by KA Sterritt
“Is everything okay?” Dad asked, as we sat down on the back verandah with a cup of tea.
“Not really, no.” I looked at him, expecting to see horror or at least concern. Instead, he smiled.
“Talk to me, Holly. And I don’t mean about the weather. Just talk to me.”
I felt a weight I didn’t even know I’d been carrying lift from my shoulders.
“I think I’m falling apart, Dad.” Tears immediately blurred my vision. “I miss my mum.”
“I miss her too, sweetheart. Every day.” His eyes were misting. It broke my heart.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. This is why I haven’t talked to you before about this. You’ve been through enough. I wanted to be strong for you.”
“Oh my God, Holly. Is that really the reason? I thought you were handling it so well. I thought you had moved on. I guess I thought the fact you followed in her footsteps as an architect must have really helped you.”
“It does help me in some ways. It helps me remember her.” I wiped my eyes and Dad passed me a tissue. “It helps me remember the good times, when she was strong and taught me how to look at the world. My success is because of her.”
“But you’re still falling apart.”
“I was there, Dad. I know I was only fifteen when she died but I remember it like it was yesterday.” I swallowed a few times before continuing. “I remember the look on your face when you told me it was time to go to the hospital. I don’t remember her voice at all, but I remember your voice, telling me she was gone. And I remember realising that a big part of you had died with her.”
A single tear trickled down my father’s face, but he was smiling. Why is he smiling?
“It’s true, my darling girl. Your mother was the love of my life. There was no one before her and there will be no one after her. She was my sun, my moon, my heart and soul. She was my everything.”
“Then why are you smiling?” I asked incredulously. “How are you even functioning?”
“Because for eighteen incredible years, I had everything.” His smile grew larger. “Some people never get that – I got eighteen years. Of course I wanted more. I wanted my forever. But I was lucky to get any time at all with that woman.” He walked over to my chair. Squatting down beside me, he reached out and held my hand. “Plus, she gave me you and your sisters.” He placed his other hand over his heart. “She’s still here with me, Holly. I’m not just functioning. I’m living.”
“But if you’d never met her, you wouldn’t have had to watch her die.”
“It was worth it. It was so much more than worth it, I can’t put it into words. You’ll understand one day, when you meet that person who changes everything.”
My thoughts immediately went to Ryan. Even though I knew what we felt for each other was life altering, I’d still told him there was no hope for us.
“I think I already have,” I whispered. “But I’ve thrown it away.”
Dad stood and pulled me to my feet. “Let’s go inside. I want to show you something.”
He led me towards the one room I hadn’t set foot in for ten years – their bedroom. As we reached the door, I stopped.
“I can’t go in there.”
Dad took my hand reassuringly. “You need to.”
I took one tentative step forward, then another. As we walked through the door, I closed my eyes. My other senses went into overdrive, trying to find links to this once-familiar environment. Mum had always kept fresh flowers in their room. She didn’t have a favourite so there was no one particular perfume reminiscent of her, but she loved jasmine, and that’s what I could smell.
Opening my eyes, the first thing I saw was a glorious bunch of jasmine in a vase by the window.
“The smell reminds me of her,” Dad said, when he saw me staring at the arrangement.
“I remember.” I smiled. I didn’t cry.
As I looked around, the horror I had associated with this room was replaced by happy memories. I remembered her getting dressed for one of her work functions and letting me choose her jewellery. I remembered helping April make our parents breakfast in bed on their birthdays. I remembered them letting me sleep in their bed when I had nightmares. This had been a safe and happy place for me, and I had forgotten that.
Dad reached up to the bookshelf and took down a photo album I’d never seen before.
“This is an album your mum made before she got sick the second time.” He handed it to me. I sat down on the bed and carefully opened it.
The photos at the beginning of the album had been taken in London. I’d seen the one of Mum and Dad in Hyde Park kicking up their heels. It was a happy photo. I couldn’t help smiling at the young couple holding hands, completely carefree.
“I love this photo.” I lightly ran my finger over it.
Dad sat down next to me and turned to the next page. There were photos I’d never seen before of Mum and Dad with people I didn’t recognise.
“Did your mum ever tell you how we met?”
“Yes. She said you were at a party at one of her friend’s houses in Hammersmith when you were living in London.”
“That’s right. She was at teaching college and I’d been transferred to London for work. I didn’t even want to go to the party, but my flatmate begged me to be his wingman. He fancied one of the girls who was going to be there.”
I’d never heard the details of their meeting. I was riveted.
“I walked into the small flat and immediately saw your mother sitting on the other side of the room. Her leg was in a cast and she looked miserable. I was drawn to her immediately. She was so far beyond beautiful. Ordinarily, I would have been intimidated. But there was something about her that made me walk over and introduce myself.”
I’d never heard my dad speak so openly about Mum before. I wondered if he’d been waiting for me to open up to him all these years.
“What happened next?” I asked, suddenly craving every detail. “Did you ask her out?”
“Not immediately.” He shook his head and chuckled. “She pulled out a cigarette and asked for a light.”
“Seriously? You hate smokers.” I was shocked that he would be interested in someone who smoked.
“Honestly, Holly, she could have injected heroin into her eyeballs and I still would have been completely smitten.”
“Wow. That is… really romantic. I had no idea. I wish I’d talked to you about her more after she died.”
He put his arm around my shoulders. “I think both of us could have benefited from sharing our grief instead of bottling it up. I should have asked you how you were doing. I shouldn’t have let you ignore your own birthday. I’ve let you down.”
Turning to face him, I looked him in the eyes. “No, Dad. You haven’t let me down. I didn’t want to celebrate my birthday because I didn’t want you to pretend to be happy on the anniversary of her death.” I rubbed my forehead. “I didn’t want to pretend to be happy on such a sad day.”
“I wouldn’t have been pretending. I’ll always be happy you and your sisters were born. I love you all so much.”
“I love you too. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant. I just found it so hard to talk to you about her initially. You always got that desperately sad, vacant look and I felt like having me around made it harder for you.”
Dad shook his head. “April reprimands me regularly about that look. I don’t even realise I’m doing it until she snaps me out of it. I’m not sad, though.”
“Really? You look like you’ve lost the will to live when you space out like that. It made me so sad, and I thought I was causing it. So I stayed away more and more. I wanted to be strong for you, April and Jamie but I couldn’t do it. I was weak.” I looked down at the photos of my vibrant and beautiful mother. “I am weak.”
“When I space out like that, I am re-living one of the millions of happy memories I have of your mother or you girls. I’m in my happy place.” He tapped the side of his head. “I have a lifetime of h
appiness stored up here that I can go to anytime I want. That’s enough for me.”
Dad took the album and opened it to a photo towards the end. It was a close-up of Mum’s beautiful face. “I know you’ve suffered because of what happened at the end of her life. But you have to know she was a fighter. She never gave up, and she fought until her body was spent. I’ll always remember her as the strongest woman I’ve ever known. That fight lives on in you.” He gently touched the photo, as if he was caressing her face. “Don’t let your chance slip away. If you can find what your mother and I had, it’s worth the risk.”
My whole world turned on its axis. Worth the risk.
“Do you want to know what I miss most about her?” he asked.
“Of course I do,” I choked out, my eyes blurry.
“I miss talking to her.”
I nodded in agreement. That was the exact same thing that I missed most about her.
“You can be compatible with someone and have a really good life,” he continued. “But it’s a special connection when you’re on the same page on all the important things. We could talk to each other about anything and everything with no judgement or criticism. We never had to work at our marriage.” He looked at me and smiled. “It was just… easy. I want that for you three girls.” He continued looking through the album, smiling at the photos. “I want you to find your same page person.”
“Wow, Dad. I’ve been so wrong about so many things. I’m not exactly sure what to do with myself.”
“Wait here a second.” He walked out of the room. I sat on the bed and stared out the window to the back garden. When he returned, he handed me a business card.
“What’s this?” I flipped the card over to see a woman’s name followed by a bunch of letters.
“She’s a grief counsellor.”
“I don’t know, Dad. I’ve heard so many horror stories.”
“Me too. This woman is a professional and she’s really helped me. For years after your mum died, I did little more than exist. I got out of bed each day and put one foot in front of the other because April and Jamie still needed me. About a year ago, Sophie, one of your mum’s friends, suggested I speak to this woman. I guess she saw through my pretence.” He pointed to the card in my hands. “I’m not going to lie and say it made everything okay. Nothing will ever make it okay. But it helped to talk to someone objective in absolute confidence.”
He walked over to the window and looked out in silence for what felt like a long time. When he turned back, his eyes were bleary. Sitting back down, he put his arm around my shoulders. “She asked about how my daughters were coping. I realise now the answer I gave her was just wishful thinking on my part. I’m so sorry, Holly.”
“Don’t be sorry, Dad. I’ve been surrounded by wonderful friends and family the whole time. But I’m starting to think maybe I need this.” I sobbed onto my father’s shoulder for a long time.
What had I been doing for the past ten years? I’d made some monumental assumptions about something I really didn’t understand. I thought Dad’s life had essentially ended when Mum died, that he had nothing left to live for. I was wrong.
We hugged and cried then we cried some more. It was the most beautifully cathartic experience I’d ever had.
When I had cried myself dry, we went back to the kitchen and made tea.
“So, tell me about the lucky guy,” Dad said, handing me a mug.
“Oh, um… Well, his name is Ryan. He’s a property developer. He chose my design for his latest project.” I looked up at the wall where a cluster of frames showcased some of Mum’s favourite buildings from around the world. I noticed there were several additional frames – the most famous of Mum’s designs. Dad must have added them. I smiled. “He’s a big fan of Mum’s work.”
“So he has excellent taste then.”
“We’re not on the same page, though. It was just too complicated.” I sipped my tea and looked away, trying to hide my awkwardness.
“You don’t really want to talk about this with your father do you?”
I rubbed my forehead, wondering how to respond. Dad laughed.
“Still have that habit, I see.”
“What do you mean?” I looked at him curiously.
“Your mum did it too. As a child, whenever you were nervous or overthinking something, you would rub your forehead. I was often worried you were going to draw blood. Anna did it a lot when she was worrying about her designs. You must have picked it up from her.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You are a lot like her, you know. April and Jamie look more like her than you do, but you are the most like her in other ways. In the ways you can’t see.” His look changed slightly. “There was a fire in you, Holly. Perhaps if you talk to someone, they’ll help you find it again.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever let anyone try to help me. I thought I had it all under control. I’m starting to realise I’ve been wrong about everything. It’s surprising I have any friends.”
“You’re still you, and you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. You’re a beautiful, caring and special person, just like your mum was. The people worth knowing recognise that in you. It’s your job to find yourself again so you can have your everything. I want that for you, my darling.” He hugged me and whispered in my ear. “Find your fire again, Holly.”
Several cups of tea later, I left Dad’s house feeling a spark of warmth deep in my stomach.
On the way home I stopped in front of the hospital again. This time as I looked up at it, I tried to stop my mind immediately gravitating to the associated trauma. Instead, I remembered Audrey spending a night there when we were about eight years old. She was having her tonsils out. She had been so excited that jelly and ice cream were on the menu for her. She loved all the attention she got from all the nursing staff.
I then looked beyond the big brown building to the smaller cream one – the maternity hospital. I was ten when Jamie was born, so my memories were more than just snapshots. Mum looked tired but happy as she gazed at her wrinkly baby. I remember I thought it was strange that her head was cone-shaped and her skin was purple. Dad had struggled to reassure me that she was perfectly normal. I smiled at the memory.
In front of the hospital was a perfectly manicured cricket oval. There weren’t any games being played, but a few kids were kicking a ball around in the sunshine. I was starting to notice the good things.
Rummaging around in my handbag, I pulled out the card Dad had given me. Without overthinking it, I dialled the number and made an appointment.
***
The night after my second session, a few weeks later, I pulled out the letter my grief counsellor had suggested I write to Mum. She’d explained that directing my words to the person for whom I was grieving could be a useful tool in expressing and understanding my thoughts. I also read the poem I’d written for her funeral and I realised how far I’d come.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Three months later
Christmas Eve
“Merry Christmas!” Audrey, Zara, Jason and I chinked our champagne glasses.
“I know you’ll all be getting turkey and ham over the next few days with your families so I’ve gone for a vegetarian dish. Giovanni taught me how to make it.” I placed four bowls of gnocchi down and took my seat at the round table. “I’ve been slaving away in the kitchen and I expect some over-the-top appreciation for my efforts.”
“Since when are you besties with Giovanni?” Jason asked a little dejectedly. “I still can’t look at a bowl of gnocchi without cringing.”
“He runs a cooking class once a month at the restaurant. This is his recipe – sage, truffle and kale with homemade gnocchi pillows of goodness.”
“Did you seriously make the gnocchi? It smells divine,” Zara said, inhaling the delicious sage-infused steam rising from her bowl.
“It’s not the same with the bought stuff,” I replied.
“Okay, enough about gnocch
i.” I poured wine into glasses. “I have something else to talk to you guys about.” I looked around the table at my closest friends in the world. “It all started when I met Ryan Davenport on my birthday.”
“Well there’s a name we haven’t heard much of lately. Have you spoken to him? Is he back from London?” Audrey asked excitedly.
“Let me get this out, Aud,” I said.
“Sorry. Go on.”
“You all know I’ve been seeing a grief counsellor for the past few months.”
Zara and Audrey both nodded.
“So what sage advice did she have?” Jason asked, waving a piece of gnocchi on his fork. A note of cynicism was evident in his tone.
“She listened, mostly. You see, for ten years, I’ve been convinced I had everything under control. I thought if I shut myself off, I could avoid more suffering.”
“And Ryan changed that?” Zara asked.
I couldn’t help smiling thinking back to the moment I first saw him by my table in the café. “Yes. Ryan made me feel something I’d never felt before. Something… life changing.” I held my hand over my heart. “For the first time, I felt out of control – and I liked it. Unfortunately, I was still a confused and fucked up mess, and he had his own set of issues too. Together, we were a disaster.” I looked at my three closest friends who had been so incredibly supportive over the years. “I’m really sorry for dragging you guys along for the ride.”
“We’re just glad you are confronting all of this now,” Audrey said, smiling.
“I’ve wanted to tell you what’s been going on, but I wanted to wait until I’d got my thoughts straight.”
“It’s fine, Hol,” Zara said. “We could tell you were okay or we would have kicked your butt some more. At least, I would have.”
“Well, I have the three of you to thank for it. Zara, I did need that kick up the butt. Jason, I know I bit your head off when you told me I hadn’t dealt with my mother’s death – it hit a nerve, probably because I knew it was true.”
Jason smiled and took a big mouthful of gnocchi.
“And Audrey,” I looked to my very best friend. “Asking me to talk to my dad back in September was your greatest gift to me.” I could see her eyes misting, which immediately made mine blur.
