“God, I really want to kiss you right now,” I said, and then remembered. “Oooh, I have mints in the glovebox.”
“Great.” Mark opened the glovebox and reached inside. But instead of pulling out mints, he pulled out the envelope.
I stared at it. I’d forgotten that I’d shoved it in there because I was tired of always seeing it in my bag. I hadn’t thought about it in days either, but now that I was looking at it, the raw emotions that I’d felt hit me all at once again.
“What is it?” he asked.
“It’s from my dad.”
“Your biological dad?” he asked. “The one who left you?”
I nodded.
“What is it?”
“Don’t know. I can’t bring myself to open it.” I took a deep breath. “He died. A couple of months ago. This is what he left me.”
Mark turned the envelope around in his hands. “I can see why you’re struggling to open it.”
“It’s the closest I’ve been to him in years,” I said, a tear forming in my eye.
He grabbed the flap between his fingers and looked up at me. “May I?”
“Okay.” I nodded.
Mark pulled the envelope open. I watched intently as he did, his fingers moving in slow motion. When it was open, he tipped it over and two pieces of paper fell out.
We looked at them in his lap. “Which one do you want to look at first?” he asked.
I picked up one of the pieces of paper and opened it.
It was a handwritten note. In my father’s writing.
I started to read it.
“Dear Frances, I know I wasn’t there for you when I was alive. And to be honest, I sometimes think it was best. I’m not father material. I never was. . . Oh my God,” I gasped loudly. “That’s, uh . . . Wow. I don’t know what to say, that’s . . .”
“Not what you were expecting?” Mark asked.
“No.” I looked up at him, tears forming in my eyes. I’d not been expecting that at all. Or maybe I’d just hoped for something different.
“Do you want me to read it?” he asked.
I nodded, unable to talk through what was a very strangled throat. I pushed the letter over to him. Mark started reading again and I braced myself for more words that I really didn’t want to hear.
“The doctors tell me I don’t have too much time left. This cancer is a real bastard. But as I lie here, I find myself thinking about you, and wondering what my life would have been like if I’d been a different kind of man. I find myself wondering all sorts of things. That’s the thing about death . . . it makes you think. But there is nothing I can do to change anything. I can’t go back in time and be your dad. And to be honest, I probably wouldn’t if I could.” Mark paused as those words sank in.
I put my hand to my chest. That was harsh. And it fucking hurt.
“You okay?” Mark asked.
I shook my head. “Not really. But carry on.”
“You sure?” He reached out and wiped a tear from my face. “You don’t have to read this, we can burn it if you like?”
“No. Carry on.” Mark stared at me for a few moments, concern etched across his face. But he finally looked back down at the paper.
“I can’t go back and give you any of the things you probably needed from me in life, but I can hopefully give you something that you need from me in death. Please find my enclosed cheque.”
