‘Hey, Dad.’
14
OLIVER
‘Excuse the mess. It’s getting harder to clean these days.’ Dad lifted a stack of newspapers from the hall table and waved them about helplessly before depositing them on the bottom step of the staircase.
Guilt twisted inside my gut as I followed him into the kitchen and watched him pottering around, making tea.
‘Doesn’t matter.’ I assured him, casting an eye around my childhood home. After Mum died four years ago, Dad refused to move. It was the house they’d bought together and raised two boys in; he would be damned if anything forced him out. Dad saw this house as a place stored with fond memories. Each room housed something he never wanted to forget, whereas I hated how haunted it all felt.
It doesn’t matter what age you lose a parent. It doesn’t hurt any less. Especially when the angel that had been my mother was the last person on this earth that deserved the hand she was dealt.
Cancer… nothing to be done… won’t be long now.Words doctors constantly used, supposedly to reassure. All I saw was my beautiful mother fading year after year. Every monthsqueezing the last vestiges of hope she was trying so hard to cling to. Towards the end, she spent all her days in bed looking like someone had body-snatched my mum and replaced her with a limp, lifeless ghost.
Dad wobbled over to where I sat with a tray clutched in his grip. I stood up, took it from him, and put it on the coffee table between us.
‘Cheers, lad.’ He sank into a worn armchair. Books and magazines were piled high next to him. I didn’t need to look closely at them to know my face would be plastered over them. Since I was a kid and started playing in our home club, he’d always bought any newspaper that mentioned me. I looked around and tried to swallow past the lump in my throat when I saw that habit hadn’t disappeared.
I handed him a mug and took the remaining one. An awkward silence filled the air, only broken by the occasional loud slurp of tea.
‘Still playing?’ I jutted my head to a piano that sat in the corner of the room. The oak wood was now covered in newspapers and blankets, giving me the answer to my question.
Dad didn’t answer but stared at me intently. Wrinkles creased his expression, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than ever. I stared down at my tea, not meeting the grey eyes of my father, who I’d not seen in months. Even all the times before that, he’d come to see me play at the home stadium. I never came home.
George was the golden child, the one that showed up even when you didn’t call him. He was the good guy.
‘I’m personally quite glad you punched him,’ Dad said casually, taking a large sip of tea.
Out of everything I’d imagined my father to say, that didn’t make my top fifty. I choked on some tea, setting it down whilst I coughed.
‘I’m sorry?’
He gave me a bland expression. ‘You heard me. The fucker deserved it.’
I covered my mouth to hide the smile twitching at my lips. Hearing your parent curse had to be one of the simple pleasures in life. But I quickly sobered up.
‘Yeah, well, that punch cost me everything.’ I ran a hand through my hair.
Dad scoffed, making me look up in confusion. ‘That punch didn’t cost you everything. Thatwomanhas.’
My shoulders stiffened. ‘Dad, don’t.’
‘Don’t what? I watched her take everything from you, but I didn’t say anything because you were in love or what youthoughtwas love. And now she’s taken the only thing in the world you held any true passion for.’ The longer he talked, the more animated he got. Anger seeping out of every word.
I swallowed thickly. ‘I’m fixing it, Dad.’
‘How? Once your reputation is damaged, that’s a tough thing to get back. Most never do.’
I scratched the back of my head. The feeling of a million ants crawling over my skin made me desperate to shake off this conversation.
‘I’m handling it.’
Dad considered me. A long loving gaze softened the corners of his eyes. His chest deflated.
‘I’m just so bloody proud of you…’ He lifted a weathered hand to his chest. ‘I know your mum is too.’
Clasping my hands together, I squeezed them so tightly my fingernails started digging into my palms. I dipped my head. ‘Thanks.’
