AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My dad and I order takeout and talk for some time, about how his sister is selling her farm in Scotland and how horrendous the snow is there, and how he’d love to go to America, and how he rode his motorbike all the way down to France, and the time he and Mum bought a burger van on a whim but they couldn’t serve people because they couldn’t stop laughing—anything to avoid what I really want to ask him.
But I know what he’ll say: ‘Me? I’ve never been better. I’ve died a few times in my life. It’s nothing.’
‘How did you actually meet mum?’ I ask suddenly.
‘Well, I knew your mother when she was married to someone else. There were never any sparks between us, but she’d always laugh at the things I did. Anyway, she divorced from her fella, and I punched him.’
I nearly snort a chip up my nose. ‘What?’
‘Yeah. He used to beat her, but I couldn’t do anything whilst they were together without making it worse for her. As soon as I heard about the divorce, I tracked him down at the place where he drank, pulled him aside in the bathroom, and punched him.’ He smiles at the memory. ‘The bastard fell back into the toilet, and I got barred, but I gave up drinking after that. For her. Because that’s what her husband would do: he’d get drunk, come home, and batter her.’
I swallow against a memory, the smell of wildflowers around me and the sun warm on my skin:‘I want to help you, Frankie, but if you say no, I’ll ignore it.’
Only, he hadn’t ignored it, had he? He’d attacked Archer, and then he’d left, abandoning me to deal with the consequences.
Sometimes, I think, your mind has to be tougher than whatever you feel. Because in that wild moment of outrage, Chase had acted for his own benefit. He hadn’t considered what it might mean for me, that it’s something Archer brings up in arguments, that he uses it as leverage, and that it works every goddamned time.
Chase had been wrong to do that. He shouldn’t have hit Archer. He didn’t even know what had happened. Archer had been angry, and we all do things we regret when we’re angry.
‘So, what, after that you and mum just got together?’ I go on.
‘We were friends for some time,’ my dad says, in a voice one uses when they’re in love: soft and distant with the hint of a smile. ‘In fact, in hindsight, I’d say we were the best of friends. One time she dared me to go into a shop dressed as a woman.’
I bark a laugh. ‘No way.’
‘You bet I did. She didn’t believe I’d do it, so I ran into Boots and used the samples of women’s face stuff, and I walked back out wearing red lipstick and mascara, right past her, and into the supermarket. I was shitting myself, of course, but I wanted to impress her. I wanted to make her laugh. When you haven’t got looks to get your way, your only weapon is your humour.’ He winks.
I want to tell him that looks are secondary. I want to tell him that if you can make someone laugh, you’ve already won, but he goes on: ‘We never went on any formal dates. It just sort of happened.’
I bite into a cold chip. ‘Do you regret being with mum all those years?’
‘Blimey, no. Any moment spent in love is never wasted—only if that love is not reciprocated. And sometimes you have to think of yourself and what you want, because if you spend your time chasing someone who doesn’t run, you’ll drive yourself up the swanny.’
And just like that, without any warning, two words barrel into me, two words my dad has said to me each day before leaving for school, two words I never understood—until now:‘Choose happiness.’
Because why do we do anything, if not to be happy? We drink tea, not because the world tells us to, but because it makes us happy. We read books because we love them, because they give us a sense of belonging. We wear the clothes we want because they make us feel comfortable. We find happiness in the small things—and God, I would have fallen apart a long time ago if not for my morning brews, my fluffy socks, or jumping straight into my pyjamas when I have the chance.
How many times did I mock Chase for drinking coffee? I never thought that that stupid, revolting drink could have been the only thing holding him together. That something that makes no sense to me makes perfect sense to someone else. That he may have had a shitty day, and coming home to that drink was the only good part of it.
We sit and watchDog the Bounty Hunterfor a little while, and when I turn to ask my dad a question, he’s asleep. I glance at his untouched food, his withered hands, and a ball knots in my stomach.
Not here.
I throw a blanket over him and make my way to my room—my old room. Everything is exactly as I left it, gathering dust: the mood globe and small ecosystem on the windowsill, those blasted Hello Kitty straighteners, my books on their shelves. I wanted to take my things with me, but I also wanted to preserve my room in a piece of the past. That despite the days and weeks and months that pass, when I walk into this space, I’m seventeen again, and Chase is here. I can almost see him, looking around, grabbingGreat Expectationsoff the shelf, sitting on my bed.
My bed my bed my bed—
‘It’s not nothing. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.’
I close my eyes. I can’t bear to look at that mountain on my ceiling—
My back slides down the door as I sink to the floor, but no tears come.
???
The smell of honey-glazed gammon and seasoned potatoes hits me before I walk into the apartment. I let the door fall shut behind me, the keys in my hand half-raised over the ceramic bowl.
‘Hey,’ Archer says as he glances back over a shoulder to smile at me. ‘Take a seat. I’ve laid out the table,’ he adds.
