‘Are you all right, Dad?’
‘Yes, Emma, just received this letter.’ He pointed to the piece of paper on the kitchen table.
‘Is it from the hospital?’ she asked urgently, sensing something had clearly upset him.
He shook his head. ‘No, no.’
‘Then what?’
‘Perhaps it’s better if you read it, love.’ He pulled out the chair beside him and pushed the letter across the table.
Emma sat down and tucked her chestnut fringe behind her ears to get a clear view of the letter. Her eyes quickly darted over the bold strokes of writing and the photograph enclosed. Once finished reading, she gave him a surreptitious grin.
‘Well, well, who’s Bunty, Dad?’
Perry gave his daughter a warm smile.
‘Somebody I knew long before I met your mum.’
‘An old girlfriend?’ Emma was more than interested now, sitting forward to hear all about her dad’s past. The picture of him in his younger days intrigued her.
‘Yes, love, she was.’ He nodded, his eyes holding a sadness that touched her.
‘Are you going to reply?’ she tentatively asked.
He gave a half laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Emma.’
‘Go on, Dad!’ she encouraged. ‘It’d do you good to get some company.’
He pretended to take offence.
‘Idohave company,’ he said indignantly. ‘I’ve plenty of friends down the marina.’
‘Yeah, old sailors,’ she joked, then added in a serious tone. ‘Not female company, not since Mum died.’
Emma eyed her father carefully, knowing she was treading on sensitive ground, but it needed addressing.
Twelve years ago they had lost the most precious person in their lives. Valerie Scholar had been a real trooper till the bitter end, but inevitably breast cancer had claimed her life, leaving Perry a widower and stepfather to Emma, her only child. Although Perry had come into their lives when Emma was just eight years old, he had been so much more than any parent could be.
Valerie was a widow when Perry had boldly introduced himself in the museum. She’d taken Emma out on a visit to the Lancaster Maritime Museum, where Perry volunteered, and they’d clicked immediately with little Emma taking to him like a duck to water. He’d thoroughly amused Valerie and Emma with his animated tales about the history of the port of Lancaster. He persuaded them to step aboard a full-sized Lancaster Packet Boat, transporting them back to the bustle of the Lancaster canal during its glory days with a short film.
It was in the Quayside Tea Room, the museum cafe where Perry was taking his break, that Emma ran up to sit opposite him, followed by a hesitant mother.
‘Sit down, please,’ Perry had invited. After chatting pleasantly to them and learning there wasn’t a husband or father on the scene, he further invited them for a trip down the canal on his narrowboat.
From the moment Valerie and Emma had stepped aboard Perry’s boat, they had been enchanted. Emma was fascinated by the fact that he actually lived on such a thing! It wasn’t long before they were all setting sail together on weekends away. Valerie had never known such tranquillity, listening to the gentle chug of the narrowboat engine as it drifted down the still waters, dappled sunlight flickering through the trees, the whiff of smoke from the wood burner and, most of all, the cheering smile from The Captain (as they’d nicknamed Perry) safely navigating them all. Such happy, happy days.
They soon married and Perry moved into Valerie’s little cottage, aptly named Fisher’s Cottage. It was fate, they all agreed, a tight-knit little family living under the same roof.
Then five years later, when Emma was just thirteen years old, Valerie was diagnosed with late-stage breast cancer. Emma had been at such an impressionable age. To be without a mother as a young teenager broke Perry’s heart and had unsurprisingly made him very protective of his stepdaughter, who he treated and loved as his own. Emma had only ever really known Perry as a father figure and in turn saw him as her one and only dad.
As the years ploughed on and Emma grew into a young woman, Perry’s protection had only increased, vetting all boyfriends she brought back with a watchful eye. He respected her space though, ever mindful of controlling parents, his past having never quite left him…
At times, in his quieter moments, he did think of Bunty, but the memories always turned sour when remembering how vindictive and domineering her father was. Hamish Deville was a selfish old man in his eyes. He’d deprived him and his daughter of any future happiness. Now, reading this letter, it looked like he’d robbed Bunty of any happiness at all in her life, the narcissistic bastard.
Emma watched Perry and the various expressions crossing his face. She sat back and scrutinised her dad. He wasn’t bad looking at all for his age, she thought, head cocked to one side. He had style, she had to admit, with his long layered grey hair and colourful shirts. The neckerchiefs he sometimes wore gave him an aged David Essex look which had him chuckling when she’d told him. No, not bad at all, Emma concluded. This Bunty would be impressed with his appearance, she was sure of it. Perry had aged well; the years had been kind. And he deserved a companion. When she wasn’t working at the bank, she was performing gigs with her band. Plus, she wouldn’t be living here in Fisher’s Cottage forever.
‘So, what about it, Dad?’
