‘Si.’
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘Ah, hola c… c… cariño.’
I walked over and kissed his cheeks, pulling up a chair and taking his hands in mine. ‘How’ve you been, Dad?’
‘S…s… so so,’ he said, waving his good arm in the air to bat away my question.
The stroke may have stolen much of his movement and slurred his speech, but Dad insisted on pretending everything was normal. I could almost believe it if I focused solely on his eyes. Warm, deep brown eyes that oozed kindness and mirrored my own in appearance. If I ended my days with as much love in my eyes as Dad’s, I’d be satisfied.
‘B… bring her, cariño.’
I walked to the dresser and picked up the photograph of Mum, taken the year before sickness came, ravaging her body before stealing her away from us. Only once Mum was propped up on a chair beside us was Dad content to continue our conversation.
Dad twisted the muscles in his face, willing them to express the words taunting him on the tip of his tongue. It took several attempts, but then he forced out the words in a rush. ‘Have you seen the snowdrops?’
I shook my head.
Dad’s muscles twitched. ‘You… you…’ he slapped his leg in frustration.
‘It’s OK, Dad, take your time.’
‘Y… y… you must see them. Beautiful.’
‘I’m sure they are. Have you been taken out to see them?’
Dad nodded. ‘N… n… Nature walk. N… n… nature push.’ He chuckled, looking across the room to where his hated wheelchair sat idle.
‘That sounds wonderful.’
Dad lifted a hand and pointed a finger at my chest. Part of a code we’d developed since the stroke, I knew it meant he wantedto hear about me. If there was a chance of sparing him the worry, I would. But, behind his laboured speech and limited movement, his brain was as sharp as ever. If I lied, he’d know something was wrong and trying to guess what would worry him even more.
I leaned back in my chair and took a deep breath. ‘Things with me aren’t so good, Dad. I still don’t really know what’s going on, but it appears Rob has lost all our money. The house has been repossessed.’
Dad’s wide forehead creased into a frown. ‘S… staying?’
‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’m staying with Cassie. Bertie’s loving being there with his cousins, although he doesn’t know why we’re there yet.’
The mention of his grandson caused Dad’s eyes to twinkle and twitch. Perhaps it was that I’d named Bertie after my father, or perhaps it was that they were two peas in a pod. Either way, Dad had carved a special place in his heart for his youngest grandson, and Bertie could do no wrong in his eyes.
‘Don’t ask me what I’m going to do,’ I said, ‘because I have no idea. I suppose I’ll have to start by getting a job…’
Dad nodded and smiled. My lack of work was an enigma to him, and I knew he mourned the fact my brain cells were slowly fading away beneath a mountain of washing and wifely duties. Well, not anymore.
‘R… Rob… p… p… polla.’ His eyes twinkled, the one side of his face which still worked pulling itself into a lopsided grin.
‘Dad, you really need to stop calling my husband that, at least around Bertie. You know he started calling his friends that at school?’
A muscle in his cheek twitched, and I’m sure if it weren’t so hard to push out the sound, I’d hear the laugh I loved so much.
‘Sorry,’ he said, but the creases around his eyes told me he wasn’t sorry at all. With his good hand, he squeezed mine. His forehead folded and the muscles around his mouth worked hardto form the words he needed. ‘You will… be… OK, Liv. Th… this could… be… the making… of… you.’ He flopped back in his chair, exhausted by the effort of communication.
‘We’ll see, Dad. But let’s hope you’re right.’
Chapter Eight
‘How was your day?’
