Time to Say Goodbye

by S. D. Robertson

  ‘Just stay where you are, love. Don’t fight it,’ Mum told him as Ella returned with the cordless handset. ‘We’ll get help.’

  She grabbed the phone, uttering a quick ‘good girl’ to Ella while dialling 999.

  I could see tears welling up in Ella’s eyes. ‘You mustn’t worry, darling,’ I whispered into her ear, doing my best to sound convincing. ‘Everything’s going to be okay. And don’t you go blaming yourself. This is not your fault.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Shh! You can’t talk to me now. Not in front of other people, remember.’

  She looked down at the ground in silence, fighting back the tears, as Mum told the emergency call operator where to send the ambulance.

  ‘It’s all right, Ella,’ I said. ‘No one noticed this time, but you must remember to be careful.’

  She gave me a slight nod. ‘That’s my girl,’ I said. ‘Now you stay strong. Nana’s going to need you by her side.’

  As soon as I’d said it, I felt bad. It was a lot to expect of a six-year-old, especially one who’d already been through so much. ‘And don’t forget that I’m here at your side,’ I added. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  The ambulance arrived in minutes and Dad was rushed to hospital. The rest of us followed in the car, which I managed to squeeze into with a little help from Ella.

  It wasn’t until Ella was in bed that evening that she and I got to have a proper talk. As I’d feared, Dad had suffered a full-blown stroke. We’d left him at the hospital after spending most of the day there. He was in a bad way, but at least he was now under proper medical supervision.

  The stroke, which had been confirmed by a brain scan, had affected much of Dad’s right side as well as his speech. He’d been admitted to the stroke unit and put on special clot-busting drugs, which they were hopeful would help, but it was too early yet to know how well he’d recover.

  ‘You did everything right,’ a doctor had told Mum. ‘Time’s crucial after a stroke and you got him here to us straight away, giving him the best possible chance you could.’

  His words may have provided some comfort to Mum, but they made me feel worse, knowing that the alarm could have been raised a day earlier.

  ‘You did really well today, Ella,’ I said. ‘You’ve been a brave girl.’

  ‘That’s what Nana said,’ she replied, ‘but when I told her what happened yesterday, she was disappointed. I could tell. I could have stopped it, couldn’t I?’

  ‘You mustn’t think like that. Of course Nana’s not disappointed with you. Grandad had no business asking you to keep quiet and it was me that told you not to say anything until the morning. You’re not to blame at all.’

  ‘I wish you could give me a hug, Daddy, like you used to.’

  ‘Oh, darling,’ I said, longing to be able to comfort her. Then I had an idea. ‘Sit up a minute … that’s right. Now move your bum forward a little more and keep really still.’

  I sat behind her on the bed and gently moved my arms into position around her. We weren’t quite touching; I was careful to leave just enough space so as not to be repelled. ‘There you go,’ I whispered into her ear. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Nice,’ she replied in a small voice. ‘I love you, Daddy.’

  ‘Me too, beautiful. More than anything.’

  We stayed silent for a few moments, taking solace in each other’s company. Then Ella started with the questions I’d been expecting.

  ‘Daddy, is Grandad going to die?’

  ‘No, darling. I don’t think so. Not for a good while yet, anyway. We all die one day, but hopefully that won’t be for a long time in Grandad’s case.’

  ‘So he’ll get better?’

  ‘It’s hard to know with a stroke, but the doctors were really pleased with how quickly we got him to hospital.’

  ‘Why did his face go all funny?’

  ‘That’s one of the things that can happen with a stroke,’ I replied. ‘Some parts of Grandad’s body aren’t working properly at the moment.’

  ‘It looked like he was sad on one side, didn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it did.’

  ‘But he will be able to talk properly again, won’t he?’

  ‘Let’s hope so. Like I said, it’s too early yet to know how well he’ll recover.’

  ‘Um … what is a stroke, Daddy? I thought that’s what you do to dogs and cats.’

  ‘It’s the same word,’ I said, ‘but it has a totally different meaning. What happened to Grandad isn’t in any way related to stroking an animal. A stroke in this case means that the blood supply to Grandad’s brain got cut off, causing some damage.’

  ‘To his brain?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘That’s bad. We learned at school that your brain is the most important organism in your whole body. It controls everything else.’

  ‘Very good. I’m impressed,’ I said, not having the heart to correct her wrong choice of word. ‘That’s why he’s having problems talking and moving parts of his body. It’s because his brain’s not working properly.’

  ‘Will they have to put plaster on his head, like Jada had on her arm when that was broken?’

  I stifled a laugh. ‘No, it doesn’t work like that with your brain. Because it’s so important, it’s much more complicated to fix than an arm or a leg. It’s like a really powerful computer.’

  ‘I know. That’s what Mrs Afzal said.’ She paused. ‘But I still don’t see why they call it a stroke.’

  ‘They just do, Ella. Don’t ask me why. How are things at school, by the way?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What about with Kaylee?’ I asked, seizing the opportunity to bring up the bullying I’d witnessed in the playground.

  Ella blushed and looked away from me. She didn’t reply.

  ‘I was there when she tripped you up at school the other day,’ I explained. ‘You ought to have told the dinner lady what happened. She shouldn’t have got away with it. Has she done anything since then?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘I’m keeping away from her. She’s mean. I don’t know why she doesn’t like me.’

  ‘She jealous, darling. That’s all.’

  Ella looked at me like I was crazy. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Look at you and look at her. You’re beautiful. She’s a little—’

  I stopped myself short of calling her any of the derogatory names I had in my head, realizing that wouldn’t be a responsible thing for a father to say to his six-year-old. Instead, I explained as best as I could how children could be cruel to others to make up for their own inadequacies.

  ‘She’s a bully,’ I added. ‘And the only way to beat a bully is to stand up to them. You mustn’t be afraid of her. You’re twice her size and probably twice as strong. If she tries anything again, don’t stand for it. If she pushes you, push her back harder. Do that and she won’t try it again. Trust me.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked. ‘What if all her friends are there?’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. If you stand up for yourself, they’ll leave you alone too.’

  I knew I probably ought to be advising her to speak to a teacher instead, but experience told me that this technique would be far more effective in the long run.

  ‘I was bullied for a while when I was at primary school,’ I said. ‘This stupid little kid called Ricky Adams kept calling me “Stick Insect”.’

  Ella giggled.

  ‘It might sound amusing now, but it wasn’t back then. I was the tallest and skinniest in the class and it really used to bother me. Ricky called me that name at every opportunity, using it as a way to make fun of me. He used to trip me up, just like Kaylee did to you. Then he and his mates would laugh at me and he’d shout something like: “Stick Insect fell over himself.” It made me miserable. But one day he pushed me too far. I’d got this new lunchbox. It was an A-Team one, which was this TV show everyone thought was very cool at the time. I was really proud of it. Anyway, Ricky snatched it off
me and he and his friends started throwing it around. I went crazy. I stormed up to him, shouting what an idiot he was, and then I shoved him to the floor. He was loads smaller than me, you see, so it wasn’t hard and he immediately started crying. Everyone saw him for what he was after that and I never had any more problems.’

  I kept the pep talk going for a bit longer, hoping it was sinking in. Then Ella started yawning, so I told her it was time to go to sleep. I climbed carefully out of the bed and let her lie back down.

  ‘That’s it. You get nice and cosy,’ I said. ‘It’s been a long day and you’ve got school tomorrow.’

  ‘Nana said I might not be going. She said we’d see how Grandad was doing.’

  ‘All the same, you need your sleep. You’re a growing girl.’

  ‘Can I have a story?’

  ‘No, darling. Nana read you one earlier and it’s too late now.’

  ‘Okay. You’re sure she’s not cross with me?’

  ‘Totally. Now goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  I headed to the door. ‘Where are you going?’ Ella asked. ‘Aren’t you staying in here with me?’

  ‘I’m going to check on Nana. Don’t worry, I’ll be back later.’

  The truth was that Mum had been disappointed when Ella had told her about Dad’s mini-stroke. She’d not said anything, but a look had flashed across her face. I’d noticed it just like Ella had. It wasn’t fair, but Mum wasn’t herself right now. She was in shock. Here was a woman who’d just lost her son and been thrust back into raising a young child at the age of sixty. Now this body blow. I desperately wished there was something I could do to help.

  I found her lying on the couch, staring blank-faced at some period drama on the box.

  ‘How are you holding up, Mum?’ I said, kneeling in front of her. The answer was obvious. For a start, I don’t think I’d ever seen her sprawled across the couch like that before. When I was a teenager, she was forever telling me not to do it. ‘Sit up, for goodness’ sake,’ she’d say. ‘You look so slovenly. If you want to lie down, you should go up to bed.’

  She looked exhausted. Beaten.

  So I stayed with her, speaking words of encouragement that I hoped might penetrate her subconscious. When the programme ended and the credits started to roll, Mum heaved herself up and trudged through to the kitchen, so I followed. She put the kettle on and let Sam, who’d been eyeing me suspiciously, out into the garden. ‘You still don’t trust me, do you?’ I shouted after the dog, who replied with a loud bark.

  ‘Be quiet, Sam,’ Mum snapped. ‘You’ll disturb the neighbours.’

  While Sam was outside getting his last exercise before bed, Mum sat down at the kitchen table. She stared at a plastic bag she’d brought back from the hospital containing Dad’s personal items. She looked so alone; I wished she knew I was there with her.

  After the kettle had boiled and she’d made herself a cup of tea, she let Sam back inside and sat down again at the table. She pulled the bag over to her and peered inside before pulling out Dad’s mobile. It was one of the latest touchscreen smartphones, which he’d taken great pleasure in treating himself to and spent weeks, and many phone calls to me, trying to understand. Mum then pulled out another phone that I didn’t recognize: a small black clamshell. She held it up and stared at it. After a while she let out a long sigh. Very carefully – as if the phone might explode in her hands – she flipped it open.

  ‘Oh, Tom,’ she said softly. ‘What have you been up to?’

  CHAPTER 13

  TWENTY-NINE DAYS LEFT

  I watched over Mum’s shoulder as she opened up the text messages Dad had received on his secret second phone. I saw line after line of damning evidence.

  Thanks for amazing night xxx

  How’s my big hunk?

  Can u slip out later for quickie?

  Told her yet Tom?

  There were loads of them, dating back almost a year. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I’d never have thought that of my father in a million years. He and Mum were a constant. They had the strongest marriage of anyone I knew. At least I thought they did.

  The latest message – sent, as they all were, from a mobile number saved simply as ‘X’ – was from 10 p.m. last night. Pls can we meet again? it read. Miss u sooo much!

  Mum, whose face had turned ice white but remained bare of emotion, flicked around the phone looking for Dad’s replies. The Sent folder had been emptied, although she eventually found two unsent messages in Drafts. The first read: Okay. Miss you too. Will try to arrange. The second stated: Can’t do this any more. Please. It’s over.

  Mum stared at this last message for some time before snapping the phone shut and putting it back in the bag on the table. She stood up, poured the cold remains of her tea down the plughole, turned off the lights and trudged upstairs.

  ‘Mum?’ I said, following her into the bathroom. ‘Are you all right? You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?’

  She ignored me, as oblivious as ever to my presence. But I carried on. I didn’t know what else to do. ‘Don’t panic, Mum. There might be some innocent explanation,’ I said. How stupid that sounded.

  I watched Mum brush her teeth and remove her make-up. It was mechanical the way she did it, like she was on autopilot. Her face gave nothing away; her eyes were a void. I walked to the landing. What now? I wondered. There’s no way I can say anything about this to Ella, but if I don’t, how can I help Mum to deal with it?

  I paced around the house for most of the night. I couldn’t comprehend Dad’s betrayal. I’d never expected that of him. Although the affair had clearly been going on for a while, I hadn’t had a clue. Was it his first or had there been many over the years? He’d certainly spent his share of late nights at the office when he was still working. And he’d never been afraid of going to the pub by himself of an evening.

  My mind jumped back to a scene from my own past. Kissing someone I shouldn’t have. The thought was intrusive and unwelcome – a time I wished I could forget – so I pushed it away before it had a chance to play out.

  At least it explained why I wasn’t angry at Dad, although I felt I should be. How could I judge him in light of my own behaviour? No, what I felt was more surprise and disappointment. But most of all I was sorry for Mum. She didn’t deserve this. Especially not now. I worried how she’d cope and how it would affect things: not just between her and Dad, but also for Ella.

  Then there was the identity of X. Who the hell was she? I couldn’t picture Dad with his old secretary – a prim spinster who’d probably never turned a head in her life – and none of the neighbours seemed likely. So who?

  ‘What’s up, Daddy?’ Ella asked me the next morning.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You look grumpy and I heard you talking to yourself before.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Some time during the night. I woke up and noticed that you weren’t here. Then I heard you on the landing.’

  ‘Really? What was I saying?’

  ‘I couldn’t tell. I was too sleepy.’

  ‘Sorry. I guess I got into the habit of thinking out loud. I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  ‘That’s okay. Did something happen to Grandad after I went to bed?’

  ‘No, darling.’

  ‘Good,’ she sighed, running her fingers through the matted fuzz of her slept-on curls. ‘So why are you grumpy?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep and now I’m tired. That’s all.’

  Ella twisted her legs round to the side of the bed before standing up with a stretch and a yawn. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just after seven.’

  ‘Is Nana awake yet?’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ Mum said, bustling into the room. ‘Who are you talking to?’

  Ella went bright red. ‘Oh, um … Kitten. Sorry. I pretend she’s real sometimes.’

  Mum smiled. ‘That’s all right, love. I used to do the same wit
h my dolls when I was your age. Are you ready for breakfast? You’ve got school this morning.’

  ‘Am I still going? I thought you were going to see how Grandad’s doing first.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ Mum replied a little too quickly. ‘They’d have called me if not. I can go to the hospital after I’ve dropped you off. School’s important.’

  Later, in the car on the way there, I whispered: ‘Ella. Don’t look over at me or Nana will see. Blink once for yes and twice for no. Will you manage on your own at school today if I go with Nana? I’d like to see how Grandad’s doing.’

  Ella blinked once.

  ‘Good girl. I’ll come and pick you up with Nana at home time.’

  I’d expected Mum to drive straight to the hospital from Ella’s school, so it threw me when, instead, she pulled her red Corsa up on to the drive of my old house.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ I asked, staring at the big For Sale sign in the front garden, then making a quick, carefully timed exit from the car, so as not to collide with Mum or to get shut inside. It was the first time I’d been here since they’d put it on the market. I’d tried not to think about it, but now it was unavoidable. A wave of sadness passed over me as I followed Mum through the front door.

  Robot-like, her face still refusing to reveal any emotion, Mum made her way all over the house. She walked into each room and had a nosy around like a potential buyer. She tidied as she went: moving stray books on to shelves, smoothing the quilt on my bed, shutting the toilet lid and dusting the odd surface.

  Much of my furniture was still there. I recalled a conversation Dad had had with an estate agent, who’d said it would be more likely to sell if it looked lived-in.

  ‘Buyers are always suspicious of empty properties,’ the man had explained. ‘They think there must be something wrong.’

  So apart from Ella’s room, which was bare, everything else looked more or less the same as I’d left it.