Dad has been a godsend this week. For Jack, and me. I think the sense of purpose Dad feels from looking after us has kept him from moping about Mum and getting worked up about her affair. It sounds as though her latest extra-marital indiscretion is over. I’m sure there will be another though. Mum is a person who seems to think that the grass is always greener on the other side. I doubt she will ever change.
“This is from me and Grandma.” Dad slides a card across the dining room table.
“One hundred pounds,” Jack shrieks. “I’m rich!”
“He’s got a lot to learn.” Dad laughs.
He rips the gift wrapping from his new scooter. “Can I show it to my friends?”
I laugh now, for the first time since Rob died. “After school you can, love. But you need to get ready now. I’ve got you a big bag of sweets to hand out to your friends.”
“Maybe my birthday will not be so bad after all.” He picks up his money and walks to the dining-room door.
Dad and I smile at each other.
“It’s good to see him back to himself,” he says. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Strange,” I reply. “I expect things will change after Friday. I just want to get it over with and then get the police off my back.”
“I know.” Dad sighs and looks up at the wedding picture of me and Rob. I can hardly bear to look at it now. I should take it down. Even on my wedding day, with my beautiful dress, and hair and make-up done, I still felt like a dog’s dinner.
Whilst Dad was proud to give me away, Mum had a face like a smashed crab all day – she didn’t even make it to most of the night do, claiming she had fallen asleep in her hotel room after too much champagne. Rob had spent most of the evening with his bike and golf friends. I felt neglected but didn’t let on. It seems the writing was on the wall, even then.
Since he’s died, I know for certain why he married me. He got everything he wanted. I hope they can prise the conversation from yesterday out of my phone, so I have some hope of getting my money back, and clearing my name. Somehow, I will pick myself up and start again. I have done it before.
“Your mother and I have been in touch quite a lot over the last few days.” Dad scrapes the last of his porridge from the bowl.
“By phone?”
“Well that Facetime, or whatever it is.”
“Oh?” I feel a twinge of jealousy at the thought of their cosy Facetimes. I want him looking after me and Jack, not going back to Mum.
“She wants us to go away for a week or two.” He pushes his bowl to one side. “Wants us to talk, apparently.”
“How do you feel about that?” I sniff. He seems to do well enough without her. I thought he’d fall to pieces about the affair, like he did last time. But I’m now thinking that he’s better off without her.
“You know me Fiona. Marriage is for life.”
“Thanks for the reminder Dad.”
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to come across so insensitively. It’s just, when I married your mother, I meant every word of my vows.” He sips from his mug. “We’ve been through so much together.”
“You mean she’s put you through so much.”
“Don’t be like that. She’s still your mother when all’s said and done.”
“When is she on about going away?”
“I’m not sure. But I got the impression she wanted to set off over the next day or two.”
“The next day or two! You know it’s the funeral on Friday?”
“I think she might have booked something already.” He looks sheepish.
“What mother dearest wants; mother dearest gets.”
“To be fair, you haven’t allowed a lot of notice for the funeral.”
“I took the first available date. What’s the point in dragging it out? You can postpone your trip, can’t you?” I want to tell him I can’t imagine getting through it without him, but something holds me back.
“I’ll see what your mother has in mind, and we’ll take it from there.”
“Dad! You can’t leave me to go through it all on my own!”
“I wouldn’t miss the funeral for anything love. I’ll be there. Even if I have to join your Mum later.”
“You mean she’s not coming? She’s supposed to be my mother. How could she not be there?” I know she’s selfish, but bloody hell.
“She absolutely hates funerals Fiona. She’s always been the same, you know that. She will do anything to get out of them.”
“Show me a person who likes a funeral. Apart from old people who go for the tea and a get together. What a selfish cow she is.”
“Fiona. You’ve every right to be annoyed, but there’s no need for that. Not in front of me. I’m not having you bad mouth your mother.”
“Can you take me to school now?” Jack bursts back into the room wearing the I am eight badge from his card.
“I’ll take you.” I push my cereal bowl away and rise from my chair, scowling at Dad.
I do my best as we drive to school, saying yes in all the right places and trying to feign interest in Jack’s chatter. It’s his birthday, after all. And I’ve not been present for him over the last week. But I’m so angry. And I’ve had enough.
I’m glad I’ve got that appointment tomorrow for the Antabuse tablets as the desire to drink is overwhelming. Even now, on a Wednesday morning. I haven’t spoken to my sponsor since my blowout last week. I’m too ashamed. I’ve ignored the calls both times that she’s tried to phone me. I can’t bear to hear the disappointment in her voice. And now it’s like having to start all over again.
I watch from the school gate as Jack runs across the playground to
