Bob sitting around the corner, perfectly still on top of a cupboard on the landing with his head pressed