I nod. ‘Right.’
He taps the cigarette ash out of the window and adds, ‘A bit of a nightmare in the end, Bianca. Complete headcase. Not sure what I was thinking.’
He shoots me a kind of roguish half-smile, which withers pretty quickly when I don’t return it. I have vague memories of him talking like this about all the women he dated after Mum. He would jokingly put them down; dismiss them as crazy or high-maintenance when the relationship failed. As a kid, I was impressed by it: it made him seem like this funny, swaggering man of the world.
It doesn’t seem in the least bit funny now.
‘No, I’m seeing someone else at the moment,’ he continues, taking another drag on his Malboro. ‘An actress from my play. Erin. She lives out in Brooklyn.’
I remember seeing the pictures of his play online: Erin was the lead role. Very attractive – and about my age, I reckon.
I watch him for a second, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks the cigarette. It strikes me suddenly that in the end, Mum was right. I only admired him because I didn’t really know him. All I had was this idea of him – successful, talented, dating a string of younger and younger women. But here, now, that idea doesn’t add up to anything. It certainly doesn’t seem to have made him happy. He just seems lonely and confused and messed up.
I don’t want to end up like that.
All these years, I’ve assumed it was predestined: my dad was a cheat, so I would end up cheating too. It almost became an excuse for what happened in Paris. I’d tell myself it wasn’t my fault; it was written into my genetic code. But that’s bullshit. I chose to sleep with Alice. And if I meet up with her for that drink in 2020, that’ll be my choice too. I can’t keep blaming all my mistakes and fears and failings on a father I don’t even know. I didn’t want to get married because I was afraid I’d turn into him. I wanted to have kids so that I could prove I wouldn’t. He’s coloured all my big life decisions, in one way or another. When really he’s a total stranger.
It makes me flinch with shame that I thought I needed him to look up to, when I had Mum all along: a thousand times kinder, funnier, better.
He takes a final drag on his cigarette and flicks the butt out of the window.
‘Where’s the wake?’ he asks.
‘Simon’s house. Come along, if you want.’
He glances at me. ‘Do you want me to?’
‘I don’t mind either way.’ And, honestly, I don’t. I just want to get out of this car and back to Daphne.
He lays one hand on the steering wheel and nods. ‘Well, I don’t think it’d do anyone any good if I came.’ Once again, I can hear the self-pity dripping from this statement, and it makes my skin crawl. I’m prone to self-pity too, and I hate myself for it. I must have got it from him, because I definitely didn’t get it from Mum.
He sniffs and straightens his back against the seat. ‘So, Ben, listen. If you need anything, or you want to meet up, or—’
‘Well, you’ll be in New York,’ I interrupt.
‘No … Well, yes, I will be. For the next few weeks. But I mean, you can call me if you like. I can give you my direct line.’
‘Your direct line?’ The phrase is so ridiculous it almost makes me laugh out loud. It’s always been like this: me calling him, trying desperately to forge some kind of relationship. ‘So, now Mum’s gone, you’re … stepping up, is that it?’ I ask him. ‘You’re finally ready to be my dad?’
‘No, I just …’ He exhales heavily and starts chewing the nail on his little finger. It’s the exact same thing I do when I’m anxious. Daff is constantly moaning at me about it, batting my hand away from my mouth.
‘Look, I know I fucked up, Ben,’ he says slowly. ‘I made a hash of everything, especially with you. But after your mother and I split up, I did try to see you. I tried. But she didn’t always make it easy.’
I keep my voice steady as I look him in the eye. ‘I don’t want to get into some big fight today. But if you blame my mum for anything, ever, then we won’t speak again. OK?’
He rubs the back of his neck and nods. ‘OK.’
I open the door and put one foot out onto the pavement.
‘Take care of yourself, Ben,’ he says.
‘You too. Good luck with the play.’
He smiles at me sadly. ‘I’ll see you.’
I get out and shut the door behind me. I know there’s a good chance that I will never see him again, and for the first time in my life, that doesn’t make me feel bad or frightened or like a total failure. In fact, I don’t really feel anything towards him at all.
I pull my coat collar up and walk into the whipping wind, listening to the big maroon Renault pull away behind me. It’s a freezing December day, but the sun is beginning to creep shyly out from behind the clouds.
Suddenly the desire to see Daphne, to be with the people I really love, grips me so tightly that I break into a run.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The rest of the day is … well, not good, obviously. But better.
I certainly get through the wake with a fair bit more poise and dignity and social interaction than I did last time. And by the time it’s all over, and the black suit is off, and I’m lying in bed next to Daphne, I really feel like I have resolved something – with both my parents. Even if neither of them will ever know about it.
I can feel Daff’s body start to relax as she drifts into sleep beside me. But my stomach is still churning like crazy.
