Ten minutes later and Dad was pulling on his winter coat, his cab due to arrive at any moment. He wrapped a scarf around his neck and donned his cap before setting foot outside. It was a cold but otherwise clear winter evening and, as he waited for the cab to pull up, he propped himself up against his front wall, partially seated, to take in the night sky. There was a spectacular array of stars above him, all brightly shining and twinkling just like a picture on a Christmas card. As he looked round to his right to examine a particularly dense and dramatic cluster of stars he noticed one fall from the heavens directly above him, leaving a momentary trail. He drew breath at the sight. Shooting stars had always had special significance for Dad because, as a teenager, he had once prayed for God to show him a shooting star to prove his existence. A few weeks later, when he had forgotten about his plea, he was returning home on his bicycle after delivering a tablecloth from his mother to his aunt nearby, when he stopped at the top of a hill to allow a car to pass. Waiting at the side of the road, he briefly glanced up at the night sky and it was then that he saw a shooting star which came and went in the blink of an eye. ‘So he does exist’, Dad remembered saying to himself. He smiled at the thought. The story of the shooting star was one he would often tell Ben and I before bedtime, and we must have each spent many hours as boys searching the night sky in the hope of seeing one too.
Dad raised his hand to give a wave to the cabbie before climbing into the back seat of the black taxi.
‘I’m off to the Royal Infirmary please,’ he informed the driver. ‘Lovely evening, don’t you think?’
‘It is indeed. You off to visit someone?’
‘Yes. My daughter-in-law. She’s just given birth to my grandson.’
‘Congratulations. Is this your first?’
‘It certainly is, yes, and I’m delighted. Quite a wonderful day this is turning out to be.’
‘Very glad to hear it, sir.’
Dad sat back in his seat and relaxed into the journey. Since the hospital had moved to the outskirts of the city, at Little France, it could take anything from 20 to 30 minutes or more to get there, depending on traffic. With rush hour behind them though, Dad hoped the journey would be quick as he was desperate to see his new grandson. He wondered if it would be like the night he first held Ben and I. Despite not being identical, we both had a very similar, almost princely look as babies, with dark hair, refined features and olive skin. Dad had experienced his proudest moment in the maternity ward that day – holding a son in each arm and wearing a smile that filled the room. Sitting in the cab on this winter’s evening, he wished he had tried harder to let his sons know how much he cared for them and how wonderful he really thought they were. Instead, he had believed he was doing the right thing by pushing us as hard as he could, thinking this was the only way we would make something of ourselves. Watching Ben descend into depression and hopelessness, it hadn’t taken him long to figure out he had got it wrong. And as for me, whatever I achieved, Dad would only ever reply: ‘Great. What’s next?’ It had taken my death for Dad to realise that both boys had needed much more support from him than he’d ever given. He wished now that he’d spent more time listening to us and understanding what it was we really wanted to achieve. Instead he drove us on – and drove us apart. This grandchild would be a chance to put that right. And this time he would only love and never lecture.
Dad plodded further along the maze of corridors, carefully following the arrows directing him to the maternity unit. Finally, he stopped outside the ward and found Sarah sitting up with her new baby in a bed just in front of the entrance.
‘Hello there my dear.’ Dad greeted her with a kiss and an affectionate pat on the back before turning his attention to the baby fast asleep in her arms.
‘Hello,’ said Sarah, wearing a warm but weary smile. ‘You just missed my mum. I told her to go home because she’d been here since this morning and she looked exhausted.’
‘Gosh, that is a long day, isn’t it? I bet she’s very proud though,’ John added peering down at his new grandson. ‘And this must be Harry.’
‘Would you like to hold him?’
‘I’d be delighted.’ John set down the photographs he’d brought with him on the side cabinet, and placed his coat over the back of a chair before scooping his little grandson up into his arms.
‘Hello, Harry,’ he said, gazing down at the infant’s tiny, but perfect face. Soon, tears started to tumble down Dad’s cheeks, born both out of joy at the new offspring and heartache at the memories of holding his own sons, just like this.
‘He’s a fine young fellow,’ he said eventually to Sarah, who was by now resting back on the bed, taking in the moment.
‘I thought you’d like him,’ she said, smiling.
‘Oh, I do. I can see he has the Melville brow already. I’ve brought baby pictures of his daddy to show him.’
Sarah smiled, politely humouring him as she had her mother who had also commented on the baby’s familial looks just an hour earlier.
‘If I can just rest this little chap against my arm here, I can show you,’ Dad said, reaching over to hand the pictures to Sarah. ‘Do you see the family resemblance now?’
Sarah glanced down and looked into the faces of the two tiny babies lying side by side in their hospital crib, both fast asleep and wrapped in matching white blankets. She looked then at her own son and was immediately struck by the similarity of their fine features and dark hair colour. A lucky coincidence, she thought to herself.
‘Do you see it?’ asked Dad.
‘Uncanny,’ said Sarah. ‘Thank you for bringing these, John.’
‘I thought you’d like to see them, my dear. It’s a wonderful comfort to see the resemblance.’
Sarah glanced away, fighting back tears.
‘How are you feeling now?’ John asked.
‘Still a bit tired, but I’m just so relieved that he’s arrived safely.’ Dad stayed for another twenty minutes and for most of that time he sat quietly holding Harry, deep in thought and humming to himself. Since repairing his relationship with Ben, Dad felt like a new man with an enormous burden lifted from his shoulders. He realised the mistakes he’d made in the past, but he was ready to make up for them in the future.
With Dad carefully minding the baby, Sarah made the most of her free arms and took the opportunity to go to the bathroom where she washed her face and brushed her teeth ready to settle down for the night and try to get some sleep.
When it was time to say goodbye, Dad kissed his little grandson tenderly on the forehead and whispered to him: ‘We’re going to be great friends, you and I.’
With the baby settled back in her arms, Sarah leaned over to kiss Dad goodbye.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said. ‘It was lovely to see you.’
‘Thank you for allowing me to come, dear. It was very special to see my wonderful new grandson.’
He folded his coat back over his arm and headed back out into the corridor, busily searching for an exit sign. He had barely taken ten paces out of the ward when two men in a great hurry came bustling past him.
‘Is this Ward 24?’ one of them asked Dad.
Immediately suspicious – something he had retained from his earlier years serving in the armed forces – Dad asked: ‘Who is it you’re looking for?’
‘Sarah Melville,’ the second man asked.
‘That’s my daughter-in-law.’
‘Well then, John,’ the second man replied. ‘We spoke earlier. I’m Paul Davis.’
‘But there was no need for you to come into the hospital,’ Dad said sternly, annoyed that the man had chosen to visit at this late hour and without warning.
‘I’m here to see my son,’ Paul said.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’ Dad replied, straightening up before the strangers.
‘Well, it’s a little unfortunate that you have to hear it from me. But Sarah and I were intimately involved before your son died and I am the father of her chil
d.’
Without stopping to think, Dad swung his right fist and landed it sharply on the corner of Paul’s chin. It was a direct hit that sent Paul reeling backwards and caused Dad to lose his balance before stumbling and falling to the ground.
Ben had just rounded the corner from the lift when he saw a commotion in the corridor ahead. Spotting Dad among the three men, Ben began to run. He was just a few feet away when he saw Dad punch a man – who Ben then realised was Paul Davis – then collapse to the floor.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Ben shouted as he ran towards them.
‘I came with my client here to collect DNA samples from Sarah Melville and her child,’ the second man said, pointing to Paul Davis who was clutching his jaw, his face white with shock. ‘Mr Davis told this man that he was the father of the child and the gentleman punched him.’
‘You fool,’ Ben shouted at Paul before dropping to his knees next to where our father was lying face down. He turned Dad’s head towards him, but his eyes were set in a fixed glare. Ben checked his breathing and his pulse before frantically shaking his shoulders in an attempt to bring him round.
‘Dad,’ Ben shouted. ‘Please, Dad. Come on.’ But it was too late.
CHAPTER sixteen
‘HARRY.’ I heard my mother’s voice calling from behind.
‘Harry,’ she said again, louder this time. ‘Your father is with us now.’
And when I looked back towards Dad and Ben, I saw the scene had changed and Dad was now sitting next to his body in the hospital corridor, calm but confused. Ben was kneeling on the floor in front of Dad’s corpse weeping with his head in his hands while a nurse crouched at his side and tried valiantly to console him. Suddenly Sarah burst into the corridor from the ward clutching the baby in her arms, her face a mixture of shock and pain from the effort of rushing to the scene so soon after labour.
Dad smiled when he saw us walking towards him and quickly got to his feet, free now from the shackles of old age.
‘Son,’ he said, holding out his arms to me. We embraced before he turned to my mother. ‘My darling. Thank you for waiting for me.’
Ben and Sarah sat together in silence as they tried to process the events of the night before.
She had been forced to return to the maternity ward with the baby while the hospital staff removed Dad’s body and led Ben away to a separate room to recover from the shock. Realising the seriousness of the situation, Paul and his lawyer friend had left, but not before vowing to Sarah that they’d be in touch to arrange the DNA test.
She had endured a restless night, listening to newborns crying as she tried to shut out the awful scenes from her mind.
When Harry eventually woke at 6am, she fed him again, changed his nappy and was able to settle him back down again before 7am. By that time, she was beginning to feel like sleeping but it was too late as the ward was now in full swing with a constant flow of staff offering her a breakfast menu, or carrying out checks on her and the baby. When Angela arrived at 9am, Sarah asked to be discharged as soon as possible in the hope that getting out of hospital would help her recover more quickly both from the labour and from the events of the night before.
When they got back home later that morning, Ben was waiting for them. Armed with cups of tea, they had sat down together at the kitchen table while Angela flitted around them, cleaning, washing and generally making herself useful.
Finally, Ben broke the silence.
‘I’m seeing the undertaker at three o’clock to make the funeral arrangements. Bob Cuddy will lead the service again. I phoned him this morning and he sounded quite upset to hear about Dad.’
‘Will he be buried near Harry and Anna?’ Sarah asked somberly.
‘Yes. They’ll be together.’
Another long pause followed as they each returned to their thoughts. The night before had seemed totally surreal yet the scenes were still so vivid in their minds. Ben flinched between pain and anger as he first relived the moment he realised Dad was dead, and then remembered turning to catch Paul Davis’s startled glare. It had taken him every ounce of willpower not to tear that man apart, just as he had torn his family apart.
Ben wondered when Paul would next have the audacity to turn up, and hoped he would have just an ounce of decency enough to give them time to grieve.
In one single blow, Dad had delivered a magnificent parting shot that had put Davis in his place, a thought that offered Ben just a little comfort as he processed the terrible events.
Ben’s mind then drifted to Emily who he’d called in New York the night before to tell her what had happened. She had immediately felt guilty about not coming back with him and he hadn’t made that any easier on her saying: ‘You did what you felt you had to.’ The comment was intended to wound as Ben wanted Emily to feel bad about putting her work before their relationship. She was now making her way back from the States, leaving Sarah and Ben sitting alone together with only each other for support.
‘I think that John died of a broken heart and it’s all my fault,’ Sarah blurted out, catching Ben completely by surprise.
‘Don’t be silly, Sarah,’ Ben said, patting her comfortingly on the shoulder.
‘The baby was his ray of hope after Harry’s death and I took that away from him,’ she sobbed.
‘That idiot Davis took it away from him, Sarah. Telling him he was the father when he hasn’t even proved it yet.’ Ben gripped his tea mug, quickly taking another slug of the now lukewarm liquid as he tried to tame his anger.
‘I’m going to ask my solicitor to arrange for the DNA test to be carried out this week,’ Sarah said glumly. ‘I think we all need to know the truth one way or another so we can start to sort this mess out.’
She looked at Ben, expecting to find him nodding in agreement but, instead, she found him lost deep in thought. She saw his eyes close briefly as he seemed to register something painful. When he opened them again he looked directly at her.
‘You two are the only family I have left now,’ he said, nodding towards the living room next door where Harry was sleeping in his crib. ‘It doesn’t matter whose DNA is involved. We’re family. That’s how it’s going to stay.’
Sarah leaned forward and put her arms around Ben’s neck before holding him in a close embrace.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered into his neck. ‘So, so, sorry.’
Three days later, and Ben had the most overwhelming, and not unsurprising, sense of déjà vu as he walked through the doors of Morningside Church again to attend another funeral of a close family member just eight months after they’d buried me.
Today, as then, he took a seat in the front row next to Sarah, this time with Emily sitting to his right. Angela had taken baby Harry for a walk outside the church but they could still hear his cries through the stained glass windows every time she passed with the pram. It was almost as if he was protesting to come inside although it was more likely he was demanding milk.
Harry had proved to be a very hungry young man and was fed every two hours in the day, then screamed for most of the evening before conking out for five or six hours at night, usually waking at four am for another feed.
Ben and Emily had been making the effort to go and sit with Sarah most evenings to help out, taking it in turns to hold Harry while Sarah relaxed in the bath for half an hour or made some phone calls. Despite the crying, Ben really enjoyed his time with his nephew with whom he’d already struck up a bond. And he was comforted to know that Dad had had the chance to hold his grandson before he died. It was something for him to cling on to as he tried to come to terms with what had happened.
Reverend Bob was standing at the alter now, welcoming the congregation to the church. They began by singing one of Dad’s favourite hymns: Abide With Me.
Ben picked through the words, searching for comfort or a clue as to where his family were now, leaving him alone in the world. He was drawn to the last verse, allowing its sentiment to stay with him long after they had finishe
d singing.
‘Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies. Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.’
Ben liked the ease of the transition in the hymn from life to death. He desperately wanted to believe that as the sun had set on his father’s life in this world, dawn had broken in the afterlife.
By now, Bob had embarked on a personal tribute to his friend, John.
‘He was every inch the family man,’ the minister told the congregation. ‘Whenever we spoke he would tell me of his sons’ latest achievements and his pride in everything they had attained. Harry was, of course, one of life’s obvious achievers, building up a successful business and creating a charitable trust in his own name of which John was immensely proud.
‘But…’ he turned to look at Ben now, who froze under his stare, ‘one of the conversations about his sons that I most vividly remember was about Ben, who was then only around twenty two and was living a more…’ the reverend paused for dramatic effect, ‘rock and roll lifestyle’. The congregation chuckled as Ben’s discomfort deepened.
‘One day I enquired as to whether Ben had taken up any particular career. John simply smiled and said: ‘Right now, Ben’s main ambition in life is to avoid having a career. But I know something he doesn’t know’.
‘What’s that?’ I asked, hugely intrigued by this comment.
‘I know that my son has unique vision and a great understanding of people. He’ll find his path eventually and, when he does, he’ll do whatever he puts his mind to – just as soon as he’s minded to do it.’ This raised another few chuckles from the assembled crowd but, by now, Ben was listening too intently to feel any further embarrassment.
‘I spoke to John again just a couple of weeks ago after a Sunday service,’ Bob enthusiastically continued.
From the Outside Page 19
