Inheritance

by Thomas Wymark

We spent another hour with my father before he apologised and said he had an engagement that evening and needed to get ready. We exchanged phone numbers and agreed that we would meet up again very soon. I think he had been happy to see me.

  As we drove away from his house I tried to work out what I was feeling. Too much. I ached for a past I never had, mourned for a mother I had never known and searched for something in my father. My stomach felt like a washing machine full of emotions, swirling one way then the other. Draining away then filling up again. Twisting and turning within me, becoming more and more tangled.

  I focused on a black bird gliding over a wave of wind, wings outstretched, at one with nature. The world behind it, grey clouds scudding through the sky, continuing on as before. The same now as it was then.

  I realised Neil hadn’t said anything since we left my father’s house.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ I said.

  ‘So are you.’

  I was allowed to be. I had just met my father for the first time that I could remember. I had just found out that my mother had killed herself after her children (including my sister) were taken away from her. And that mental illness coursed through her family like a river. Reason enough to be a bit pensive.

  ‘I’ve got things to think about,’ I said. ‘What’s your excuse?’

  He smiled, but didn’t take his eyes off the road ahead.

  ‘Well?’ I said. ‘What’s going on inside your head?’

  Neil breathed in deeply. Thought for a moment.

  ‘What did you think of him?’ he said.

  The question jarred me a little. It was too specific. What did I think of him? Rather than what did I think of it? I had been thinking of the whole thing. The meeting, his house, what we’d said to each other. Neil was obviously going somewhere with this.

  ‘Of him?’ I said.

  ‘Of him,’ he said.

  ‘I thought he was lovely. Considering what a shock this must have been, I think he coped with it remarkably well. And his life has been so difficult. I can’t imagine what losing me and my sister would have done to him. And then his wife … my mother, committing suicide. It’s awful. It’s a wonder the poor man is able to keep going really.’

  I shook my head of the sadness welling up inside.

  ‘And his father having a heart attack,’ I said. ‘His brother ill too. So he has that hanging over him. Thank goodness he’s been made stronger by all that’s happened to him. He’s had to make himself stronger. Can you imagine what could have happened if we’d turned up and his heart was weak?’

  Neil still stared straight ahead.

  ‘What did you think?’ I said.

  ‘I think he seemed nice,’ Neil said.

  ‘Seemed nice?’

  ‘What do you want me to say, Chris? He’s your father. You’ve just met him and he’s your father.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that he probably came across different to me than he did to you. You were seeing him as your father, quite rightly. But to me, he was just a stranger.’

  ‘He was a stranger to me too,’ I said. ‘How did he come across to you then?’

  ‘It was probably the shock,’ Neil said. ‘You’re right. It must have been a big shock to him. I don’t know how I would react in a situation like that. It must have been so difficult. Especially with me there too. He must have felt like he had to explain himself or maybe he felt ganged up on a bit. Maybe I should have stayed in the car.’

  ‘Neil?’

  At last he took his eyes off the road and glanced at me. He looked so serious. Eyebrows level, a slight crinkle in his brow, lips tight together.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘Tell me what you thought.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘He sort of reminded me of an actor. Someone playing a role, rather than being real. I’m so pleased you’ve found him, Chris, but obviously I worry about you too. I don’t want you being hurt. So maybe I was looking out for something that wasn’t even there. Maybe I imagined it because I was feeling protective.’

  ‘Imagined what?’

  ‘Just things, really. He seemed so cool about us being there. Getting the coffees, sitting down and talking to us. It was as though he had rehearsed it over and over again. Almost cold, in fact. Talking about your mum, about your sister. Watching you breaking down in front of him, he just seemed to take it all in his stride. Seemed to let it all wash over him. Pass over him.’

  ‘I didn’t break down,’ I said.

  ‘You know what I mean. He didn’t come to you. Didn’t hug you. It was as though he wasn’t really there. Physically he was, but emotionally I mean. Nothing there. That’s how I saw it. I’m probably wrong. It’s so hard, isn’t it. Everyone’s different, so I don’t know what I should have expected. It was nice to see him though. How do you feel?’

  Now I felt like I wanted to scream at him. How dare he say these things about my father? How dare he?

  ‘I think you’re wrong,’ I said. ‘I didn’t see that at all. He was in shock. The man has to be careful of his heart, Neil. Think about the things he’s gone through. He can’t afford to let his emotions get the better of him. He must have learnt to control his emotions because of the heart thing. I think what you saw was just enormous self-control.’

  I rubbed my eyebrow with the knuckle of my forefinger.

  ‘And he probably doesn’t want to get hurt again,’ I said. ‘Can you imagine? His daughters are taken from him, then years later one turns up again. He probably can’t believe it. He’s probably scared to give too much of himself straight away in case it all goes wrong again for him. He must be thinking that if he’s too full on, it might put me off. It might scare me away and I might never come back.’

  Although Neil was nodding as I spoke, I knew he was only doing it for me. Nothing I’d said had really changed what he felt. He wasn’t patronising me, just trying to be understanding, maybe giving me and my father the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘That’s honestly what I think,’ I said.

  ‘’I’m sure you’re right,’ he said. ‘I think I was just being a bit too suspicious. I’m sorry.’

  I looked back out of the window. The dark, soaring bird had gone, but the clouds still moved across the sky.

  ‘Can we go to Cawsand?’ I said. ‘I want to find the church where my mother is buried.’

  St Andrew’s was the only church in Cawsand. It was larger than I had expected. Almost out of proportion to the tiny village. I couldn’t imagine why they needed such a large church. The main road into the village was more like a lane. I was grateful that we didn’t meet any cars coming the other way. Neil parked us right outside the church.

  A rusty, decorative archway, rainbowed over the little gate that led to the steps leading up towards the church. Greenery was everywhere, as though it was trying to take over the church. The walls and steps, the building itself, all fighting against the flora surrounding it.

  Behind the church the graveyard had all but lost the battle. Brambles had engulfed many of the headstones. Lichen and bird muck covered much of the ones the brambles hadn’t yet reached. Something caught in my stomach.

  ‘This is so sad,’ I said.

  Neil pushed aside nettles with his feet, tried to read some of the headstones. Birds sang out from the surrounding branches, probably unused to being disturbed by anyone venturing there.

  My mother’s headstone was in a dreadful state. It was obvious that no one had visited it for many, many years. Neil held his arms around me as my tears fell. Nettle leaves shining wet below me. Deep inside my tummy was where I felt it. I could feel my heart still pumping. That wasn’t broken, but I was. Right inside my gut. A huge hole had opened up within me, empty and vast. Neil tensed his arms and held tighter. I couldn’t feel my legs below the knees. The sensation of nothingness swept over me. When my legs started to buckle, Neil must have thought I wanted to kneel down in front of her headstone. He gently lowered me to the ground.

  B
ut I didn’t want to pray. I wanted to stand. To stand upright and be strong. To salute her for what she had gone through. I wanted to show her that I had strength too. That I was here thanks to her, not in spite of her. I willed the blood back into my legs. Forced the exhaustion out of my mind and capped the unbelievable sadness in my gut. I held Neil’s arm and pulled myself to my feet.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s get this cleaned up a bit.’

  After cleaning my mother’s headstone, and some of the surrounding growth, there was something else I had to do.

  ‘Can we find the house?’ I said.

  ‘How could we come here and not look for it?’ Neil said.

  We walked only a few minutes from the church before we found Bay View road. Walking through the tiny streets of Cawsand gave me an incredible sense of deja-vu, even though I had never been there before, apart from as a baby. I had been adopted almost at birth, so it wasn’t probable for me to have any sense of the place. But something inside me said that I had been there before.

  The house was plastered pale yellow on the outside. No front garden, and right on the road leading past it. But it looked like a road that was only travelled by pedestrians. No sign of cars anywhere.

  ‘It’s changed,’ I said.

  I blushed. The comment sounded pretentious.

  ‘I mean, it must have changed — after all those years. I can’t imagine it would have looked just like this back then.’

  ‘It might have done,’ Neil said.

  I looked at the small windows facing the front of the house. Imagined myself looking out of them. But that never happened. I had been a baby. My mother would have looked out of them. Watching people walking by. Looking out for my father to come home from work. Was I getting a sense of her? Was part of me feeling what she would have felt? I wondered if she knew her daughter was here now. Looking in at the house, imagining her looking out.

  I saw the staircase, tried to push it out of my mind. Her life ending there. Alone in the night, quietly ending it all, escaping the pain and the guilt. Finally beating the illness seeping through her mind.

  I touched the yellow plaster. Pressed my hand against the house. Let the coolness of the stone pass onto my palm.

  I had expected to feel something from the house. Like a tremor or some message from the past transferring into me. But I felt nothing but pain. Not from the house, but from within me. A yearning for something I could never have. Not in a “poor me” kind of way. More a “poor her”. I wanted to be able to change what had happened to her. To somehow go back and make everything alright. To meet her on the stairs. To tell her I loved her and that she was special. To beg her not to take the rope. To go back to her bed and wake up in the morning and live life.

  But I understood.

  In the end there was only one way to be rid of the madness within her. Only one certain way. And that was the way she took.

  72