by Kevin Brooks
‘You've been watching us, haven't you?’ I say to him. ‘In your van… you've been watching me and Mum.’
He looks up at me. ‘I just wanted to… I don't know. I just wanted to make sure you were OK, that's all. I wasn't spying on you or anything… I was just… I just wanted to see you. You and your mum… I couldn't bear it, not seeing you.’
‘You couldn't bear it?’ I say angrily. ‘What about us? How do you think we've been feeling?’
‘I'm sorry –’
‘Not knowing where you are, or even if you're still alive… I mean, Christ, Dad – we didn't know anything.’
‘I didn't think –’
‘You could at least have let us know you weren't dead. You know, a phone call, a letter…’
‘I am dead,’ he says blankly.
‘What?’
‘I wanted to be dead. I didn't want to live any more. Not after… you know. Not after that. But I couldn't… I couldn't do it. I couldn't make you hate me even more.’ He lowers his eyes. ‘And killing myself wouldn't have been enough anyway. It wouldn't have changed anything. So I made myself live with it… every day… with nothing to take the pain away… and that's killed me more than dying ever could.’
‘You're not drinking any more?’ I ask quietly.
He shakes his head. ‘Not since I left. Nothing… no booze, no drugs…’
‘What about God?’
‘No,’ he says, swallowing hard. ‘No God. There never was…’
‘What do you mean?’
He sighs. ‘It was all just me, Dawn. Me… whatever I was, whatever I am… it was never anything to do with anything else. All that God stuff was just… I don't know. It was just another excuse, you know… just something… somewhere to hide…’ He sighs again, wiping at his eye. ‘I didn't know what I was doing, Dawn. I didn't know… I mean, I don't even know…’
‘What?’ I say sharply. ‘You don't even know what?’
He breathes out heavily. ‘I'm sorry… I can't… it's too late. I can't make it better.’
‘So why are you here then?’ I snap at him. ‘What do you want, Dad? Do you want me to forgive you?’
‘I could never ask you to forgive me.’
‘Yeah, well,’ I say nastily. ‘Maybe you should try it.’
‘I don't deserve –’
‘I'm not talking about what you deserve!’ I scream at him. ‘I'm talking about me! Me, Dad. ME! What do you think I deserve? I mean, you asked your precious God for forgiveness, didn't you? You fucking asked him.’
Dad's just staring at me now, his empty eyes struck with confusion and fear. And I can't be angry with him any more. I want to… I want to let him know how I feel, I want him to understand me. I want him to understand what I want from him. But he just doesn't get it. He doesn't understand. And I don't know if that's because he's sick, dead, deluded, disturbed, fucked up by a lifetime of drugs…
I just don't know.
And I don't know if it makes any difference either.
You can only be what you are.
I can't hate him.
(i have no more empty heart
or limbs to break)
‘Just tell me what you want, Dad,’ I sigh. ‘Why are you here?’
‘To warn you,’ he says, glancing at the clock.
‘Warn me about what?’
‘A man called Lee Harding.’
He starts telling me all about the money then, how he stole it from Lee Harding and tipped off the police, how he left us the money when he disappeared because he didn't want Mum to have to worry about getting a job, how he realizes now that he was in such a state at the time (‘completely and utterly fucked up’, as he puts it) that he didn't know what he was doing… and I'm so confused about everything at first – getting Mel's story mixed up with Dad's story… then and now, now and then – I'm so tangled up inside my head that I don't do anything. I just sit there, speechless, dumbly letting Dad carry on with his story.
‘I just didn't think,’ he tells me. ‘It never even occurred to me that I might be putting you and your mum in danger.’ He shakes his head, dismayed with himself. ‘I suppose I thought that Lee would be put away for a lot longer –’
‘So that's the real reason you're here, is it?’ I say, surprised at the venom in my voice. ‘You're worried about your money.’
‘No… I told you. I came here to warn you –’
‘Yeah, well, that's really good of you, Dad. Really thoughtful. Thanks a lot.’
He frowns at me. ‘I don't understand –’
‘No, I don't suppose you do,’ I say, glaring at him. ‘I mean, you think it's all right to come strolling back into our lives just because some tough guy's coming round here to get his money back… you think that's all right. But what about Mum and me? What about all the shit and pain that we've been going through for the last two years? You don't think that's worth coming back for?’
‘But that's different –’
‘No, it's not, Dad.’
He looks at me, wanting to say something, wanting to explain why it's different, why he couldn't come back before… but he just can't do it. And I think I want to tell him that he doesn't have to explain, that I know it's different, but I just can't do it either.
So I just kind of breathe out, letting it all go, and I say, ‘I know all about Lee Harding.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I know all about it – Lee Harding, the money… everything.’
‘You know?’
I nod. ‘Mel told me. Mel Monroe, the girl I mentioned earlier. She's friends with Lee Harding's daughter, Taylor.’
‘Right…’ Dad says thoughtfully. ‘And this Mel… she told you all about Lee Harding?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Everything?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did she tell you he's coming round here tonight?’
‘Yeah.’ I look at the clock. ‘In about an hour. That's what you wanted to warn me about, isn't it?’
He nods, looking confused. ‘Why did she tell you about Lee Harding?’
‘Because… well, it's a long story.’ I look at Dad. ‘How do you know he's coming here?’
‘It's a long story,’ he says, trying a smile.
I don't smile back, I just stare at him, demanding an answer.
His smile fades and he lets out a long and weary sigh. ‘When I found out that Harding was getting out of prison, I knew it wouldn't be long before he started looking for me, and I was worried that he might try to find me through you and your mum. Or worse, he might find out that you've got his money. So, basically, for the last few weeks or so I've been keeping a close eye on everyone – Harding, his friends, his family, you and your mum…’
‘So you know about Taylor and Mel coming to see me?’
‘Yeah…’
‘Did you know who they were, what they were doing?’
‘Not at first. I just thought they were friends of yours. But there was something about Taylor, you know… something vaguely familiar about her, like I'd seen her somewhere before or something. So when they left here the other night, I followed her home. And that's when I realized who she was.’ He shrugs. ‘I still didn't really recognize her, but I suppose I must have seen her at Lee's place a couple of years ago… and, you know…’
‘You put two and two together…?’
He shakes his head. ‘Not really. All I knew then was that Lee Harding's daughter had just spent a couple of hours with my daughter. I mean, I kind of guessed that something was going on, but I didn't know what it was.’ He looks at me, his eyes uncertain.
‘Don't worry, Dad,’ I say (kind of sneerily). ‘I didn't tell her anything about the money.’
‘I know you didn't,’ he says matter-of-factly. He looks down at his hands again. ‘Not that it would have mattered if you had…’ And then, after a moment's thoughtful silence, he looks back at me. ‘I followed Taylor again last night… or this morning… whenever it was she left here. I waited outside Le
e Harding's house all night. And I've been following him around all day. That's how I know about him coming round here… I heard him talking about it with some of his friends in a pub.’
‘You followed him into a pub? Weren't you afraid he might see you?’
With an embarrassed smile, Dad digs into his pocket and pulls out a pair of glasses and a baseball cap. He puts them on. ‘It's pretty pathetic, I know, but it seems to work. And anyway…’ He takes off the hat and glasses. ‘I mean look at me, Dawn. Do I look like me any more?’
(and the way you are
sends the shivers to my head)
‘What are we going to do, Dad?’ I ask him.
‘About Lee Harding, you mean?’
‘Yeah.’
He looks at the clock (18:45).
‘Have you still got the gun?’ he asks me.
‘The gun?’
‘The one I left with the money.’
‘Yeah… we've still got it.’ I look at him. ‘Is it yours?’
‘Does it matter?’
I don't say anything, I just keep staring at him.
He sighs again. ‘It was just… it was just something I had, that's all. For protection. I never used it –’
‘Why did you leave it here?’
‘I don't know. I didn't mean to leave it… it was just in the bag with the money…’ He glances at the clock again, then looks back at me. ‘Where is it, Dawn?’
‘Why? What are you thinking of doing?’
‘Listen,’ he says. ‘I really don't care about the money, OK? Harding can have the money. And he can do whatever he wants with me too… but not here. This is between me and him. No one else. If he so much as looks at you or your mum…’
‘What?’ I say. ‘You'll shoot him?’
Dad looks at me for a while then, not saying anything, and I get the feeling that he wants to tell me that he's just trying to do what he thinks is right, but he doesn't want me to think that he's trying to put everything right, because he knows that he can't.
And I have absolutely no idea what I'm feeling.
One second this, the next second that…
You're my dad.
You're a monster.
I hate you.
I loved you.
I love you.
How can I love you?
How can you be my dad?
(as far as i can see
there is nothing left of me)
You killed me.
For God's sake.
You made me. You unmade me.
You put me in a cave and left me there to die.
(and all my time in hell
was spent with you)
You are my dad.
‘Dawn,’ he says now, very quietly.
I look at him. ‘What?’
‘Your mum'll be back soon. We need to –’
‘She went to the doctor's,’ I say emptily.
‘I know.’
‘You followed her?’
He nods. ‘She left the surgery around half past five and went for a drink.’ He glances at the clock. ‘She left the pub about half an hour ago. She should be home any minute.’ He hesitates, looking awkwardly at me. ‘Is she…? I mean, is she all right?’
I shrug. ‘It was just a routine appointment –’
‘No, I mean generally… you know… how is she?’
‘How do you think?’
He nods sadly. ‘Is she drinking a lot?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Does she…?’
‘Does she what?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nothing… it doesn't matter…’
I look at him, sitting in his silence, and I can see that he loathes himself. And I can see that he knows there's nothing he can do about it. There's nothing he can feel to make things right – shame, guilt, regret, remorse… they're all just useless emotions.
They don't change anything.
Nothing changes anything.
I look down at my iPod, the distant song still playing
(nine million rainy days
have swept across my eyes
thinking of you)
and I turn it off.
I get up off the bed.
Dad looks over at me.
I glance down as Jesus and Mary hop off the bed and go trotting out of the room (and the part of me that's still connected to the real world realizes that they haven't been out for a wee for a while, so that's probably where they're going), and then I look back at Dad.
‘I can't say anything,’ I tell him quietly.
‘I know,’ he says.
My eyes are tingling now, and I know that I really can't say anything. All I can do is what I'm doing. And as I move slowly towards Dad, I don't know if what I'm doing is right or wrong, or why I'm doing it, or even what it means… I don't know anything.
I'm just moving.
Walking towards him…
Stopping in front of him…
Looking into his eyes.
All I want to do is hold him for a moment. That's all. Or have him hold me. I just want us to be what we were again – me and my dad – just for a moment…
My arms move.
I reach out awkwardly for Dad's head.
He leans slowly towards me.
I take his head in my arms.
He tenses, keeping his body away from me, but he lets himself be held.
And then I move a little closer…
Hold him a little tighter.
And, very cautiously, he moves to hold me back.
And then… I don't know how it happens. Maybe I jump a little as his hand touches my arm, or maybe his hand just brushes against the sleeve of my dressing gown and catches in the cloth… I don't know. But suddenly I'm aware that my dressing gown has come open at the front, and just for a moment I can feel Dad's stubbly cheek resting against my naked skin… and I know it's an accident, I know that Dad's already realized what's happened and has quickly moved his head away… I know that it's not happening again. But the other me doesn't. The other me – the Cave Dawn, the thirteen-year-old Dawn – all she's ever known is the pain of that moment and the terror of living it again, and now she thinks that she is living it again. And she panics.
She cries out, a yelp of fear, and pushes Dad away…
She steps back, too quickly, almost losing her balance as her hands grab desperately at her dressing gown, trying to cover herself up…
And then – BANG!
The world suddenly explodes.
And I look on in horror as Dad grunts, a godless sigh, and slumps to one side in the chair.
drop
The room is heavy with silence now. The sudden BANG! has stopped ringing in my ears, the air is still, and I can see everything as it always will be. I can see my father, slumped to one side in the chair, blood oozing slowly from a bullet hole in his chest. I can see him, breathing painfully. I can see flecks of pink spit bubbling on his lips.
I can see that he's dying.
I can't speak.
‘Dawn?’ a frail voice says from the doorway.
Mum.
I can see her. She's standing there with Dad's gun in her hand, her ashen face wet with tears.
‘Are you all right?’ she asks me.
I nod.
‘Did he hurt you?’
I shake my head.
‘You're bleeding,’ she says numbly, gazing at my legs.
I look down at myself. The whiteness of my dressing gown is spattered with blood, some of which has smeared on my legs.
It's not mine.
It's Dad's.
I look at him. His eyes are wide open, staring wildly. His chest rattles and he coughs weakly, bringing up blood. His face is white.
He opens his mouth, trying to say something.
‘… uhh… uh…’
He coughs up blood again.
I fall to my knees in front of him. ‘Dad…?’
His eyes struggle to focus on me.
‘… Dawn…?’ he wh
ispers.
‘Dad…’ I sob, choking back tears. ‘It's all right, Dad… you're going to be OK… it's all right…’
‘… please…’
And I can see him dying now. I can see it happening… right in front of me. I can see the light fading from his eyes.
‘No, Dad,’ I cry. ‘Don't… just hold on…’
‘… forgive me… please…’
‘… don't die…’
‘… forgive me, Dawn…’
And I want to tell him that I do forgive him… I want him to know, right now, before it's too late… but I'm crying so much now… I can hardly breathe… and the words are stuck in my throat. I can't breathe… I can't swallow… I can't get the words out…
And then – in a moment of absolute emptiness – Dad just dies.
There's nothing to it.
He just goes limp.
His eyes switch off.
And he dies.
sundown
We're sitting on the floor, Mum and me. We're in my room, sitting on the floor, in front of Dad's body. We're holding each other, crying in each other's arms. We're drowning together. And right now I truly believe that this is the end. There can't be anything else. Not after this. There can't be any tomorrows, there can't be anywhere else, there can't be a moment that isn't right now. This room, this floor, these tears, this blood – this is all there is.
This is all that can ever be.
This is…
No.
Listen…
The rain.
This is not the end.
I can still hear the rain on the window. The rain is still falling. This is not all there is. This room, this floor… these tears. I can hear them becoming something else now. Something more. A voice. My mother's voice. Sobbing to me in despair.
‘… I couldn't… I couldn't let him do it, love… I had to stop him… I couldn't let him… not again…’
She's crying so hard that I can barely understand what she's saying.
‘It's OK, Mum,’ I say, holding her tightly. ‘It's OK…’
