Five Unforgivable Things

by Vivien Brown

  ‘How’s he doing?’ I didn’t really want to look at him, but I couldn’t help it. In such a small space, his proximity was unavoidable, and Mum was right. He was an awful washed-out grey colour. He lay flat, the blankets half back, wires attached to his naked chest, his name and that of his doctor chalked up on a board above his head.

  ‘They say if I hadn’t called the ambulance as quickly as I did, he might have died. But he’s still here, and where there’s hope …’ She stopped mid-sentence and just stared at him. ‘I do love him, you know,’ she said, as if there was any doubt. ‘He’s a good man, a lovely man, and I sometimes wonder what I did to deserve him.’

  ‘Mum …’

  ‘Oh, I know you don’t really like him, Kate. You’ve made that obvious over the years, but to me he’s everything. He can’t die. He just can’t. I’ve lost one husband and … well, I’m not ready to let this one go yet. Not ever.’

  A nurse came in then and touched me on the shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, but …’

  ‘Yes, I know. I shouldn’t be here. I promised I’d only be a minute or two. Don’t worry, I’m going.’ I turned to Mum. ‘I won’t be far away, Mum. Just downstairs. Ollie’s in again.’

  Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘It’s okay. Another infection but we got it early. He’ll be fine. Look, I’m going down to sit with him, so I’m right here in the hospital if you need me. If there’s any change, come and get me. And I’ll come back up during evening visiting hours to check on you before I go home, okay?’

  I wheeled the babies back down the ward, as quietly as I could. ‘Aaah! Twins?’ a young nurse asked, stopping to look at them.

  ‘No.’ I was pushing a triple pushchair with only two babies in it, and the empty space seemed to speak volumes. Well, it did to me. There was obviously a baby missing. Couldn’t she see that? In fact, there were two babies missing, but that was something nobody could see, would ever see …

  Suddenly, all I wanted was to get to Ollie, and to make sure he was all right.

  ***

  Ollie soon recovered and so did Trevor, in time. They’d kept him in for a while, inserted a stent into an artery and passed him fit to go, but I could tell Mum was still worried sick about him. ‘I don’t want him doing too much,’ she said, insisting that she take over the gardening and humping great bags of supermarket shopping in from the car while he sat indoors watching TV or working out chess moves on a board placed next to his armchair.

  ‘You fuss too much, love,’ he told her, but she wasn’t one for listening when she didn’t want to, and over the weeks that followed I could see him starting to put on a bit of weight around the middle. If he’d smoked the occasional cigarette before, I certainly never saw him with one again. I think she’d thrown the last open packet in the bin.

  ‘Gentle exercise, that’s what I’m meant to have,’ he protested. ‘You don’t have to worry I’m about to keel over just because I walk up a few stairs.’

  And so they took to going out, arm in arm, every evening straight after dinner, for a stroll. Never to the pub, though. It seemed that the new, post-heart attack Trevor had given up booze as well as tobacco, or that Mum had given them up for him.

  ***

  ‘It’s quite sweet really, isn’t it?’ Dan said, one Sunday morning, as we quickly wolfed down a plate of scrambled eggs before one or more of the babies woke up and had us dashing about like mad things again. ‘Your mum, and the way she looks after Trev. Sort of romantic, for a couple their age.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll be like that? When we’re older and the kids have left home. Still holding hands and worrying about each other the way they do?’

  ‘We don’t even do it now, Kate, so I think it’s pretty unlikely we’ll suddenly start when we’re old, don’t you?’

  Beth started screaming then, so I didn’t have the chance to say anything.

  ‘Oh, here we go again. Which one’s that?’ Dan forked the last mouthful in and got up from the table.

  ‘Beth. Can’t you tell?’

  ‘Babies all sound the same to me. And you spend more time with them, so you’re bound to get to know them better.’

  ‘You make it sound like an accusation. I’d love you to spend more time with them. And with me …’

  ‘Chance’d be a fine thing.’

  I listened to his feet pounding up the stairs and just sat for a while, glad of the short break that Sundays were able to give me. Dan might moan about the hours he was having to put in at work, but there were times when I would have dearly loved to swap places, to get out of the house, unfettered by pushchairs and nappy bags and bottles, and spend time with adults whose only connection wasn’t belonging to the same baby group and whose conversation didn’t revolve around poo and puke and how to purée a banana.

  I never expected to feel that way, so keen to get away from my own children, but I was missing work and, now they were getting bigger and stronger, I did wonder, just briefly, if I might be able to talk the bank into letting me go in for just a few hours, so I could keep my hand in and have some chance of holding on to my sanity. The busy Saturday morning shift, maybe, or a couple of lunchtimes during the week. I couldn’t afford childcare, and going out to earn a few pounds just to have to hand it over to someone else defeated the object, but I felt sure Mum would help out, if she could be persuaded to leave Trevor’s side for long enough.

  ‘Here she is.’ Dan came back in, cradling Beth in his arms, and plonked her down on my lap, screwing his face up in disgust. ‘Needs a nappy change, I think.’

  ‘And you couldn’t deal with that?’

  ‘Well, I could, normally, but I’m going out. Didn’t I say?’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘I’m going over to see Rich. There’s something he wants to talk to me about, but he couldn’t do it over the phone, apparently. Or wouldn’t. I shouldn’t be too long.’

  ‘But …’ Ollie had started wailing now, which meant Natalie wouldn’t be far behind.

  ‘Sorry, Kate. It sounded important. Why don’t you go over and visit your mum? She loves to see the kids. I’ll leave you the car. You might even bag yourself a Sunday roast, save you cooking.’

  ‘And how about you? Don’t you want to eat?’

  ‘Probably grab something with Rich.’

  ‘In some pub, you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know Rich. Whatever it is he wants to talk about, there’s bound to be beer involved! Another reason for me not to drive.’

  ‘But, Dan …’

  He bent to kiss me on the cheek, then did the same to Beth. ‘God, how does such a tiny baby make such a huge smell?’ he laughed, and was gone before I could think up any sort of reply.

  Chapter 32

  Jenny, 2017

  Jenny stood on the pavement outside the small block of flats where her father lived and peered at his window on the ground floor. The curtains were closed, but there were no lights shining through, and no obvious signs of life. Although he was in his early sixties now, he was still out most of the day, with little sign of slowing down, still working at the same firm of accountants he’d been with since school, but – she peered at her watch under the glow of the streetlight – however busy he might be, she knew he would normally be home by now.

  Without much hope of getting a reply, she pushed the bell with D. Campbell written on a scrap of weather-worn paper on the panel beside it. She should have phoned first. It would have made more sense to make sure he was going to be in before trekking over here, but if he’d been forewarned he just might have tried to avoid her. This way, if he was here, she would catch him out and make him talk to her. After the way he’d treated Nat, someone had to get to the bottom of things, and she probably had more hope of getting answers than anyone else did.

  She took a step back. Was that a twitch of the curtain? She was fairly sure it was. Determinedly, she rang again, this time keeping her finger on the bell for so long that an old lady who lived in one of th
e other flats came tut-tutting out into the hall to see what was going on and opened the front door. Mumbling apologies, Jenny slipped past her, turned into the corridor to the right and ran straight to her dad’s door.

  Her fist was already raised to thump on his door when it opened. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said, so quietly she hardly heard him as he turned away and went back inside. ‘No need to ring quite so violently, or to break the door down. I was just about to let you in …’

  ‘Really?’ Jenny stepped past him. ‘And what were you doing sitting here in the dark anyway? Forgotten to pay the electricity bill?’ She flicked the switch just inside the door and flooded the small room with light. ‘Ah, apparently not.’

  ‘Jen, what do you want? I was just going to …’

  ‘Just going to what? Cook dinner? Go out? Get into bed? It’s half-past eight. A bit late for the first two, and far too early for the third.’

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake, get off your high horse and sit down.’ He pulled out a crumpled hankie he had stuffed up his sleeve, coughed into it, and guided her towards the sofa. ‘Let me get you some coffee or something.’

  ‘Fine. Two sugars.’

  ‘I think I know that by now. I am your father. I lived with you long enough …’

  Not long enough, she was tempted to say but she held her tongue. From her position on the sofa, with piles of books and DVDs teetering at both ends and a layer of crumbs scattered across the carpet at her feet, she took a good look around the flat. Since when had her dad become so messy?

  ‘So, what brings you here? Your mother been telling tales, has she?’ He handed her a mug of coffee, which she had to turn and move to her left hand to avoid drinking from the jagged-looking chip in one side. ‘I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her mouth shut.’

  ‘Dad, I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Have you had a cold or a sore throat or something? Your voice is so hoarse. I might have a Strepsil in my bag if it helps.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Honestly. Just a bit croaky today. The coffee will sort me out.’

  ‘If you say so. And what did you mean about telling tales?’

  He sat in the one armchair, its wide arms shiny with wear, and gazed straight at her. ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled. ‘Sorry. Take no notice. Crossed wires. Now, how are you? How’s the job?’

  ‘Fine. Although I’ve decided to leave. I want to train for something. You know, a proper job. A career. Just not sure what it is yet.’

  ‘You could always try accountancy. It’s stood me in good stead all these years. People will always have money to move about, tax problems, invoices they can’t make head or tail of. I could put out a few feelers for you, get you in somewhere.’

  ‘No, Dad. Thanks, but no.’ She’d visited his office often enough as a child, listened to all the boring talk and seen the piles of paper stacked up on the dining table at home, and knew instinctively, without having to think about it, that it was nothing like the life she wanted for herself. ‘I know you mean well, but it’s not for me.’

  She took a sip of her drink, which was still too hot and, in the absence of a coffee table, leant down to balance the mug on the floor by her feet. It was only as she straightened back up that she noticed, for the first time, just how thin he was. His feet, without socks, sat loosely in a pair of tatty backless slippers, blue veins running in lines and bulging through the thin pale skin, and his lower legs disappeared, like bamboo canes, up into trousers that she now realised were way too baggy at the waist.

  She’d come to challenge him about Nat, and why he had backed out of coming to the wedding and he’d instantly thought she was here because of something else. Something she might have been told, or overheard. And now, suddenly, she had a terrible thought that, if she was right, would make perfect sense of everything. Oh, God, no. Please, she thought, please let me be wrong.

  ‘What exactly is it that you thought I knew?’ she said, leaning towards him and studying the long deep furrows that seemed to have sunk themselves into his face since she’d seen him last.

  He looked away. ‘Nothing,’ he muttered, but it was a look that spoke volumes.

  ‘Dad. Dad, look at me. Are you ill? Is that what this is?’

  ‘Look, Jen, I didn’t want to say anything. Not to any of you. I didn’t want to worry you.’

  ‘You’re our dad. Whatever it is, we should know. It’s up to us to decide whether to worry or not. Not you.’

  ‘Look, I only told your mother because … well, because she came round here yesterday, demanding answers, and because I knew I had to put someone down as next of kin, and it didn’t seem right to lumber any of it onto your Aunt Jane. She’s had enough to deal with, since losing Alan, and looking after your gran now she’s in the home. And she’s miles away, so it’s not as if she can come running at the drop of a hat. So …’

  ‘Next of kin? You have four children, Dad. Now you and Mum are separated, surely we should be your next of kin?’

  ‘Technically, I suppose you are, but you’re kids. I didn’t want to burden you …’

  ‘We’re not kids, Dad.’

  ‘You are to me. And, anyway, it’s just a routine thing, you know, for their records, just in case …’

  ‘In case of what? Just what exactly is happening here, Dad?’ She could feel her throat tightening, a slow fear creeping over her, as she watched his mug shake a little in his hands.

  ‘Jenny, love. Don’t make a fuss now, but it seems I have cancer.’

  ***

  She walked home slowly in the dark, letting two buses pass her, sure that the cold of the air and the sheer plod-plod of putting one foot in front of the other would help her to clear her head. When she reached home, her hands felt frozen and her legs ached, but her head was just as packed with thoughts as it had been when she’d stood and hugged him goodbye, so hard and for so long, at his door. Cancer! It was one of those words people didn’t like to say, one of those illnesses people spoke about only in whispers, as if those terrible mutated cells could hear what was being said about them and might start growing and multiplying, simply out of spite.

  Although work had never left him a lot of time for exercise, all in all, she’d always thought of her dad as fit and well. All those silly made-up ball games they’d played together in the park, the bouncy castles he’d insisted on jumping on at their many birthday parties, the years of eating Mum’s dodgy but undoubtedly healthy attempts at cheap vegetarian meals …

  And yet, it was there, in his neck, lurking in his thyroid gland, and may have been for some time. And from there, until they tried to remove it, who knew where else it might travel? Thank God they were going to operate so soon. Okay, so he’d still be in the hospital on Natalie’s wedding day, but these things couldn’t wait. The sooner it was out the better, and it made sense to do as the doctors advised. Missing the wedding had to be preferable to option two, which was risking letting things get so much worse and maybe not being around at all.

  The house was quiet. It looked like everyone else had already gone to bed. What should she do? Tell Beth and Nat, call Ollie, talk it all through with Mum? Whatever she decided, it would have to wait until morning, which was probably a good thing, giving her more time to think. Would Nat really want her wedding preparations, and the big day itself, spoilt by the air of doom and gloom and misery that cancer, and its uncertain outcome, was likely to drop over everything like a shroud? It wasn’t as if knowing would achieve anything, or change anything. And Dad was just trying, in his own inexpert way, to protect her, and all of them, from a truth that could only cause them pain. But sometimes knowing something, no matter how bad, is better than not knowing at all. Could she really leave Nat wondering why her own father couldn’t come to her wedding, not understanding why he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, give her away? Blaming it all on some imaginary evil girlfriend who didn’t even exist? Both options seemed equally cruel.

  Sometimes secrets have to be kept, of course. To honou
r a promise, to protect those who don’t yet need to know. After all, wasn’t she doing exactly that for Laura? Keeping from Ollie the one truth that could turn his whole world upside down? But it wasn’t the same, was it?

  Jenny made herself a hot water bottle to warm her hands and took it up to bed. With her mind racing, she climbed under the duvet and hugged the bottle tightly to her chest. She would have to confront her mum tomorrow, find out exactly what she knew, how bad things really were, if there was anything her dad had deliberately omitted to say, so they could decide together what to do next.

  But Laura’s secret was different. Laura’s secret had to stay exactly that. Just for a little longer, until the baby was born. Because she had promised, and because sometimes not knowing really was the kindest way. And because, if she told Ollie, got him all excited, and then anything was to go wrong, she knew without any doubt that it would break her brother’s heart.

  ***

  Jenny sat on the edge of her mum’s double bed. It wasn’t even light yet, but she knew it couldn’t wait. Just thinking about it all had kept her awake for most of the night.

  ‘They caught it quite early,’ Mum said, resting a hand over Jenny’s. ‘The prognosis is actually quite good, considering.’

  ‘Considering what? That he has cancer.’

  ‘Keep your voce down, love. We don’t want to wake anybody else, do we?’

  ‘But your own dad died of cancer, didn’t he? And he was a lot younger than Dad. To me that sounds bad. Really bad. There are so many questions I want to ask, so many things I don’t understand. I mean, it’s not as if he even smokes.’

  ‘It’s not in his lungs, Jenny. It’s not the same.’

  ‘But any kind of cancer is still cancer, isn’t it? Still an awful frightening thing we can’t control, and no knowing where it came from or why. And he’s so thin, so pale.’