My poor dad.
My poor mum.
I consoled myself with one thought. Theyhadbeen happy. It might not have been the passionate love story that my father had craved, but there had always been affection, respect, joy, and maybe that would have been enough for them both, even if Mum hadn’t fallen ill.
I checked my reflection in the rear-view mirror and sucked in a lungful of air, trying to steady my nerves. I knew that, if Dad didn’t know about Johnny, what I was about to ask him could rip his whole life to smithereens. But if hedidknow about him, then I needed to ask him what he thought Mum should have done – and what he thought I should do. I wasn’t sure now how I was going to even begin to navigate this.
I climbed out of the car, opened the gate and headed up the pathway, ignoring the weeds that were standing tall despite the frost and cold, and rapped on the door. Seconds later, Dad’s silhouette appeared behind the glass and the door swung open.
‘Hello Reeny, this is a lovely surprise.’
‘Hi Dad,’ I said, planting a kiss on his cheek.
‘Come in,’ he said, stepping backwards and almost toppling over a pile of newspapers.
‘Have you got rid of anything else yet Dad?’ I said as we picked our way along the hallway to the living room.
‘I’m working on it,’ he said, and I rolled my eyes. ‘Is that what you’ve come to do? Throw some more of my things in the bin?’ He sounded tetchy.
‘No not today.’ We reached the small, cleared area in the living room and he turned to face me.
‘I assumed that’s why you’d come over.’
‘Aren’t I allowed to come and see my dad without an ulterior motive?’
He pursed his lips. ‘Of course you are. Sorry.’
‘It’s all right.’ I knew he was sensitive about his hoarding, felt ashamed of it, so I didn’t say anything more.
‘Anyway, let me put the kettle on. Tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee please.’
I sat as he shuffled out of the room, the tapping of his stick on the tiles following him like a faithful puppy. To my surprise, Dad had some music playing in the background – his favourite, Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone’ – and I was glad I’d made the effort to get his CD player working for him on Christmas Day.
‘Here you are Reeny,’ Dad said, handing me a plain white mug of black coffee.
‘Thanks Dad.’
Slowly, he lowered himself into the armchair opposite me. I watched as a pile of boxes just a couple of feet away from his chair swayed precariously, then settled again.
Dad took a sip of his coffee. ‘So, to what do I owe this pleasure?’
‘I…’ I started, but was suddenly terrified. I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t even know whether I should begin. What exactly was I trying to achieve? ‘I just wanted to come and see you.’
He nodded but didn’t look convinced.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to get some help clearing this stuff? It’s going to take me forever on my own.’
‘I didn’t ask you to do it.’
‘I know. That’s not what I’m saying.’
‘I’m fine. Don’t fuss. I’m working through it, but I can’t just throw things out willy-nilly. It has to be done properly.’
It has to be done before you get crushed to death by it all,I wanted to say, but bit my tongue. Instead I nodded. ‘Well let me know if you want me to get someone in to help us sort through it all.’
He nodded. ‘Your mother would have disapproved of course.’
