‘I doubt it. It was probably over in seconds. I am so sorry.’ She sounded genuinely sorry as she picked up a folder and opened it.
Curiously relieved to have her hopes that he had not cried out for her in vain confirmed by a professional, Francesca pushed aside the threat of tears, watching as the nurse consulted the notes.
‘Your father was living alone in Ripley when he became ill some months ago. The illness was progressive and he could have opted to stay at home and have private nursing care. He is perfectly lucid and was able to make decisions and he chose to move here. The house was sold and he is funding his care privately. At first we thought he had no family, but lately he started talking about you.’
‘Did he? I haven’t … we haven’t …’ she stumbled over the words, hoping she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself. Have you met death? She couldn’t get over the odd expression.
‘He has fitted in here very well, although gentlemen are in a minority here. It’s mostly ladies.’
‘How is he?’ Francesca found her mouth dry. She hated it here, hated it that her father was here, hated it that he had had to make all these arrangements on his own. ‘Can he speak?’
The nurse nodded. ‘Oh yes. He can speak very well but the effort tires him. He had another little stroke the other day but his speech is remarkably unaffected; he took a battering though, and his pulse is weak – it really is just a matter of time although it may be a couple of days yet. He’ll be pleased to see you. A few days ago when he was a bit better he talked about you a lot. He showed me a picture of the both of you. Mind you, you were a little girl. You’ve grown up since then. He is a very interesting man, Mrs Porter. Are you ready?’
Following the nurse up carpeted stairs, a vase of silk flowers on the landing window ledge, she was led down a corridor to a room at the end.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she said, having knocked once and opened the door introducing her with a brightly optimistic ‘here’s your daughter, Mr Blackwell’ before turning to Francesca and asking if she would like tea or coffee.
Francesca shook her head, stuck for words as she gazed at the bed where her father lay. The room was small, with a tiny bathroom adjoining, but the view from the window was lovely indeed, a sweep of lawn stretching to the distance with hills beyond. She had come armed with a bunch of flowers and some grapes – quite ridiculous – and she put them on a side-table and went across to the bed.
He seemed very nearly comatose, eyes closed, his breathing steady but shallow, but it was her father, even though his curly dark hair was mostly gone and he was much thinner than she remembered.
All the pent-up anger she felt abated in an instant as she sat down in the chair at the side of the bed and leaned forward, speaking in a voice as determinedly cheery as the nurse’s.
‘Hello Dad, it’s me, it’s Frankie,’ she said as if she had seen him yesterday.
He stirred, keeping his eyes closed, but moving his hand which she took hold of. He had no grip and she held it gently.
‘How long have you lived up here?’ she asked softly. ‘It’s a beautiful part of the world.’
For a moment he was silent and she wondered if she was going to get anything out of him at all but, once he began to speak, the words poured out as if he needed to get it over with as quickly as possible.
‘I came up here when I left Devon. I got a job teaching at a school near York. Your mother wanted me to move as far away as possible. I tried my best to keep in touch with you. I sent you cards and letters, poppet,’ he said, his voice the same but very low. ‘Every birthday, every Christmas. I sent you cash or vouchers until you went to college and then your mother moved and didn’t let me have her new address. She told me you had a job in London, but she said I was to stop sending you letters because you didn’t want to hear from me.’
She squeezed his hand and said nothing. Just at this moment she hated her mother with a vengeance and she did not like that thought.
‘She didn’t give the cards to you, did she?’ His sigh slipped out and she just held his hand even tighter to let him know that it was so. ‘I wondered about that. I wanted to see you, but she threatened to kick up a fuss and I didn’t want you caught up in all that. It was bad enough that I’d gone away without your having to deal with all that too.’
‘You knew where I worked in London?’
‘Yes. But I took heed of what your mother said. I didn’t want to pester you and it seemed too late, too many years had passed. I didn’t want to upset you, set it all off again. Stupid really. We could have got to know each other again and now it’s all too late.’
‘Shush. Don’t talk. Does it hurt?’
He shook his head. ‘No pain,’ he said. ‘It’s peaceful now.’
The coverlet was cream, the sheets white and he looked as if he would be more comfortable propped up a little. She fussed a minute with the pillows, accidentally touching his face as she did so which made him turn his head and open his eyes at last to look at her.
‘Frankie. My little Frankie.’ He seemed surprised. ‘It’s you.’
‘It’s me. I’ve grown,’ she said stupidly.
Her father nodded with appreciation. ‘You were a bright little girl. I knew you would get on with or without me. She’s dead, you know. Your mother.’
‘Yes. It was quick.’
‘And the boy? Where is he now?’
How much did he know and was it fair of her to upset him now? A white lie just now was the kindest thing.
‘Fine,’ she murmured. ‘James is just fine.’
‘Can I tell you something, darling? Something that I couldn’t tell you when you were a little girl?’
‘Is it about James?’ she asked, anticipating what he was about to say.
He nodded. ‘You are old enough now to understand that James is not mine. I could have lived with it, brought him up as my son, but she wouldn’t have it. She had fallen out of love. She couldn’t have the other chap because he was married and would not leave his wife, but she wanted rid of me and she got rid of me. I wanted to stay, told her I was staying and that was that, but she wouldn’t have it.’ He tried to laugh, nearly succeeding. ‘It was a plot, Frankie. She worked on the mums at school, made them suspicious so that they didn’t want me there and, between them they cooked up a plot against me. It was cleverly done. How could I, a lone male, be innocent when they all said I was guilty? It was an exclusive little establishment, proud of its reputation. They gave the headmaster little choice. It was him or me. He called me into his office and offered me the sword.’
‘The sword?’
‘I’m speaking metaphorically. There wasn’t a real sword,’ he said and she almost smiled that he felt it necessary to explain what a metaphor was as if she were still a child. ‘I was finished, poppet, so I thought I might as well kill myself before they came to do it. Don’t you see?’ He tried to sit up and she adjusted the pillows again so that he could recline there. His eyes were suddenly sharp just as she remembered them.
‘What did they accuse you of?’
‘Gross misconduct. Shenanigans with a sixth-former. All lies but they found a girl willing to lie and I knew they would do it if I stood my ground. I couldn’t have you caught up in that, not a scandal of that proportion because you know what people say, there’s no smoke without fire. It would have always lurked there and you would have suffered because of it, so I did the only thing possible, I resigned before they made it public.’
‘Oh Dad, you shouldn’t have given in to blackmail. You should have fought it,’ Francesca said. ‘If it was all lies then it would have come out in the end.’
‘I’m not so sure. By that point your mother hated me.’
‘You’re tiring yourself,’ she said, wanting to reach out to him but caught as always by that family trait of holding back on the emotion.
‘If I ever came near you or her again then she would tell you what a complete bastard your father was and I couldn’t have that but I migh
t have known she would keep my presents from you so that you would never know that, even though I wasn’t there, I was always thinking about you.’
‘But you are telling me she had an affair, that James is not yours?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Then she hardly behaved like an angel, did she, so why did she want rid of you, Dad? You would have looked after them both. I don’t understand.’
There was a short silence and she knew she had tired him, that all this talking, all this getting things off his chest, was wearing him down.
‘I don’t understand either,’ he said at last, voice stronger after the little rest. ‘Her mind worked in mysterious ways. Love had turned to hate and even though she couldn’t have the other bloke, she didn’t want me around any more either. That’s it.’
‘She could have reasoned with you. There was no need to try to ruin your career.’ Francesca smiled gently. ‘You shouldn’t have let them drive you out. You should have stood up to them.’
‘And drag the family name through the mud. Mud sticks. They let me go with a reference and I got another job up here so all was well.’
‘Have you been on your own ever since?’
He nodded. ‘I managed very well until I fell ill. What about you? Are you all right? She called you Mrs Porter. You’re married then?’
She nodded. She could not tell him.
‘Happily married?’
‘Yes. David’s a wonderful man. He’s a barrister.’
‘I’m glad you’re happy. Your mother’s dead, Frankie, and she can’t answer us back. She was a good woman and we must try not to talk ill of her and think too badly of her. She had her reasons, you know, but now that she’s gone I had to see you again to set things straight. I want somebody other than the undertakers there at the funeral. It’s going to be a simple one at the crematorium. It’s over in minutes. Conveyor belt. If you don’t specify otherwise they play “All Things Bright and Beautiful”.’
‘Don’t talk like that. You’ve got ages yet. You’ll get better.’
‘No I won’t. I’ve left details,’ he said. ‘And a few bits and pieces. A bit of money for you.’
‘I don’t need money, Dad.’
There was a knock on the door and a woman with a trolley pushed in.
‘Oh, I didn’t know you had a visitor, Geoffrey,’ she said, a little flustered. ‘Is this your lovely daughter you’re always telling me about, the one who works in advertising? Lucky there’s an extra cup.’
The woman poured the tea, adding two spoons of sugar to her father’s.
‘He likes it sweet, don’t you Geoffrey?’ She lowered her voice but not nearly enough. ‘Lucky you got here,’ she said in a dramatically ill-conceived stage whisper. ‘He’s pain-free but he only has another day or two, bless him.’
Furious, for didn’t the woman, some sort of nursing assistant, realise that hearing was the last sense to go, Francesca refused a cup of tea herself almost pushing her out of the room.
‘Bring your husband to see me,’ he said and for a brief moment he sounded stronger.
‘I will,’ she told him at once. ‘He’s busy in court but I’ll see if he can get up to see you.’
‘I’d like that. I’d like to congratulate him for making you so happy.’ He peered closely at her, dad to daughter, and smiled. ‘You look lovely,’ he said. ‘Do you know, if it weren’t for the hair, you look so much like your mother. She was a beautiful woman and I forgive her.’
So, despite it all, despite all the anger and bitterness, in a way he loved her still.
In the event, the couple of days turned into ten long days.
She had made it just in time because by the next day his condition had deteriorated and there was to be no more conversation. Afterwards she obeyed all the instructions he had left and scattered his ashes, like David’s, on the moor near Ilkley so maybe in some odd way they did meet each other.
Calm and strangely content, she returned home. She had kept her mobile switched off and there were some messages when she returned home including one from Gareth.
There was no need to broadcast what had happened so she kept it to herself.
Chapter Fifteen
SHE WORRIED THAT the last time she had seen him she had been a little terse with Gareth and that, foolishly, he might have got the wrong impression thinking that what he had told her had changed how she felt about him.
She considered phoning him when she got home but the moment passed. He would get over it and perhaps it was just as well giving her time to get off the slippery slide that had surely been leading her towards some sort of sexual involvement.
It was all much too soon.
And now she had to cope with suddenly finding and immediately losing her father although she felt only relief at that rather than any deep grief. Miss Williams in her infinite wisdom had been right and the decision to go up to see him had been for the best.
She hated the trendy expression but it was true; she had been given the comfort of closure.
Whilst she had been away up north, Gareth had also been away, over in London.
She was glad of the time alone and very busy finishing off things at the house. Small items of furniture she had kept in storage duly arrived and she made trips into Plymouth and Exeter and further a-field to Bristol in search of special items. At last it was beginning to look and feel like home. She was aiming for a traditional country cottage feel with a certain modern twist and she felt she had succeeded.
David who went for grand with a capital G would hate it.
When Gareth finally arrived at Lilac House he was clutching a bunch of flowers, looking ever so slightly embarrassed in the age-old tradition. His offering was nothing too flamboyant, nothing to suggest a lover’s gift. It looked a little like an after-thought, a nice one at that, just some feathery and frothy blue flowers from one of the market stalls. He was not to know that the simplicity of the gift meant more to her than an extravagant bouquet. From the beginning, David had showered her with flowers which had dutifully arrived every Friday. They were beautiful expensive bouquets lovingly arranged by an expert florist, but other than paying for them he had never done anything as important as choosing them himself. In fact she suspected one of the junior clerks had been assigned the task and no doubt when they had moved up to Yorkshire he would have switched the weekly order to a delighted local florist.
The carelessly wrapped bunch of blue flowers Gareth handed over meant a lot to her and she took them from him, kissing him on the cheek.
‘Thanks. They’re lovely.’
‘You’ve been away.’
‘So have you.’
‘I tried to ring you. Do you always switch your mobile off?’
‘Quite often. What do you think?’ she asked quickly before he had time to ask about her time up north, distracting him by whirling round to indicate the newly decorated hall.
‘It looks fabulous. Different,’ he said. ‘No carpet.’
‘You’d better like these tiles. I spent ages cleaning them.’
‘They are lovely. You’ve got rid of the flowery wallpaper too I see.’
‘Well yes, it was overkill, don’t you think?’ She was pleased with the reaction and knew that he liked it. ‘Have you heard from Pamela and Richard at all?’
‘I’ve had a postcard. They seem to be settling in nicely. She asked after you.’
‘That was nice of her.’ She smiled at him. ‘Come on through to the kitchen. Most of my budget disappeared on that.’
She was terribly proud of it, keen to show it off to Selina when she finally made it down here. She wasn’t quite as gadget conscious as Selina and she did wonder as she stacked her collection of cookery books on a shelf whether she would ever get the chance to entertain again. Sitting eating here in the kitchen would not have met with David’s approval, but David was no longer here, she reminded herself, and she was getting used to solitary meals again.
‘Wow.’ Gareth duly admired it. �
��Very nice. You have been busy.’
He wandered round, examining things as she found a jug for the flowers and got the mugs out for the coffee. Only now did she notice that he seemed ill at ease, marking time, something on his mind, and she hoped she was not in for another confession. Just now, she could not cope with that.
‘Come and sit down. I’ve got something to tell you,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Her heart sank. ‘If it’s about the accident you had, Gareth, you have to put it out of your mind. It was not your fault. Forget it, please. You’re making much too much of it.’
‘No, it’s not that. In fact, I think talking to you helped me. You’re right. I’ve been brooding about it for far too long. No wonder they all got fed up with me at the office. I did blow it up out of all proportion and I am doing what you say and trying to put it out of my mind. It was not my fault. Accidents happen but it’s taken a long time for me to accept that.’
‘Thank heavens for that.’ She smiled. ‘How was London?’
‘All right. It’s funny how quickly you forget how crowded it is. I was glad to get back.’
‘I miss it sometimes,’ she confessed. ‘I don’t miss the crowds, but I do miss little things.’
‘You can always visit.’
‘Oh yes and I intend to. Where did you stay?’
‘At one of the modern chains. Nowhere special.’
‘What were you up to or is it a secret?’
‘It’s no secret. I was speaking at a seminar.’
‘Were you now?’ she teased. ‘You do like to hide your light under a bushel. It sounds very important.’
‘Not a bit of it. It was just a small gathering,’ he said quickly. ‘There were thirty or so people there. I’m on a speaker list so I get called on from time to time. They were mostly new business graduates, all very keen. It was a pleasure to talk to them. The worrying thing is it’s all moving very fast, Francesca, and it won’t be long before I’m hopelessly out of touch. I’ll have to bow out shortly before they kick me off the list.’
Just Another Day Page 13
