Page 70 of The Bookshop By the Loch

To the left of us and a bit further down the road, the glowing lights from The Drawbridge hotel sprang into life, illuminating its tree fringed driveway and flowers.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted, whipping his attention round to look at me. “I know I’ve been such a shit father to you, Lexie.”

“And a shit husband to Mum.”

Dad accepted this with a fierce nod. “I’ve no defence. You’re right.” He jutted out his clean-shaven chin. “But I want to try and change that. I want to try and make things right.”

I thought of the years he wasn’t around. The struggle Mum had to keep our lives on an even keel. Her working as a secretary in the local solicitor’s office and the mental and physical strain of being a single parent.

I didn’t want to sound churlish or hard-hearted, but my emotions were battered and scattered all over the place.

“Please be honest with me, Dad. Would you have come back here, if you hadn’t received your dementia diagnosis?”

Dad examined me from under his floppy hair.

“Would you?”

Colour flooded his face. There was a stony silence for a few moments.

“What I do know, is that my diagnosis has made me think about my life here in Bracken Way and how it was before I took off to London. It’s made me think long and hard about you and your mum. And it made me realise what a selfish prick I’ve been.”

I didn’t disagree with that either. Every word he was saying was true; these were the conclusions I’d reached about my father years ago.

I noted the facial similarities between us even more so now, the arched angle to our brows and the quirk of our mouths, as we stared at one another. “So, what is it you want, Dad? Forgiveness?”

“Maybe I do. But I’d be more than happy if your mother could find it in her heart to let me apologise to her. Face to face. Even if she just granted me five minutes.” Dad’s generous mouth sunk. “Like I told you, I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be myself and that’s why I need to put things right before this… this bastard robs me of who I am.”

Flickers of resentment lit up inside me. “We could have been happy, Dad. We could have been a proper family, if you hadn’t been such…” I struggled to find the word.

“Such a self-centred bastard.” Dad’s eyes searched my face. “I put everything else before you and your mother and I’ll always carry that with me.” He braced himself against another blast of fresh air dashing across the surface of the loch. “This might be my last chance to make amends.”

The shore below us shimmered with water cascading over the pebbles and rocks.

His tone was creaking, desperate. “Would you speak to your mum again for me please, Lexie? Could you try to persuade her to just listen to what I have to say?”

I rubbed at my sleeves, covered in my cream denim jacket. The stiff breeze was whipping up, sending shivers down my back. What should I do? Should I just ignore my father’s pleas and tell him to do one? Or should I give my mother the opportunity to speak to her ex-husband and hear him out? It could be the last chance she ever had of seeing him again. Seeing him again like this.

I drank in the frightened look in his eyes. It took me by surprise. Niall Dunbar, the intrepid, fearless journalist, looked mortal all of a sudden. Who knew?

I turned over my father’s desperation. “I’ll tell her I’ve met with you, Dad, and will ask her if she’ll do the same. But you have to respect her decision.” I gave my head a brief shake. “She loved you so much. When you walked away like that it broke her. I don’t think she ever truly got over it.”

His stare gleamed with fresh emotion. “I’ve been such a shit to both of you. I don’t deserve love like that.” He dragged a weary hand down his face.

“Look, I’ll ask her to meet with you, ok? That’s as much as I can do.”

A defeated mish-mash of pain and hope took over his features. “I can’t ask for or expect any more. Thank you.”

We stood, side by side, with our bumpy nosed profiles.

“How are things with you?” he asked eventually. “I have to admit I was surprised to learn from Gilbert that you’re no longer working in publishing.”

I shifted from foot to foot. “Gilbert’s been a busy bee, hasn’t he, keeping you informed of local events.”

Dad pulled an embarrassed face.

“The truth is, I was overlooked for a promotion I was promised at my publishers, hence the bookshop.”

He stared down and out at the glistening pebbles and stones bleeding into the water. “Well, it’s their loss. I want you to know that I’m very proud of you. Your mother’s done a wonderful job.”