‘Hello?’ It took two rings for his father to pick up.
‘Hi … is that Brian?’
Why the formality?
Because I can’t call him Dad, can I?
‘Yes … speaking.’ The booming voice of his father vibrated into his ear. ‘Can I ask who’s calling?’
‘It’s Fin.’
There was an audible intake of breath and then a deathly silence.
‘Finley Taylor,’ he repeated, as though it wasn’t clear the first time.
‘I knew who you meant.’ His father sounded a little flustered. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
Keep it short.
‘It’s Mum,’ he continued. ‘I don’t know how much you know, but she’s asked me to call and tell you that she’s sick. Really sick. As in …’ – he clenched his fists tightly and forced the words out as quickly as possible – ‘she’s-not-got-long-to-live sick.’
The only sound from the other end of the phone was deep laboured breathing.
‘So, yeah … She wanted me to let you know.’ Fin paused. ‘Are you still there?’
His father cleared his throat. ‘Yes. I’m here.’
‘Good.’ Fin wasn’t quite sure where to go next. He had been expecting the call to be awkward and painful but not silent. His father hadn’t ever had a problem with words. In fact, he had always spoken too much and too loudly, in Fin’s opinion. This was new territory and he didn’t like it one bit.
‘Is there anything else?’ his dad stated mechanically.
‘Erm.’ Fin kicked the ground hopelessly. ‘She wants you to know that she forgives you.’
Everything went quiet again; even his dad’s breathing became barely audible.
‘That was it really,’ Fin finished.
‘Right.’ His father cleared his throat. ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that.’
Fin waited. Surely there was something more? There had to be something more. But the silence continued.
‘And that … I hope she’s not in any pain.’
‘You hope she’s not in anypain?’ Fin laughed. ‘For Christ’s sake, her body is being eaten from the inside out by cancer. She’s got dementia and she’s stuck in a care home, bedbound and drugged up to her eyeballs on pain medication.’ The words were flowing out of him, the pain, the frustration, the pent-up emotion emptying itself at last.
‘That’s not my fault,’ his dad replied bluntly. ‘I’m sorry it’s happened to her, but she’s not my responsibility any more.’
Fin wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the road and break it into tiny pieces.
‘Nobody is asking you to take responsibility for her. I’m just asking you to stop being a complete and utter prick of a human being for once in your life and show some humanity to the woman you were married to for twenty years before she dies. It’s not hard.’ He could feel his vein throbbing in his temple, the anger surging through his entire body.
‘Like I said. Please tell her I’m sorry.’ It was like listening to an automated machine, blindly spouting the same infuriating response over and over.
Fin gripped the phone as hard as he could. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to pass on your heartfelt condolences.’ He paused, the words impatiently pressing their way to the front of his mind.
Don’t do it.
