“I’m not tired!” he argued but he took my hand anyway after saying goodnight to Alfie.
“Auntie Lo, did you like my speech?” Ryan asked as I took him up to the room he was sharing with my father. Ryan had brought us all to tears with an unexpected speech he’d written himself. A short story about his parents finding each other, usingquotes about family and love from his favourite books. If this kid didn’t win that writing competition those judges were idiots.
“It was perfect. You were very brave and you’ve been so good today.”
“I wanted mummy to have a nice day.” After changing into pyjamas and brushing his teeth, I tucked him into bed. “Can I write my story for a bit before bed? I like to write down about the day before I sleep.” He pulled out his journal, the one that I’d bought him in Greece when we’d visited Keira’s parents.
“Sure.”
I sat in a chair by him as he wrote out his thoughts, reading them aloud so I could listen. Maybe I was tired or it was the emotion of the day, but I found myself holding back tears. He was a good writer, describing every part of the day with creative detail.
He drifted off eventually and I went into the little sitting room to relax on the couch. It had been a long day and despite how much I’d healed, I was feeling worn out. Before I could switch the TV on to keep me company, there was a light knock at the door. It opened before I could answer and my stomach tightened when my father stepped inside.
I’d successfully managed to avoid him all day, not that he’d tried to talk to me at all.
“I didn’t mean to disturb, I just came to take over. I’m tuckered out anyway. Happy to turn in sooner rather than later.”
I looked away, smoothing out my dress just so my hands would have something to do. “Alright, this is your room too after all. Good night.”
I tried to walk by him but he stepped in front of me, holding up his hands. I hated how handsome he looked in his suit, I could see too clearly the man my mother had fallen in love with.
“Lola, I didn’t want to say anything before, to ruin the day?—”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t now.” I’d had a wonderful time and I didn’t want the memory of this day ruined by him.
He nodded, looking at his shoes for a moment. “The thing is, I’m not sure that we’ll be seeing each other again, will we?” He looked back up at me. “At least, not outside of being civil at Ryan's birthday or Christmas or whatever. I don’t want you to feel tension every time you have to be around me.” I folded my arms, not trusting myself to say anything. “I’m so sorry you got hurt because of my past. I’m sorry for it being my fault.”
“It’s done. Alfie’s taking care of me.”
“Aye. He really loves you, I can see that now.” He put his hands in his pockets, silent for a moment. “I want you to know that I really didn’t come back here for money.”
“If you’re going to lie to me, don’t bother. My BS detector has gotten really good lately.”
“I’m not lying.” He looked me straight in the eye. “I came for you. To check up on you. I saw a picture of you with him online and I learned about the kind of man he is…or was. I was worried about you. That’s why I came.”
“Well, now you know. You don’t need to be worried. Is that all?”
“No.” He swallowed. My hands clenched into fists. Every second I stood here I was another second closer to tears and I did not want to cry in front of this man. “I need to tell you something. I hadn’t planned to tell you but now I’m so tired of secrets. I’ve kept so many, thinking that the people I loved would be safer that way but all it seems to do is cause more harm.” He closed his eyes, seeming to summon his nerves from somewhere.
“It wasn’t random,” he said finally. “The man that I went to prison for attacking. I know that you know about it. I know you’ve been told one version of events. That I got into a drunken brawl and beat someone half to death because I’m a mindless,violent thug. It might occur to you that the person feeding your friend Elliot information about me isn’t exactly my biggest fan.”
“Honestly, John, your prison record hasn’t exactly been at the top of my things to worry about recently.”
My father looked at me with my own blue eyes, studying me as if he knew I was lying. I’d thought about him far more than I wanted to admit.
“His name was Duncan Bowers.”
I froze. I knew the name. I’d buried it a long time ago. Never uttered it. There was never any point.
“Duncan Bowers,” I repeated, my voice cracking over the name.
“Aye. The drunk driver who killed your mother.”
My legs felt like they were going to buckle. I sat, the couch rushing up to meet me. He came to help me but I put up a hand. The room was spinning. I reached for my necklace, holding onto it until my heart started to slow again.
“I don’t understand. Why would you do this? Youleftus.”
“Not really, Lola. I had to leave your life because the Berne family wouldn’t leave me alone, but I kept an eye on both of you. I sent money when I could. Then I found out your mother had been killed…” his voice faded away, he cleared his throat. “I didn’t do anything at first. I tried to leave the life I was in, told them you needed me but they wouldn’t let me go without trouble and I didn’t want to bring trouble to you. I tried to send money to your gran but she told me to go to hell. Then I found out Duncan Bowers wasn’t even getting a custodial sentence. Let off on a technicality. One of your mothers headlights was broken so apparently it was her fault he was blind drunk driving 50 in a 30 zone.”
