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I don’t like that sound in her voice. “I, uh… what are you saying, Kallie?”
“I wasn’t gonna call you but then, I… talked to my mum and she said I should.”
“I don’t like the way you’re talking, Kal. Spit it out.”
“Your dad’s sick, Mira. He’s sick.”
“What, like, laid up? What do you mean?”
She momentarily covers the receiver and I hear curses and groans, then she comes back and says, “Fitz was really angry and said I should tell that daughter of his to get her arse home since he’s on death’s door.”
“What the—”
“So then I defended you, all right. Gave him some home truths about what it was like for you growing up.” She pauses and I decide my heart can’t take it. “It’s apparently the Big C.”
She leaves me with it a moment, then I whisper, “Why didn’t he call me?”
“I said that as well. I said Mira has no idea you twat, so go and tell that cold trout to call her. But thing is—”
“If he were gonna call, he would’ve already.”
“So here we are, having this shitty conversation.”
“No, no, I’m glad you told me.” Another pause during which she sighs. “What was he going to do? Let some mortician be the one to tell me? You know, after the fact?”
“That’s how it seems, isn’t it?”
“I know he and I have never been close and I haven’t spoken to him in ages, but…”
She starts saying things to try and soothe me. I hear them like echoes as my mind goes into overdrive. I’m imagining finding out about his death from some sort of newspaper obituary, or worse, the money suddenly stops appearing in my bank and that’s how I find out. Because apparently a father can’t tell his daughter what’s what.
“Sorry, Kallie, what did you just say?”
“I’m just really sorry you had to hear it from me like this.” She sounds so sad about it, but she has no idea that what she has with her own father, is nothing like what I have with mine. She’s seeing it through how she’d feel, but how I feel is completely different.
I check the clock on the wall and tell her, “I can make the last train. If he’s really on death’s door, then I’m not letting him get away with this. Can I stay with you tonight?”
“Yes, sure, absolutely.”
“Okay, I’ll text you when I’m on the train.”
I throw on jeans and a sweater, boots, then stuff a toothbrush in my bag, as well as a change of top and a clean pair of knickers. I’m out of the door within five minutes, cycling like a lunatic towards St Pancras—in the dark. By the time I reach the late-night train heading to Luton and Luton Airport (thank God for airport shuttles), I’m a sweaty, emotional mess. I sit in the cycle hold huddled in my jacket, trying to hide my face from anyone passing through who’s heading for the toilet.
How could he do this to me?
When I get to Kallie’s family home, her mother Cheryl is waiting at the door, ready to give me a big hug. Her husband Lewis takes my bike without a word, storing it in the garage behind the parked cars. Kallie looks awkward and sad when she sees me, meanwhile her younger sister Angel holds out a can of lager to me which I take, grateful.
We all sit around in the living room which is never, ever this quiet—unless they’re all in bed. Tonight, they’ve turned the TV off and with their elder brother Ray travelling abroad as an Oxfam ambassador, I feel really not good about myself, with everyone staring at me. I used to love the fact that whenever I went round to Kallie’s, the noise and ruckus, the activity, meant that I could sort of hide in the shadows and just observe the action. Not be the action.
“Have you seen him?” I ask Lewis, who shakes his head. “Has anyone seen him?”
“Thought it was odd,” says Cheryl, “how I hadn’t seen him in a while. You know? In Morrison’s or down the chippy or something. Would always bump into him, you know, now and again. Thought maybe he’d gone abroad, retired like.”
“It’s not your fault,” says Kallie. “It’s not your fault.”
I swallow hard and rub my eyes. “I can’t believe… I mean… it’s come to this. I can’t believe it.”
I can’t believe he’d believe that I wouldn’t want to know, or… help.
