I had just finished tidying away our plates from the morning when the phone rang. Digging it out of my pocket, I was optimistic that it might be my father calling to apologise or at least explain.
But I didn’t recognise the number on the screen, it wasn’t a London number.
“Can I speak to Miss Ana-Lucia Brown please?” asked a deep voice.
“That’s me,” I said brightly.
“This is Police Detective Hartley.”
I abandoned the kitchen and headed to my room so I could give the call my whole attention. I fought to supress the uneasiness bubbling in my stomach. Nobody likes hearing the police.
“How can I help?” I asked, trying and failing to hide the quivering in my voice.
“I’m really sorry to bother you, but we need you to visit the local station,” he said before giving me the address of where to go.
“Can I enquire what this is all about?” I said.
The police officer paused.
“It’s not something you want to discuss over the phone Miss Brown,” he said hesitantly.
And with that my hands started shaking again.
I ended the call but stood frozen in the middle of my room.
I hadn’t ever committed a crime that I could remember. I’d witnessed a small car crash recently and my details had been taken as a witness but I didn’t think that warranted such a serious phone call.
John drifted past my open door.
“Hey, Ana, you ok?” he asked, as he took note of my expression.
I shook my head and sank onto my bed.
“What’s wrong? You’re really pale. You’re not gonna faint or anything? Maybe you should lie down,” he said, his concern gushing out in a torrent questions.
I waved a hand at him to shut him up and he fell quiet, waiting for me to speak. I told him about the phone call.
“Shit,” he replied.
“I suppose I better get going,” I said. No point in delaying something that needed done.
“Want me to come with you?” he asked.
I considered his offer for a minute. Anybody else and I would have thought they wanted to come along just to be nosey and to pick up a good bit of gossip. But I looked at my friend and saw genuine concern.
We arrived at the small police station 40 minutes later. The building looked shabby; it’s worn carpets and grubby walls echoing the faces of its tired looking employees who herded people through the busy reception area. We sat, huddled in the corner, watching as police officers led petty pickpockets and disorderly drunks through the booking process.
At least no one had slapped handcuffs on me.
I was beginning to worry we had been forgotten about when a dishevelled, middle-age man dodged his way through the waiting area, struggling with his pile of paperwork and a Styrofoam cup.
He led us to an interview room and ushered us into hard plastic chairs on the opposite side of the desk from his own. He spent longer than what I thought necessary arranging his document wallets and wasted more time looking at some notes before looking up at me as if I had only just arrived.
“Miss Brown, thank you for coming in at such short notice. Usually someone would have come out to see you at home but it’s been one of those days.”
It certainly had been one of those days and I could tell from the sound of his voice that it wasn’t going to get any better.
John threw me a sideward glance, he must have registered the officer’s tone of voice as well because he reached over, took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
The man introduced himself as Detective Parsons and after some more paper shuffling he settled down to the nitty gritty.
He looked uncomfortable as he fought to find the words, “We received a phone call this morning from a neighbour of your father’s. Police officers responded to a suspected robbery. Your father, Michael Brown, was discovered dead at the scene. I am really sorry Miss Brown,”
The news hit like a slap in the face. Tears sprung to my eyes as I tried to process the information.
I was alone.
I had never been close to my dad, but he was all that I had and despite our strained relationship, I loved him; had loved him.
I was alone. It was just me. I had nobody now.
My head started to hurt, it felt like an electrical storm in my brain and I clasped my hands over my eyes, willing it to stop.
John’s arms wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me towards his chest. His warmth and smell was comfortable, it was enough to fight away the panic and overwhelming grief and the tension in my head melted away. He held me as I sobbed.
Gradually the tears stopped, I lingered in John’s embrace just a little longer before sitting up and straightening my clothes.
“How?” I managed to ask while mopping my face.
“Well, from the report I received it looks like the house was broken into. They are not sure of the cause of death as of yet but they suspect that your dad was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
The memory of my dad’s last words replayed in my mind, I remembered the fear in his voice. He had known what was about to happen, he had called me and I had done nothing.
My whole body shook as I struggled to contain the mix of emotions inside. I managed to tell the detective about the conversation.
“You didn’t this was something to worry about at the time?” asked the detective looking a little incredulous.
I nodded as guilt washed over me and robbed me of my ability to speak.
“I…it scared me at first. The way he was speaking. When he hung up and then didn’t pick up when I tried to call back I did think of phoning the police…but I started to doubt myself. My dad drank a lot, it wasn’t his first drunken phone call. And I don’t even know where he lives…Lived.”
“This might be important to the investigation. I need to report this to those in charge. They will probably be in touch soon with more questions,” he said, as he finished scribbling in his notebook.
I nodded to show I understood.
“We will need you to identify the body as soon as possible,” he said after a couple more questions of his own.
“Sure,” I said whilst trying not to imagine what that would be like, “Was he living nearby?”
“No, the incident happened up north, near the Scottish Border,” he replied.
My dad could never settle in one place for long. Perhaps his home country had been calling him, although neither of us had been back to Scotland since my mum had died.
We left soon after with my dad’s address and details of where to report to. I’d have to start planning the trip and where to stay…and a funeral, I suddenly thought.
We sat in silence on the underground. Every now and then I would recall my dad’s last words, the terror in his voice and a fresh wave of tears and shaking would begin.
I knew other commuters were throwing me looks.
“Cheer up love, it might never happen,” said one guy in a heavy cockney accent.
My grief suddenly turned into rage. I’d never understood that saying and what business was it of his anyway.
“Actually, I just found out my Dad died, murdered most likely. So if you don’t fucking mind…” I spat at the stranger.
My head buzzed with anger, my body pulsing with angry energy.
John brushed my arm, ready to hold me back if need be. I shot him an angry look; he flinched and snatched back his arm as if I had given him a shock.
The whole carriage watched, waiting to see if I’d punch the guy, who held his hands up in surrender.
We pulled into the next station and I jumped up and charged off, a startled John hot on my heels.
I stormed through the station, not caring who I bumped into and I didn’t bother apologizing either.
Cold air hit me in the face as I burst out into the open. My temper fizzled out like it was a flame doused by the rain that was falling heavily once more.
I gulped down a lungful of air in an attempt to calm my erratic breathing. My back found the wall and I slid down until I was crouching on the wet ground.
I am alone.
The thought echoed in my head and panic threatened to overwhelm me.
John rushed through the exit, his eyes frantically scanning the area in front of the station for me.
“I’m here,” I said quietly.
He whipped around at the sound of my voice, his body relaxing when he realised I was ok.
“Hey,” he said, lowering himself to perch beside me as if we were sat on the beach rather than a rain-soaked pavement.
He allowed the silence to stretch between us, waiting for me to speak when I was ready.
“It’s just me know, I have no one.”
“That’s not true, you have me,” he said softly.
I almost told him that he wasn’t the same as having true family, but I knew that would hurt his feelings and the idea of doing such a thing bothered me. And after all, John had been as close to being a brother as I could imagine. Since we had met three years previously we had argued, he had stood up for me, picked up the pieces after every break-up. That was what brothers did.
I rested my head on his shoulder, taking a small comfort in the fact that maybe I wasn’t quite as alone as I felt.
Yes, I thought, I have family in John. He is like a brother to me.
“Thank you,” I said tenderly.
John shifted so that I was looking into his eyes. He looked conflicted and for a brief second I thought he was simply saddened by the afternoon’s events. But then he lifted my chin and his lips met mine.
The action took me by such surprise that I didn’t pull away at first. After all the negative feelings that this day had brought it was momentarily comforting to focus on his warm, wet lips against mine.
And then I remembered who I was kissing and ripped my head away.
“Sorry,” he said.
I jumped to my feet, holding up a hand to keep him quiet while I tried to process the new emotions flooding my system.
But there was no navigating the tangle of thoughts rolling through my head. I would need time.
“Let’s just go home,” I said after several moments of awkward silence.
I opted for walking in the rain rather than descending into the tube station again. The cool rain was oddly soothing; I forced myself to concentrate on the feeling of my wet clothes against my skin and every time I began to think of my dad, the kiss or anything to do with the day I pushed in from my thoughts.
We reached the flat without saying another word to each other. John trudged into the hall, leaving puddles on the laminate flooring in his wake.
“I’m here if you need to talk,” he said, unable to meet my eyes.
I nodded and headed for my room, closing the door behind me.
I undressed, climbed into bed and wrapped my duvet tightly around me. I was too cold to fall asleep and without anything to distract me I couldn’t help but let thoughts of the day invade my head.
I recalled the passion behind the kiss.
How had I missed it? How long had John had feelings for me? Did I like him back?
But my brain was too tired to answer my questions and sometime during my evaluation of the situation I closed my eyes and sleep claimed me.