Anyone would have thought me heartless if I'd told them I'd slept peacefully following my break up. I know I did.
After leaving Kieran's dreamland, I switched on my phone; checking for the time. There were eleven missed calls and countless texts. Tom was willing to pay his phone operators Christmas bonus just to apologise. I deleted one, two, and three texts and then deleted everything. I didn't want to think about it.
Mrs Langford was coming at ten thirty to drive me to Dad’s so I needed to get myself moving. I jumped into the shower, washing away Tom's cruel words. It felt good.
After I’d washed, I wrapped myself in a fresh towel and checked myself in the mirror. Where Kieran had embraced me there were light bruises, meagre in comparison to our previous meetings.
I chucked on the first clothes I could get my hands on, aware it was pouring with rain. Dressed and satisfied I collected my bag and tucked the photo album inside.
Mum was in the kitchen browsing a catalogue for clothes she didn’t need. I shuffled passed her, a cup of tea calling me.
“So what happened between you and Tom last night?” Mum asked suddenly, not looking up from the glossy pages. I turned from putting a tea bag into a mug.
“Come again?”
“You know what I said Chrissie.” She flicked the pages of her catalogue, now perusing a selection of knitted jumpers.
“We broke up,” I said bluntly, turning back to wait for the kettle to finish boiling. "Does that answer your question?" The kettle clicked. I poured.
“Why? What have you done?” she accused. I rolled my eyes.
“What makes you think it’s me who’s in the wrong?” I retorted, sadly unsurprised. She was my mother, it was her job to comfort and console me not confront and contradict. Mum just snorted.
“When is it not you baby?” I bit back my annoyance.
“It was just as much Tom’s fault as it was mine,” I said. Her eyes were then on me.
“I somehow find that hard to believe.” Mum closed her catalogue and focused on me. She knew how to whittle information out of me with little exertion and I hated that about her.
“Well start believing mother because it’s the truth.” I stirred the tea bag with unnecessary force.
“I’m sorry Chrissie but I’m not going to just settle for you word.” I gritted my teeth. The time bomb inside me combusted. I spun and clutched the edge of the unit.
“Fine Mum, I’ll fill you in. Tom wasn’t happy with me being good friends with Kieran. So you know what he called your only daughter? He called me a psychotic, suicidal manic and while true I will not settle for anyone who thinks I am less than a human being because of who I am. There are you happy now?” I shouted before swiping my tea and storming from the room.
I sat on my bed, brooding and cradling my tea until I heard a knock at the front door. I gathered my stuff and headed out of the flat. Mum was still at the kitchen table looming over her catalogue, a deep crevice in her brow. Just let her simmer.
Mrs Langford, unlike my mother, didn’t pry for details about my life, but made harmless small talk. She was the only other adult outside of my family who really knew anything about my dad – besides Dr Collins but she didn’t count.
“So how are your school studies?” she asked, stopping briefly at a set of traffic lights.
“They’re good but it’s really only been revision for our exams the last couple of weeks,” I replied whilst fiddling with the seat belt.
“Good, good. So when do you start exam leave then?” I’d forgotten it was my last week of school before leaving to revise for our oncoming exams. It was a relief. There were some people I needed a break from for even if it meant facing critical testing.
“Friday is my last day before exam leave.” The thought was glorious.
Mrs Langford continued to ask about historical topics I had been revising and nothing more. Why couldn't my mother be so subdued?
We arrived at the care home in half the time that a bus journey would have taken. I unclipped my seatbelt and gathered up the bag at my feet with the photo album in it. The rain splashed against the window and I drew up my hood.
“Thank you for the ride Mrs Langford.” She smiled, the corners of her mouth wrinkling from a life time of grinning.
“No bother Chris, anytime. Do you need me to come back and collect you?” she asked.
“No thank you, I’ll get the bus home,” I replied, not wanting her to go out of her way to taxi me home again.
“If you’re sure it’s, no problem. What’s an old lady like me got to do?" Mrs Langford laughed but I stood by my decision. Kieran would not be happy about me going solo. Not that I cared of course.
“Really Mrs Langford I’ll be OK, thanks for your offer though,” I assured her, slipping out of the car.
“Well if you’re sure,” she said.
“I’m sure Mrs Langford. I’ll see you later,” I replied, stepping out of the car.
“Well have a good time, see you later,” Mrs Langford said, restarting the engine. I shut the door and waved her off. Once she was out of sight I wrapped my arms around myself, protecting my body from the rain.
I had the strangest feeling someone was watching me. I shivered. It was probably only paranoia. Regardless, I hurried up the front steps.
Cathy was in the hall sorting through the mail. Her eyes met mine as I lowered my hood.
“Oh hello pet,” she greeted, putting down a white envelope she’d been frowning at.
“Morning Cathy, is Dad about?” I surveyed the foyer hoping to spy him coming down the stairs or wandering out from the kitchen or lounge.
“I think he’s still in bed. He was a little unsettled last night. You’d think he’d be too old to be afraid of nightmares,” she said thoughtfully. I sighed, if only he had a Kieran to keep him safe. Though with the amethyst my father had given me, perhaps Kieran was the demon of my father's dreams.
“Thanks. Is it OK if I just go upstairs?” I asked.
“As if I'd say no. Away with you,” Cathy muttered, her hands on her wholesome hips. Thanking her, I raced up the stairs.
Dad’s room was the fourth door on the left. I knocked on it and listened out for a reply.
“Come in.” Dad’s voice was telling of the night of tossing and turning. I turned the handle and peered around the door. The only thing out of place was the large lump atop the bed. I walked over and gave it a shake.
“Leave me be,” it grumbled, tightening its cover around itself.
“Fine I will, you big lump,” I said, prodding him in the side. The blob thrashed a little, emerging to confront me.
“Who are you calling a-” he mumbled, rolling over. I shook my head, staring down at my father. His aging eyes brightened. A wide grin had spread across his face, probably mirroring my own.
“It’s lovely to see you too Papa!” I jeered. He threw back the covers and climbed out of his bed. Before I knew it I was embraced. This was home. This was where I belonged.
“Hello ma petit choux,” he said into my hair.
“Hello Papa,” I responded, leaning my head against his chest. He smelt good, like wisdom and fabric softener.
We stood together for a couple of minutes before I shrugged out of the hug.
“Come on then Papa let’s get you washed and out of those pyjamas,” I said, taking a step back to get a better look at him.
“Pyjamas, what pyjamas?” he muttered, patting himself down.
“The ones you’re wearing Papa. I’ll just call one of the nurses.” He nodded watching me reach for the button that would call one of the care home’s staff.
“The telephones over there Christine,” he chided. I shook my head, smiling at his innocence.
“Yes Papa but you call the nurses with this button,” I reminded him before pressing it. He was bemused and when a knock came at the door he raised an impressed eyebrow.
"Manifique,” he said to himself.
“Come in,” I called, my shoulders shaking with laughter. Cathy appeared with an apron over her uniform.
“You called Monsieur?” she sang, smiling at my father.
“Oui, without using a telephone,” he breathed, pointing at the button I’d used to summon her.
“Cathy would you mind getting Papa washed and dressed?”
“Of course. Come on then handsome,” she said, taking my father by the arm and steering him out of the room.
“Cathy, that’s a very beautiful name,” my father said. I could have sworn Cathy blushed.
While I waited for Dad I snooped around his room, a common habit. This wasn't hard when the nurses kept it so flawlessly tidy. However, under his bed was a wooden box I knew he’d never let the nurses peep into, nor I if I asked him.
It was a box of memories, memories from the days he could no longer recall. I withdrew it from under the shadow of the bed. I stroked the rim of it. It had so many scars from years of neglect. I lifted the lid and peered at the contents.
There were many pictures, illustrating the man my father once was and the life he knew. I picked up the picture that I supposed was my great, great grandfather as a small child. I could see so many similarities between him, my father and me. There were many other pictures of my relatives from decades ago. As for my father, there weren’t any of him until he was in his late twenties.
In one he was not alone. His companion was silver haired and sharp and was smiling. They were in a restaurant, raising their wine in a toast. I thought I recognised the strange man but then I'd seen the picture so many times before.
Having been flicking through the pictures of untold stories I started when I heard the footsteps. I placed all of the souvenirs from my father’s past into the box and tucked it under the bed.
“There we are, clean as a whistle,” Cathy declared, escorting my father to my side. His hair shone with the remnants of his shower.
“Thanks Cathy,” I said, leaning into my dad. She waved me off and disappeared to busy herself elsewhere.
“She was very nice. Perhaps I should have invited her to dinner sometime,” Dad pondered stroking his chin.
“Papa you old dog you.” I laughed bumping him playfully. It was hard for him I supposed, his mind forever barred from a forgotten past and his forgetful mind not allowing him a normal future. He could have had a wife and more kids. But fate was not so kind.
“Speaking of old." My dad stole to his bedside table. He rummaged around in the drawer for a couple seconds before pulling out a package. “I know I missed your birthday but here’s a little something from me.” He held out his hand. The size and shape of the present was remarkably familiar.
“You really didn’t have too,” I said.
“Of course I did. Anything for ma cherie.” He took my hand, my unbroken one, and furled it around the present.
“Dad you really, really didn’t have to!”
“Just open it! Mon dieu Christine!” The box, fortunately for me hadn’t been wrapped. Wrapping paper was tricky for a one handed person. I lifted the lid and revealed a teddy bear nestled in the soft material. Its eyes were rubies, they winked at me. How had he known about my bracelet?
“Thank you Papa. I love it,” I said, holding out my wrist for him to attach it. He took the bear from its bed and hooked it onto one of the many rings. It hung, right at home, among the other charms. “Did one of the nurses pick it out?” I asked, twisting my wrist so the charms sang.
“I can’t remember to be honest.” He shrugged. I’d expected as much. Though we said nothing more on the matter, I wasn't going to let it lie.
In the afternoon my father and I went out into the garden; the rain having dispersed. He pointed out his vegetable patch, studying what he’d planted. There were rows of carrots, potatoes and turnips amongst others he couldn’t remember. Dad’s produce blossomed under his caring hand.
Dad hurried to the greenhouse at the bottom of the garden. It was his haven in a world of confusion; for a mind empty of memories contains little light.
I studied the the exotic plants climbing the walls and brightening the gloom. The lily I’d given him for his last Christmas was flowering. It had grown.
“It blooms just as you do,” he remarked, stroking one of the petals. I stepped forward to join him.
“It smells gorgeous.” I whispered, raising the flower closer. When picking it out from Mum’s florists the store manager had promised it would prove to become beautiful with time – she’d been right.
“It’s not only colourful in appearance but also in smell,” he agreed. “You smell different too ma cherie.” I turned questioningly.
“Do I? I hope it’s not bad,” I said. What if I'd forgotten to put deodorant on? I stole a sly whiff of my armpit. It smelt fresh enough.
“It's a familiar smell. C'est Noel! Spiced apple and candy cane and gingerbread men I think.” I frowned, startled. Was it possible Kieran’s smell had rubbed off on me? No, it couldn’t. That was impossible. Wasn't I the only one who smelt that essence of winter? Perhaps not.
“Are you sure it’s me your smelling and not one of the plants Papa?” I replied, dropping the flower from the tip of my finger, the lily head judging me.
“I’m completely sure, I smelt it in the house. Is it a new perfume you’re wearing?”
“Yes, of course it is. That must be it. I must have forgetten all about” I was grateful for the excuse but the lie tasted bitter.
“I have days like that too.” Dad chuckled spraying the lily with water. “It suits you,” said Dad.
I sighed leaning against a shelf of pots and watching him tend to his passions and fretted over Kieran's reality as it kept colliding with my own.
I left after my father settled down to watch the football. He’d seen the other men watching it and had decided to join them. He stood out like a sore thumb, his youth defined by the generally older residents.
On the way out I sought out Cathy. She was folding bed sheets in the laundry room, more delighted to see me than the growing pile of sheets to fold.
“Hey Cathy,” I said lounging on the door frame. She dusted her hands on her apron.
“Hello pet, that you off now?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to thank you for picking out the charm. I guess Mum must have told you about my bracelet.” Her brow furrowed.
“Oh no pet, that came through the post this morning with a message saying it was for you,” Cathy explained taking the fresh pile of washing and passing me in the doorway. “I’m glad you like it though." Mum must have sent it as a surprise. How out of character.
"Oh well in that case I’d best be off. It was nice to see you Cathy,” I muttered, distracted.
“You too pet, see you later.” She bustled up the stairs leaving me alone. The rubies glinted in the teddy bears eyes.
I presumed it to be nothing but paranoia, my mind guarded after my last journey home from Grace Penny care home, but I was sure I was being followed. I felt it on the pavement, on the bus and until the moment I closed the flat door.
I needed help.
That evening I questioned Mum about the charm that had mysteriously made its way into the hands of my father. She’d said she’d had no clue about it. Then she continued to sulk, still simmering over our arguement that morning.
My mind was far better occupied. I thought of Indigo Boy, my father and the teddy bear charm. All three left me completely stumped.
Paranoia or no, something was not quite right.
Fun Fact time. The relationship Chris has with her father is based on the interactions I have with my grandfather. He has had several strokes over the years which has resulted in him loosing his speech and hearing to an extenet. Most recently he has lost the ability to swallow to. But it is the cunning and gentility and love between them I wanted to capture that I feel I share with my grandfather.
I hope you understand.
Read. Imagine. Inspire.
Bekah x