Riddrie Park Cemetery stretches before us, rows of headstones marching across the hillside. The grass is patchy, more brown than green, and the wind bites through my jacket.
Been putting it off long enough.
We follow the path toward the far corner where the common plots sit. My heart pounds. Six months ago, I’d have been gasping for air by now, vision tunnelling, chest constricting. But I’m not alone anymore.
‘Row seventeen.’ Theo examines the small map she printed. ‘Section C.’
No headstones here, just small metal markers with numbers. The council’s efficient solution for those who die with no one to claim them. Or with someone who refuses to.
Like me.
I didn’t go searching for his grave. But Theo did. Made calls with the council, filled out forms, tracked down the plot number while I pretended it didn’t matter.
‘It’s this one.’ She stops. Nothing to show Grant Lennox ever existed.
The air turns to tar in my throat. ‘Bit underwhelming, isn’t it?’
Theo stands beside me, patient and present, as I stare at the patch of soil that’s covered my father since his funeral almost half a year ago. She knows when to speak and when to let the quiet do its work. But she squeezes my hand, and I’m grateful for it.
‘For years, I used to imagine what I’d say to him if I ever got the chance.’ The words are scraping my throat. ‘Had a whole pissed-off speech prepared about what a fucked-up father he was.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I’m just tired and sad.’ I crouch down. ‘I wish I had some clear memories of him, but I don’t. Maybe that’s for the best.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ She crouches beside me.
‘After he left, I’d make up stories about where he’d gone. Secret agent. Rock star. Anything but the truth. Addiction and prison.’ I touch the earth with my fingertips. ‘His father was the same. And his da before him. Men broken by shipyards closing and jobs disappearing. Well, you know.’
‘Not an excuse,’ Theo says calmly. ‘But an explanation. Context matters.’
‘Aye.’ I place the carnations down. ‘He did his best. It wasn’t very good, but it is what it is.’
The wind picks up, rustling through the leaves.
‘When I was eleven, I tried to visit him in prison. Took three buses to get there.’ The memory still burns. ‘He wouldn’t see me. The gate staff rang through, and he told them to send me away.’
‘Oh, Finn.’
‘All my life I thought it was because he didn’t care. Now I wonder if he was trying to protect me. From seeing him like that. Or becoming him.’
‘Both can be true,’ she says. ‘People are complicated.’
‘Either way, I turned out awright.’ I look at Theo, her eyes shining with unshed tears. ‘Better than that, actually. I found you.’
We crouch in silence for a moment, before the words I kept inside for so long finally leave me. ‘I never got to say I hate you. Or I forgive you. I didn’t get to say a damn thing to you. But…it’s forgiven,’ I say to the patch of earth. ‘For my sake and yours.’
In January, I couldn’t have imagined speaking those words. Couldn’t even have imagined feeling them.
Theo tightens her arms around my waist.
‘Bye, Da.’ The words are heavy on my tongue. ‘I hope you found some peace in the end. Wherever you are now.’
I stand and pull Theo up with me. Her eyes are wet, but she gives me a wobbly smile.
‘I’m so proud of you.’ She rises on tiptoes to kiss my cheek.
‘For what? Rambling at a grave?’
