His image faded briefly as though regret had weakened whatever power it took to maintain a visible presence. Then it returned like a developing Polaroid image.
“Eventually, your mother became impossible to live with and I was forced to give her an ultimatum: accept what we had, appreciate what we had, or I would leave and take you with me.” He gave a small, dry laugh. “It was as if I’d lifted the lid off her madness. Oh, I don’t mean she became certifiably insane, but her hysteria was terrifying. She screamed at me to leave immediately, she never wanted to see me again, that I would never see my son again. She threw herself around, deliberately fell against furniture so that she was bruised and cut. It was our next-door neighbours, people she felt were her inferiors and not worthy of speaking to, who called the police. They thought she was being murdered. They were concerned for you also. You were just a toddler and you were frightened; you all but screeched the house down.”
He told me this with a bitter smile that disturbed his pleasant features and I tried to remember but couldn’t, even though the incident must have had a traumatic effect on me at the time. Maybe it was so upsetting for me that it was stowed away somewhere deep in my subconscious and maybe I thought my father was to blame so that it tainted my feelings towards him for evermore. Mother had certainly poisoned my mind against him over the years and perhaps that terrible day was when the foundation of resentment was laid. I’d been much too young to understand the situation; all I knew was that Daddy had upset Mummy and I must have hated him for that. Hadn’t he, himself, just told me that every son should love and respect his mother?
“The police came and, naturally, I was the villain of the piece. I had hoped that eventually things would settle down, we’d continue in the same unsatisfactory but steady way. Far from it. Your mother’s attitude grew worse day by day and, in the end, I did exactly what she’d constantly told me to do: I left.”
He gave another sigh, his head was turned towards me again and in his face I saw not just misery, but deep grief. “I had no choice. She would never have let you go, and I knew that by staying myself, her condition would only grow worse. In the end, I left for the sake of you both. Life had become impossible. I’m sorry, though, Jimmy. I did try to keep in touch, but eventually I was worn down by it all. All I could do was write you letters.”
I was quiet, absorbing everything he had told me. All those wasted years, for many of them despising a father I thought had abandoned me, and that followed by disdain, then finally by cold detachment—he had ceased to exist as far as I was concerned, and that was before I’d learned of his death.
“Can you forgive me, son?” Grief had been replaced by pleading in those faded blue eyes. “After I died I tried to stay connected with you, but that’s almost impossible once a person has passed over.”
I suddenly recalled a certain face among a crowd of onlookers, all of whom wore expressions of alarm and concern for the young man who had just been knocked from his motorbike, his leg cruelly twisted, blood seeping from beneath his crash helmet to run along the gutter where he lay. There was no fear on my father’s face that day, only compassion.
Here we were now, two ghosts sitting in a graveyard, one a veteran, the other a novice (I didn’t understand the difference between us, but I didn’t feel like a proper ghost). Father and son. Reunited. Together again, but only in death. I was grateful at least for that, and I think if we’d both had substance I would have hugged him; or I’d have asked my father to hug me.
Instead, and perhaps to cover that childlike yearning, I said: “But why didn’t you try to see me away from home? Why didn’t you find me when I grew older?”
He shook his head remorsefully. “I did that once. I went to your school and waited for you to come out. Unfortunately, your mother saw me first and threatened to call the police. She said she would hurt herself like before and blame me. She told me it would make her very happy to see me locked up in jail.”
Jesus Christ, I thought. I’d always known Mother could be a bitch, but I had no idea of how wicked she was.
“In my letters to you,” my father went on, “I was always suggesting times and places where you and I could meet but, of course, you never received them. The years went by and then, one day, I decided to hell with the consequences, I would come to your home, just knock on the door and introduce myself to you. She might rant and rave, call the police, but at least you would know I hadn’t forgotten you. I was determined it would happen, no matter what. Unfortunately, I died of a stroke before I had the chance.”
I took it all in, no longer confused; a certain emptiness never acknowledged but always with me nonetheless, had suddenly been appeased. If it hadn’t been for more recent revelations, I might even have felt whole again.
“I think I’m beginning to understand,” I said, then added, “Dad.”
His smile was different from before. It was as if he’d finally found something he had sought for a long, long time, both in life and in death. His smile was pure, untainted by anguishes of the past.
“You know, there have been other deceptions in my life,” I told him, unable to return his smile. “Knowing the truth of our situation means a lot to me, but these other… these other…”
“Deceptions, you said.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s the right word. My mother, my wife, my best friend, my business partner—even the person who means everything in the whole world to me, the little girl I thought was my daughter.”
I slumped forward, elbows on my knees, hands covering part of my face. “I just can’t get it right in my head,” I said. “I can’t seem to take it all in.” I’m sure my expression was a mixture of sorrow and anger when I raised my head and looked sideways at him. “Was nobody true to me?” I asked as if he might have the answer, or at least make sense of all that had happened.
He spoke softly. “By all means blame your mother for her cruelty to us both, but temper your anger with pity.”
Yeah, I thought. I can do pity nowadays. Hadn’t I felt pity for Moker? Christ, Moker! Even the cold-blooded killer wasn’t as he—she—seemed!
“She isn’t responsible for her mental problems. In her mind, I had left her. She hadn’t forced me to go. After that, she was always afraid of losing you too, and that’s why she turned your mind against me. But, of course, eventually you did leave her—you got married. And then you died. That has shattered her, she feels she has nothing left.”
“But Andrea and I didn’t want to cut her out of our lives, she made the choice herself.”
“For her, in her fragile mental state, it was the right choice to cut you out, or at least begin the process. I’m sorry to say this, but it was the right choice for you both. She would have tried to destroy your marriage.”
I gave a little shake of my head in frustration, then leaned back on the bench.
“You have to accept what she is, son. With acceptance comes forgiveness, and forgiveness is important to you right now.”
I didn’t follow up this last remark: my mind was still busy with other deceits.
“You know my wife was unfaithful to me throughout our marriage?”
He nodded. “It wasn’t entirely her fault. The other man was different to you and he has a power over her that is strong yet inexplicable. You’ll think it strange, but your wife loved you in her own way.”
“So that’s okay then.”
“You’ve every right to be bitter, but it’s a sentiment that’s of no use to anyone. All this anger of yours is only delaying your own progress.”
Again, I failed to follow up; in my mind there were only visions of Andrea and Oliver together, living happily with Primrose.
“Her lover—my best friend and working partner—is Prim’s father.” I gazed across the cemetery, unwilling to show him the full intensity of my fury—of my jealousy.
“To Primrose, you will always be her father. No matter if she learns the truth when she becomes older, she will still consider herself your daughter. Don’t underestimate the child’s devotion to you.”
“In time she’ll forget me.”
“With time her love will only be more assured. She’ll grieve for you now, just as your wife grieves for you, but eventually the hurt will pass for them, to be replaced by a memory that won’t ever be spoiled.”
“I just… I just don’t know whether I can believe you.”
“Then go back home and see them once more. Only once, mind you. You wouldn’t want to haunt your own family.” He smiled again, but it wasn’t catching. “If you stay with them, then their mourning will take longer to resolve itself. They won’t see you, but your presence will be there and they will sense something that they can’t understand. It will only make their pain harder to bear.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” I told him dejectedly. “I can’t just turn my back on them.”
