A cold hand stroked my spine, and I forgot all about my anger and loss and hurt feelings as I rushed back into the room, my need to know greater than all that now.
“Mum, what’s wrong with dad, why do you have to go away? Please, tell me, mum, what’s wrong with him!” I whispered, a chill rush of fear making my spine tingle and cold sweat collect in the small of my back and between my shoulder blades. The thought ‘cancer’ was rushing around in my head, but I was afraid to hear the words from her, afraid to turn and look the Gorgon in the face.
Mum looked ready to cry again.
“Your father has a condition something like pneumoconiosis, it’s been caused by years of inhaling metallic dust. It was that job of his, all the time it was doing this to him. His lungs are badly damaged, so is his heart, and his doctors are afraid it will develop into acute COPD if he remains in a cold, damp climate. They think somewhere hot and dry might help hold it off a little longer. We’ve decided to move to Cyprus; your father has old friends there, and he was stationed there in the 1960’s, so he knows the place. The hot, dry climate may be what he needs.”
“We told you because we didn’t want this to remain hidden any longer. Your dad wanted to make everything right before we left, he didn’t want to leave you with any loose ends and he didn’t want to take any secrets with him or leave anything unfinished. Can you understand that, both of you? Please try and forgive him, forgive both of us, he just wanted you to know the truth while there was still someone to tell it to you.”
Lena was looking shocked and confused, emotions warring on her face, until her lip quivered, and two big tears ran down her cheeks. Suddenly she was that little girl who’d tagged along to school with me every day, the annoying little sister I loved so much and had nearly lost.
“He… he’s sick? How long have you known, mum? When were you going to tell me? Mum… mummy, is daddy dying? oh God, no, please…!” she whispered, her face crumpling as she cried.
The strength drained away from my legs and I sat down heavily as Lena’s grief and fear communicated itself to me; dad, my dad, was seriously ill, there was no cure for what he had, and it was going to kill him; not now, not tomorrow, but soon, far too soon, and I’d wasted precious time being a prick, being angry with him. I knew exactly what pneumoconiosis was, and all its variants, what an insidious slow killer it was, and what was in store for my dad. Going to Cyprus was a desperation move dreamed up by his doctor; there was nothing that could help him now…
I felt stupid and disloyal, a complete bastard, venting anger and childish spite on a sick man. I suddenly realised just how petty and thoughtless I’d been; he and mum had spent my whole life being my parents; they’d never made any difference between Lena and me, and the fact they’d never adopted me was inconsequential, a mere detail. My dad was dying, and I was here, 150 miles away, sulking like a spoiled child after a stupid, thoughtless outburst.
My heart lurched and turned over in my chest as I remembered all the times he’d been there for me, and those times I’d not listened to him, or silently cursed him, or ignored him, or just plain disobeyed him, and a part of me yearned desperately for the chance to go back and undo each and every one of them. If God, the universe, whatever would just let me do that, perhaps this present wouldn’t have happened, and he’d still be hale and healthy. Foolish, I know, but right then I’d have given my soul and every breath in my body for the chance to have him back as he should be, growing old peacefully, here, with us around him, not choking his life out in a foreign country.
I managed to find my way to mum, to kneel by her side and take her hand. She hugged me close and held me as she cried, and what was left of my self-control evaporated as I realised she was as frightened as I was. The tears spilled out of me as I cried for my dad, for the hole in my life that should have been filled by him for years to come. Lena took my hand, and slid down next to me, her head in my neck as she hugged me, silent sobs wracking her body.
Eventually the tears stopped, as they must, and mum, Lena and I sat motionless, each of us busy with our own thoughts and memories. A thought occurred to me.
“Mum, if you’re here, who’s with dad?”
Lena’s head snapped up at that, as the same thought echoed in her.
Mum smiled gently, her bottom lip still quivering slightly.
“Your Auntie Min’s with him, she’ll keep him entertained and occupied until I get home. Will you come back home, kids? Please?”
For answer, I went into the bedroom and started stuffing clean clothes into a holdall, signalling Lena to do the same. While I was packing I asked her how she’d come down from Bristol, as I couldn’t see her car, and she told me she’d been brought down by Aunt Min’s son, who’d taken his mother up to Bristol to see dad.
Once I’d finished packing, Lena began rummaging around for her clothes and knick-knacks, mum watching her and noting that we were both using the same bedroom, same closets, and the same bed. Lena and I finished by making the bed and switching off the fridge, putting all the perishables in a carrier bag to take with us rather than throw them away. Mum forbore to comment on any of this, her suspicions obviously confirmed, but also recognising that there were other, more important things to deal with right now.
The drive back was subdued. We drove non-stop, mum at the wheel of my Golf while Lena and I held hands in the back seat, too numb to talk and only dimly aware of the other’s presence as the fear galloped around inside us, getting bigger with every mile closer to home.
When we arrived back at the house, Aunt Min let us in, holding her finger to her lips to tell us to be quiet. She looked drawn and pale, and also looked smaller, as though what was unfolding here was somehow diminishing her. Min was Dad’s older sister, larger than life and usually the life of the party, always the first to arrive and the last to leave, loud, brash, and fun, her chubby fingers banging away at the piano, her arms festooned with expensive gold bangles and cheap clanking costume jewellery, swilling down gin & orange and Port & Lemon by the bucketful. She was always good for some extra cash at Christmas, as Lena and I well knew, as well as a peppermint, a cough-sweet or a large toffee when mum wasn’t looking. She was extrovert and jolly, trailing Chanel No. 5 and peppermint behind her wherever she went; now, to see her subdued like this made my heart leap into my mouth; had something happened while mum was away? A movement caught my eye, and there in the doorway to the dining room was Aunt Doreen, dad’s oldest sister.
She was a spinster who lived a few miles away and she was the complete opposite of Min; slender, quiet, reserved, plainly dressed, with no jewellery or make-up. She was a calm, elegant, empathic, quietly witty lady, a retired Headmistress, but in her own way as fun and comforting to have around as Min; when I was a boy, she’d always been my refuge when mum wasn’t around, and I loved her dearly. Now she came to us as we came in the front door, and took my face in her hands, kissing my forehead briefly before hugging me.
“Darryl, we heard what happened, what was said, and I want you to know, you are loved, we all love you, and we need you to be here, with us. Your dad needs you, go and see him, please.”
I broke down then, Doreen holding me close as I turned into a scared five year-old again, only this time I was scared for my dad, for what he was going to tell me, so afraid I was going to hear something that would destroy me completely. My anger at my parents was gone; it was foolish, childish and wrong; now I really had something to worry about, and I was scared I wouldn’t be able to handle it.
Doreen seemed to understand all this, her soft hand on my face as she comforted me the way she had when I was a small child. I looked up and there was Lena holding Min, her face buried in Min’s shoulder.
Doreen ruffled my hair, a gesture from my boyhood.
“Come on, Darryl, go and talk to your dad; he knows you’re here, he’s in the sitting room; go on now!”
I looked fearfully at Lena, and she wiped her eyes and took my hand, letting me lead her to the sitting room door. I knocked, and cracked the door open, and there was dad snoozing in his old recliner chair, looking for all the world as though there was nothing wrong whatsoever.
As we looked in on him, he opened one eye and looked right at us.
“So you came back, then!” he grinned, taking any sting out of it. “Come in, don’t stand there hovering, both of you, come on in; I’m not dead yet!”
He looked so normal, for a second a wild hope flared in me; this was just a nightmare, he looked so… dad… how could he be so sick?
Lena gulped, biting back more tears, and pushed past me to cross over to him and hug him tightly. I was just a second behind her, biting my lip desperately so I didn’t start bawling like a three year-old.
Dad sat up (with a certain amount of difficulty, I noted) and hugged her properly, holding my arm as he did so. His grip still seemed strong, confident, but his chest…
I could hear the churning, undersea sound as he breathed in and out, my heart sinking as I realised how serious his condition really was; all this time he’d kept it from us, obviously masking his condition with his meds, and now it was only a matter of time, and probably not much of that…