by Nicola Haken
Okay, so my frustration had returned with a vengeance. But thinking about Emmie and how shit the people who were supposed to love her more than life itself had made her feel throughout her entire life, sent waves of hot rage rolling through my body.
“I don’t have time for this, Dad,” I muttered on a heavy sigh.
“Please, son. Don’t go, not yet. Let’s have another coffee, then if you still feel the same, we’ll go back to how things were. Apart.”
“No, I don’t mean right now. I mean I really haven’t got time to keep hating you. There are so many things wrong with what you’ve just told me, there are three thousand reasons why I should walk out of here and never look back, and I genuinely don’t know how you can ever make this right with Emmie. But… I won’t be here in twelve months time, Dad. I can’t spend those months fighting with you – reasoning with you… struggling to understand what you did.
“In order for me to have any hope of enjoying these next few months of life, I can’t afford to dwell on the past. I don’t understand the decisions you’ve made in your life, Dad, but I accept them, and… I forgive you.”
I noticed tears bubbling up in the corners of my dad’s eyes and I had to force myself to look away before mine started falling too. It took all my strength not to be mad at him. Why couldn’t he have done this years ago? Back when I really needed him.
“And they’re sure? The doctors?” he asked with a slight tremor in his voice. Why does everyone ask that? It seems like doctors are classed as superheroes until they tell you something bad.
“Positive. I had my first chemo session a couple of weeks ago. I have another in two days. That should slow it down… but only by a few months and nothing’s guaranteed.”
“Months?” he repeated – barely a whisper. I noticed my dad look down at his mug and I suspected it was to hide his suddenly damp eyelashes. “Christopher…” he breathed, refusing to look at me. “I don’t want to lose you too.”
What the hell was I supposed to say to that? ‘Oh okay then, Dad. I’ll stay alive just for you.’ I knew my anger was unjustified and so I swallowed it down with a sip of coffee.
“I don’t want it either,” I admitted.
“I’m so sorry, son. I’ve missed out on so much. I don’t deserve to be a father.”
“Whoa,” I said, straightening my back in my chair. “Don’t you start the feeling sorry for yourself bullshit. Whether you deserve to be or not, you are a father. So if your next line was going to be that you’d be better off leaving Emmie to get on with her life without you, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. You’ve let us both down, Dad. It might be too late to make it up to me but you better spend every single day of the rest of your life making it up to Emily.”
“I will. I swear I will.”
You know what? I believed him. When I looked into his eyes I saw the pain lingering behind them and from the intensity of his stare, I realised it had been there a very long time.
“Welcome back, Dad,” I said, standing from my chair and holding my hand out for him to shake. Shaking his head lightly he ignored my proffered hand and in a move I wasn’t expecting, he opened his arms and threw them around me, clutching me close to his body. I stood there for a few seconds completely stiff, not knowing how to respond. Somehow my arms started moving of their own accord and found their way to his back.
I hugged him. Hard. I hugged my father and he hugged me, and I was pretty sure that was the first time in my life.
“I’ve always loved you, Christopher, even if I didn’t know how to show it until it was too late.” He pulled away from me and his eyes were glistening with tears that he wasn’t even attempting to hold back now. “I’ll make this right. I don’t know how but I will. I will be the dad you kids have always deserved and I will make your mother proud.”
“Have you still got that box of Mum’s stuff?” I asked. I remember finding it in the bottom of his wardrobe when I was twelve while raiding the house for any clues to my Christmas presents. It was an oversized shoe box – big enough for a pair of men’s hiking boots – filled with photos, cards, jewellery and other bits and pieces she liked to collect. I didn’t get time to look through it properly because Jocelyn caught me and ripped it out of my hands. “I’d like to show Emmie.”
“Yes,” he nodded. “It’s in the loft. I’ll dig it out tonight.”
“I’m surprised Jocelyn didn’t toss it,” I muttered sardonically. I’ve never been able to say her name without a vile taste coating my tongue, and having to refer to her as ‘Mum’ for Emily’s sake for all these years literally made me nauseous.
“She thinks I did,” he confessed with a guilt-ridden sigh. “I hid it instead.”
Just a few minutes earlier I made a silent vow to myself to let go of all the hurt and hatred I had spent so many years feeling towards my dad and my fake mother. Hate only affects the person feeling it, and I won’t spend my last days feeling anything but hopeful – hopeful that life will go on to bring happy things for the people I love when I’m gone. I might never get to see it, but if I can die knowing it will happen, I will die a happy man. So anyway, that’s why I refused to take on the comment about Jocelyn wanting him to throw my mum’s stuff away. Love and hate both take a lot of energy – energy that woman isn’t worth using on. Indifference. That’s all she deserves from me.
“If you mean everything you’ve said today, Dad… then everything’s going to be okay. We can do this – all of us. We can be a family again.”
“I’m so proud of you, son. I wish Gemma was here to see how far you’ve come all on your own.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her when I get up there.”
And then, with a quivering smile, my dad patted my shoulder and we made our way out of the café and to his car. During the drive home, for the first time since I was diagnosed with this murdering illness, I started to believe everything really was going to be okay. I’m not so worried about leaving Emmie behind anymore. She’s going to be just fine without me.
Chapter Twelve
Dexter
Today is the first day Emily hasn’t cried since she found out about Chris’ tumor. She cleared the diary for this morning so I could go to the hospital while Chris got his second dose of chemo, then I spent the afternoon servicing a Fiat Panda that should’ve been scrapped years ago. Usually when I get home from work her eyes are red and swollen, but today… today she smiled at me. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
“Hey, I got a text from Marianne today. Patricia’s bringing her over for a couple of weeks in the summer.”
“That’s great!” Emily beamed, seeming genuinely happy. “It will do you guys good to get to know each other properly.”
“Yeah. I’m kinda excited to see her again. She’s totally set on getting a tattoo when she turns eighteen. Don’t think it’s going down too well with her mom.”
“Well she’s got a few years before she needs to worry about it,” Emily said, giggling softly. “But maybe keep her away from Rachel. She’ll only fuel the fire.”
I nodded in agreement. Snickers would totally tell her never to let anyone stop her being who she wants to be. I guess I kinda agree with her too. Life’s too short to waste it trying to please other people.
“Chris upstairs?” I asked. He looked particularly wiped out after this morning’s session.
“Yeah. I heard him being sick a few minutes ago but I don’t want to check on him in case he thinks I’m fussing.”
“You love him, doll. Caring is different than fussing.” Emily shrugged nervously and I caressed the side of her cheek with my palm and planted a soft kiss on the tip of her nose. “You want me to go check on him?”
“Would you mind?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t.” I gave her a wink and slap on the ass that made her squeal, before grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator and heading upstairs.
“You okay, man?” I asked, walking into the bathroom
. The door was ajar when I reached the top of the stairs and I saw Chris leaning against the sink, staring into the mirror and running a hand through his hair. “Brought you some water.”
“Thanks,” he muttered with a forced smile. I eyed up the mirror, wondering what was keeping his attention – then he brought his hand down from his head, bringing a clump of hair with it.
Shit.
“Guess it’s time to take it all off, eh?” he said, dropping the handful of red hair into the basin before reaching back up and pulling free another tuft. “Will you fetch my clippers from the bedroom? They’re in the top drawer.”
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“No, mate, I’m not. But I don’t really have a choice.”
Nodding while trying to suppress the heavy sigh that wanted to escape, I disappeared to grab his clippers, removed the guard and handed them to him.
“You know,” Chris began, sliding the switch into the ‘on’ position. “I never did like having red hair. At school I was known as the ginger ninja.” He chuckled lightly at the memory. “But now it seems weird that I’ll never see it again after today.”
I couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t sound desperately pathetic so I stayed quiet. My heart slithered into my stomach as I watched him glide the clippers in a straight line from his forehead all the way down to the nape of his neck. When he pulled it down to start the process again, his hand trembled and his grip on the clippers loosened. I shot forward and caught them before they hit the sink.
He was shaking and I didn’t know if it was the severity of the situation or after effects of the chemo. Regardless, without saying a word I brought the clippers up to his head and started sweeping it over his thinning hair.
Chris’ eyes never left my hands in the mirror as I removed every last trace of his hair, letting it drop onto the white tiled floor.
“Should I grab the polish?” I teased, rubbing a towel over his scalp.
“I look pretty hot don’t you think?”
“Dude, if I wasn’t in love with your sister I totally would.”
“Speaking of my sister, I don’t know how well she’s gonna take this,” he said, sighing as he rubbed his hand over his head.
“She’ll be fine. I think she’s stronger than we give her credit for.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Let’s go and test that theory. Nodding, I patted Chris’ shoulder and turned for the door. “I’ll just sweep this hair up and I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Sure, man. Take your time.”
**********
I didn’t tell Em about Chris’ hair – or lack of – when I got downstairs. I wasn’t sure how to play it. I didn’t want to make it into a big issue because I knew Chris wouldn’t want that. I also didn’t want her to have time to worry over seeing it for the first time. I didn’t have to wait too long anyway before the decision was taken out of my hands.
“Oh my God,” Emily gasped, clasping her hand over her mouth when Chris entered the living room. I snaked my arm around her waist and her small body trembled against me.
“Suits me, right?” Chris chirped, trying to lighten the atmosphere. I studied Emily’s face intently and my heart sank when I noticed tears hovering on the surface of her lower eyelids. But then she completely amazed me – she sucked in a deep breath, plastered a smile on her face and walked proudly over to her brother.
“Yeah,” she agreed, rubbing his head with her hand. “Very handsome… for a bald guy.”
“Handsome? This isn’t the 1940’s, Emmie.”
“You’re my brother! What do you want me to say? Wow you’re totally hot – take me now? Not going to happen. Handsome is all you’re getting from me I’m afraid.”
“Good point well made. Look, Emmie, you mind if I steal Dex for a couple of hours? His assessor is coming to the garage tomorrow and I want to go over the clutch repair we have waiting – make sure he knows what he’s doing.”
“Um… I’m right here?” I piped up with an exaggerated wave.
“Sorry, mate, but we both know Emmie’s the boss around here.”
Yeah – there was no argument there. So, surrendering my palms, I took a step backwards.
“Are you well enough for work? You had chemo just this morning.”
“At this moment in time, I’m feeling fairly good so I want to make the most of it. If it changes, I’ll come home I promise.”
“Okay,” Emily agreed. Then, after giving her a hug, Chris went upstairs to get changed for the garage. “It makes it seem so much more real,” she began once he was out of earshot. I didn’t need an explanation to know she was talking about his hair. “It makes him look sick, if that makes sense. Makes me feel like it’s nearly time.”
“It’s just hair, doll. Doesn’t make a difference to what’s going on inside his body. We have no reason to believe the chemo isn’t working, and we’ll find out for sure next week.”
Chris is booked in for another MRI scan at The Christie cancer hospital next Wednesday to see if his tumor has shrunk, or at least slowed down a little. If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that waiting for the results is going to be an anxious time for us all.
“You’re right. I know you are. It’s just hard.”
“I know, doll,” I agreed, wrapping her in my arms. “I know.”
Chapter Thirteen
Emily
Dexter and Chris had been gone a couple of hours, so after giving the place a thorough tidy – hoovering the entire downstairs and even pulling out the furniture to get underneath – I settled down on the sofa with a hot chocolate and my kindle. Talking to Rachel on the phone earlier she told me I absolutely HAD to meet Lucien Knight, so after fluffing up a pillow and laying my head on it, I tapped the screen and opened chapter one.
Then there was a knock at the door. Sod’s law right?
Huffing, I closed my kindle, stood up and padded to the front door.
“Oh,” I said, stepping back in surprise. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, princess. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said, stepping aside and then closing the door behind him once he’d walked past me. He was carrying a shoebox and after making his way over to the coffee table, he set it down and then gave a nod towards the sofa – silently asking if he could sit down. I nodded, and then sat down myself on the edge of the armchair.
“I told Chris I’d drop these by the other day,” he explained, pointing to the shoebox on the table.
“What is it?”
“It’s a box of your mum’s things.”
The weirdest part of this whole thing has been how easily I’ve accepted that Jocelyn isn’t my mother. Even the fact I automatically refer to her as Jocelyn now. I never slip up – never accidentally forget that she isn’t my mum. It’s like I always knew there was something that stopped her having maternal feelings for me, and now it all makes perfect sense.
“Can I look?” I asked, hovering my hand over the box.
“Of course. Chris wanted you to see them.”
Biting my bottom lip, I tentatively peeled off the lid.
“Oh my God,” I choked out, plucking out a photograph. “Is this her? Is this my mum?” I already knew the answer. There was no denying I was looking at my mother – it was like looking in a mirror.
“Yes. Beautiful isn’t she?”
“Yes,” I agreed, feeling a little breathless.
“Now you see where you and your brother get that vibrant hair from.”
I paid no attention to anything else in the photograph. Just her. Just my mum. Her red hair, my red hair, was spilling over her shoulders in thick, bouncy waves. She had the brightest blue eyes and an even brighter smile. She was stunning.
“I feel like I miss her,” I admitted. “Is that crazy? I mean I never even knew her.”
“You did know her, princess. You grew inside her for nine months. You’re part of each other.”
“Why did you never tell me, Dad?” I asked solemnl
y, regret swelling in my belly.
“I don’t know, princess. I couldn’t cope I suppose. I couldn’t cope with losing Gemma and I sure as hell couldn’t cope raising two kids by myself. I think I always planned to tell you when you were older, but then we lost Olivia and…” My dad sighed and smothered his face with his hand. “And I lost it. I gave up, princess. Life was just easier if I went to work, brought home the money and played golf on Sundays. I wish I could tell you I did it because I thought it was best for you. Truth is, it was best for me.”
“I feel like I want to hate you,” I confessed. If he was being honest, it was only fair I was too. “But… I can’t.”
“I deserve that. And as I told Chris, if you told me you never wanted to see me again I promise I would respect that. I’ve wasted so much time already, and whether I deserve a second chance or not, it doesn’t stop me hoping you’ll give me one. You’re my children and I don’t even know you. I want to know you, princess. Let me show you. Let me love you like a dad should.”
“I want that too. It’s all I’ve ever wanted,” I conceded. “All my life I’ve tried to be good – tried to work hard… make you both proud of me. I’ve never felt good enough for you.”
“God, Emily…” My dad stood from the sofa and in a move I never could’ve anticipated, her perched himself on the edge of my chair and wrapped his arms around me. My heart fluttered and I let out a sigh as I moulded myself into his hold. I’m not sure I’d ever hugged my dad before that moment, or if I had I don’t remember. Growing up I always knew he loved me – it could be the way he smiled at me or the way he’d pat the top of my head as I walked by. But even though I knew he loved me… I always felt like I disappointed him somehow. “You have it so wrong. I was the one who wasn’t good enough. You were a beautiful, intelligent, adorable little girl. Foolishly, I thought your mothe- Jocelyn, told you as much every day.”
