by Fin C Gray
‘Yes, go,’ said Tom. ‘Let’s talk about it more over lunch.’
Tom sat down at his desk again and pulled the rubber band from the pile of letters. One envelope stood out from the others. It was green and had a white label pasted on top of another address. Sellotape secured the ragged flap on the back. The spidery scrawl on the label was unmistakably Daniel’s. A visible unevenness made the envelope look bloated, and he squeezed it; there was something soft inside. He reached for his letter opener and sliced the top open. A strong smell of patchouli leaked out as he pulled out a folded piece of lined, hole-punched paper from inside.
There was something in the fold that had been causing the bumps in the envelope. Tom had heard nothing from his son since he’d helped him move into his flat. Daniel hadn’t even thanked him for the birthday card he’d sent him. This could even be the envelope he’d used for the damn card. Maybe this was his thank you note, but seven months later? Probably not. He opened the page: a few words scribbled without any heed to the lines. Attached to the bottom-right corner was a small square of red satin and glued to that was a pink feather. Tom ran his finger along the edge of the feather, wondering what it meant. The message in blue biro was very simple:
NEED TO BE ALONE FOR A WHILE. HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND. PEACE. DANIEL
Need to be alone? He’d been alone for close on a year. Zero contact for all that time. He threw the note and envelope into the waste paper bin, but immediately fished it out again. The postmark was smudged. A second-class stamp was stuck sideways on the edge. The first line simply said MCINTYRE, no initial, no first name, no title. What is going on with you, Daniel?
Tom picked up his phone and dialled Daniel’s mobile. After a few rings, his voicemail message sounded:
‘You want me; you ain’t got me. Try later, loser.’
Yes, it was Daniel’s voice. Tom wanted to think it sounded typical, but it didn’t. It was like the Daniel of semi-recent times, his latest transformation. The ugly Daniel. The unforgiving Daniel. The judgemental Daniel. The dogmatic Daniel. Give. Me. A. Break.
He spoke, softening his voice as best he could. ‘Hi, Daniel. It’s Dad. Son, can we talk? I… got your note. Can we at least have a conversa… Can we put the bad times behind us? I have stuff I need to tell you. I hope you haven’t gone yet. That’s if you are going somewhere. You didn’t say in your note. You know I love you, right? OK, I’m not making sense. I never know what to do with these bloody things. Look… Can we just… Can we just… Daniel, I want us to be…’
Tom looked at the phone as if somehow his son would come on the line and stop him rambling on. How could he end this? What else could he say?
‘What I need to tell you… what I want to say to you… well, I’d rather tell you face to face. You know? I wish we could just talk like we used to. You remember how we could tell one another anything? After your mum died? I couldn’t have done it, without you. You know that, don’t you? OK, well, son. Call me back—’
The phone cut him off. No more time. He slammed the phone back on its cradle and dragged his jacket off the back of his chair, picking his car key up from the dish on his desk. Moira looked up at him expectantly as he walked through reception.
‘Sorry, Moira.’ He glanced back absently. ‘Something’s come up. Lunch tomorrow? OK?’
There were only a few cars in the car park. A quiet day. Tom stood in front of his vehicle, twiddling with his key. He looked out into the road, eyeing his way out, wondering if he should make the journey. He had to. That was that. A push of the key and he was in; then he was on the road. On the motorway. The M6 was quiet. There was nothing to think about, no one to overtake. None of the usual annoyances. He hardly knew how he’d got on there. There seemed to be no journey between where he was now and where he’d started.
As he turned on his indicator and pulled off at the junction that would lead him to his son’s flat, he couldn’t work out how he’d got there. It was as if something had transported him. Time had shrunk, somehow. Some strange autopilot had control of him. When he pulled up outside Daniel’s block, every moment – from getting into his car to arriving there – was lost in some vacuum. It didn’t matter. He had to see his son.
The building looked bleak. What had attracted Daniel to this monstrosity? This place didn’t improve, however many times he came here. Art Deco? Who was fooling who? Close to the building, parked near the entrance, stood a small blue Vauxhall Astra – AL1 50N – Alison. One of the wheel trims was missing, and the nearside front wing had a substantial dent in it. Oh, Daniel, what would your mother think? On the back bumper was a bright new sticker: FREE PALESTINE – ISRAEL OUT.
The Palestinian flag adorned both sides of the boot. On the rear windscreen, which had a crack in it, was a black ribbon sticker with FUCK THE TROOPS emblazoned on it. Either side of that was an Afghanistan flag. Tom scowled. As he approached the main entrance, a woman was coming out, struggling with an infant in a pushchair. Tom held the door for her, grateful for the free entry into the building. Daniel would ignore any entryphone calls from him, he was sure of that.
The area around the lifts was already looking seedy. Flyers and pizza boxes were strewn around. One of the lifts was out of service, a scrawled note announcing the fact. Tom pressed the call button on the other one and waited. Two women got out when the doors opened and looked him up and down. ‘He’s a bit of alright,’ one of them said as he got in.
He couldn’t even manage a smile. When he arrived at the third floor, a rusty bike and a discarded fridge greeted him. Is this how things were, after only nine months? He pushed the bell on Daniel’s door.
There was a sound of movement behind the door and then a muffled voice. ‘Who’s there?’
He didn’t recognise the voice. Tom pushed the bell again. The door opened a fraction, and he could see a brown hand. He put his own hand on it and felt it pull away.
‘Hello. I’m Tom,’ he said.
The door opened a little wider, and a brown face appeared.
‘Hello,’ said the man. ‘My name is Waqar. You must be… Are you Dani’s father?’
‘I am,’ said Tom. ‘Is Daniel at home?’ Waqar opened the door fully, beaming.
‘My word,’ he said. ‘I’m delighted to meet you, sir. You and Dani look so alike.’
‘I’m sorry. Are you Daniel’s friend? I don’t think he’d thank you for saying that. Is he here?’
‘Not now, he is… He will be back soon. Please, come in.’
Tom went inside. This man, Vacker was it? He was dressed only in a dressing gown. It was afternoon, for heaven’s sake.
‘Please. This way. Take a seat. I will come right back.’
Waqar beckoned towards the living room and disappeared into the spare room. Tom looked around his son’s living space. The last time he’d been here was when the removal men had moved his things into the new flat. There was a sofa that he’d never seen and two armchairs that looked as if they’d come from a charity shop. On the wall, a large, framed poster that had a lurid orange background announced: AND ALLAH IS NOT UNAWARE OF WHAT YOU DO. A caricature of a mosque was adjacent to it. Tom sat down and waited.
Waqar reappeared, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He had on flip-flops and a multi-coloured, crocheted cap on his head. Tom recalled this cap was known as a kufi from an article he’d read recently as he took stock of the young man in front of him. This man was nearly as tall as he was and easily a foot taller than Daniel. Such a handsome face. What was he doing in Daniel’s flat?
‘Can I get you something to drink? Some tea, perhaps?’ Waqar gazed inquisitively at him.
‘Yes, thank you. Tea, please. When will Daniel be home?’
‘Soon. Please, I will be back in a moment with the tea.’
Tom watched him turn the kettle on and take cups from a cupboard. He got up and joined Waqar in the kitchen area.
‘Have you and Daniel been friends for long?’
‘Only a few months, sir. Maybe six or seven? I re
nt a room here, you see? Please, sit down and be comfortable. I will bring tea to you.’
Waqar sang to himself as he prepared the drinks. Every time Tom looked over at him, he seemed to glance away. He looked around the room, feeling awkward and out of place. There were two small mats, close to one another and facing the window. At the end of the sofa, close to where he sat, was a blue ceramic hookah. A smell of apples mixed with tobacco hung in the room. It wasn’t hard to guess its source. Tom wondered where Daniel might be. Did he even have a job? How had he gone from knowing everything about his son to knowing nothing? They’d been so close after Alison’s death.
Waqar placed two cups of black tea on the table in front of the sofa and smiled at Tom. He went back to the kitchen and returned with a carton of milk and some sugar before sitting beside Tom – a little too closely. Tom could feel Waqar’s thigh against his, and he shifted away from him. There was plenty of room on the sofa; maybe this failure to observe personal space was cultural. Waqar kicked off his flip-flops and placed his bare feet on the table beside Tom’s cup. Tom tried not to roll his eyes.
Rufus appeared from behind a door and came running towards Tom. He jumped up on his lap, purring loudly.
‘Hello, buddy. Long time,’ said Tom tickling his throat. ‘Where’s Jasper? Is he hiding somewhere?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir. The other cat… a van hit him. Only Rufi now. And Dani, he wants to get rid of him because he makes his asthma worse. He uses inhalers a lot now.’
Tom stiffened, causing Rufus to jump to the floor.
‘Jasper’s dead? That’s awful. When did this happen? Why didn’t Daniel tell me?’
‘Before I came to live here. Dani said there used to be two cats.’
‘And Rufus? What does he intend to do with him?’
‘I think he wants you to take him back.’
Tom could hardly believe what he was hearing. How the hell was he going to transport Rufus to Central London? He pulled at his chin, trying to imagine a miserable Rufus stuck in a cat carrier for hours in his car. Just as he lifted his cup, he heard the front door open and put it back down again. Daniel’s voice emanated from the hallway. Tom felt panic and looked away from Waqar.
‘Waqar, Dad’s car is in the car park. Has he been…?’
Daniel was in the living room now, and Tom could see the look of disdain on his face. He was wearing a kufi, the same as Waqar’s.
Tom stood up, meeting Daniel’s frown with a smile. ‘Hello, son,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘Didn’t you get my note?’ Daniel’s voice was terse, accusatory.
‘Yes, that’s why I’m here. Well, that’s not the only reason. Anyway, what’s with the Muslim cap?’
‘How did you like the imam, Dani?’ asked Waqar. Daniel scowled at Waqar and turned back to his father.
‘Didn’t I say that I wanted time on my own? That I wanted space?’
‘Not exactly. More of a Greta Garbo – “I want to be alone.”’
Tom’s attempt at humour missed its mark. Both Waqar and Daniel stared blankly at him.
‘For fuck’s sake! If I’d wanted to see you, I’d have come to you. Could I have made it any fucking clearer?’
Waqar stood up. ‘Stop this, Dani. Sit down. I will bring you tea. Then let us talk.’
‘OK, sorry,’ said Tom, trying to recover the situation. ‘I suppose I can extrapolate all of that from your short note, but there’s something I needed to tell you. And you never pick up or return my calls, so I haven’t a clue if you are getting my messages. That’s why I’m here.’
Daniel’s face seemed to soften. He sat down on the armchair that was furthest away from where his father had been sitting, pulling off his kufi and folding his arms tightly. Tom sat back down, and they both sat in silence until Waqar returned with Daniel’s tea.
‘OK, Mr McIntyre—’
‘He’s Tom,’ said Daniel.
‘Dani, why are you so aggressive?’ Waqar flashed Daniel a warning look.
Daniel ignored him and addressed Tom instead. ‘What is it that’s so important that you ignored what I wrote and came here unannounced?’
Tom cleared his throat. Waqar’s sympathetic expression was almost a foil to Daniel’s.
‘I hadn’t seen you since you moved. I came to visit on your birthday, and you ignored me. I’ve called your phone countless times and, out of the blue, I get this note from you. You attached a pink feather. The note was passive-aggressive. You know me well enough to know I’m going to react to something like that.’
‘It’s all I felt like writing.’
‘But you felt like finding a pink feather and some cloth and sticking it on there. Was this an alternative message?’
‘Read into it what you like.’
‘I don’t want to read anything into it, I want you to explain what you meant. That’s partly why I’m here.’
‘I didn’t look for it specially. It was in my things. I don’t know why I put it on there. Probably thought it’d cheer up the note. So what else are you here for?’
‘Well, I wanted to tell you I was moving and to give you my new details. Also, I wouldn’t mind knowing what it is that I’ve done to make you so damn angry towards me. We always had a good relationship…’
‘Where are you moving to?’
‘Alright, ignore the other thing! London.’
Tom passed him a business card. Daniel took it, glanced at it and threw it onto the coffee table.
‘Fancy address,’ he said.
‘Dani and I are going to London in a number of weeks,’ said Waqar. ‘Maybe we can visit you.’
Daniel glared at Waqar.
‘You and Daniel would be very welcome, Waqar,’ said Tom. ‘Why are you going to London?’
‘Waqar has friends there.’
‘Finsbury Park and Bermondsey,’ said Waqar.
‘I’ll be in my new place, off and on, from the end of this month. You are both welcome to stay with me.’
‘I told you, I want space, time on my own,’ said Daniel.
‘Dani, you can visit. It would be rude not to. Tom, Dani will see you in London, I promise.’
‘Whatever,’ said Daniel.
After an uncomfortable silence, Tom said, ‘I understand that you want me to take Rufus.’
‘Yeah, the doctor says my asthma is worse and that cat hair is no good for me.’
‘You’ve been around cats since you were a kid, Daniel. They never affected your asthma before. And were you ever going to tell me about Jasper?’
‘They affect me now. Things change… Jasper ran in front of a car. It was soon after I moved here. Things were bad between us.’
‘I’ll take Rufus, of course, but he isn’t going to like being trapped in a cat carrier for hours, that’s for sure.’
Tom stood up and extended his hand to Waqar.
‘Nice to meet you,’ he said. Then turning to Daniel, ‘When you’ve had peace and time to think, I hope we can get back to normal again.’
‘Normal? Yeah right. You know all about normal don’t you Tom?’ said Daniel, his arms tightly folded.
‘Daniel, I only want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
Mum would hate us to be like this. You’ve all but cut your sister and me from your life. Can we please be a family again?’
‘Mum would’ve hated a lot of things.’
‘Oh, Daniel—’
‘Just go, will you? The cat carrier is just there.’
Waqar had wrapped Rufus in a towel and was ushering him into the carrier, the cat miaowing in loud protest.
‘Alright, have it your way. Hope to see you in London.’
Tom picked up Rufus and headed for the front door, but paused before opening it. Nothing. He let himself out, closing the door behind him. He waited for a few minutes, listening, but all he could hear above the mournful miaowing of the cat was the muffled sound of arguing from inside.
Tom lifted the cat carrier from th
e back seat of his car. He noticed Daniel’s envelope on the front passenger seat and reached in for it, stuffing it into his jacket pocket. When he let himself in through the front door, Jenny was standing in the hall, her face pink and radiant. She was grinning.
‘What are you doing with Rufus? Is Danny-boy going on holiday or something?’
‘Ahem! More to the point, what are you doing here?’ said Tom.
‘Oh, Dad, I have the best news!’
‘Well, it better be, to bring you all the way back from uni in the middle of the week.’
She extended her left hand to him, fingers splayed to show an engagement ring sparkling in the light. She looked fit to burst. Tom braced himself.
‘What do you think, Dad? Rashid asked me to marry him, and I said yes!’
‘Jenny, you’re only eighteen. Can’t you wait a while?’
‘Nearly nineteen, and I love him, Dad. Anyway, we’re not getting married until we both finish uni… not until we both get jobs, too. We’re being sensible.’
Tom took her in his arms and kissed her cheek.
‘You’re way too young to be committing to someone,’ he said.
‘Remind me how old you and Mum were when you both got together,’ she said, gently poking his chest.
‘OK, you win. But when Mum and I got engaged… well, those were different days. As long as you’re happy, darling. I’ll come over to Durham at the weekend and take you both out for a meal. Clearly, I should get to know Rashid a bit better.’
‘That’d be great, Dad. Thanks. Rashid will love that.’
‘And his parents? How have they taken the news?’
‘Well, they don’t know, Dad. They wanted him to do the whole arranged marriage thing. He’s not talked to them since he started uni. It’s what he wants. What we both want. I’ve never felt so happy.’
‘And you think they’ll come round?’
‘Who knows? I hope so. I have met them, you know, before Rashid and I were going out. We got on fine. Anyway, we’ll cross that bridge. Not today, though. Today, I want to bask in being newly engaged.’
‘OK, love. Let’s open some champagne. You’ll stay the night, won’t you?
