Never Let Go (Take My Hand) (9 page)

“This doesn’t make any sense,” I muttered, shaking my
head. “Yet… somehow it also makes
perfect
sense. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now.”

“My guess’d be hurt, angry… betrayed,” Dexter said,
pulling me closer towards him.

“Emmie I’m so sorry. Until you talked to me last week,
I genuinely had no clue things were so bad for you growing up. I knew the pair
of you argued – didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of stuff… but I thought it
was just normal mother daughter shit, you know?”

“That’s what Dad said.”

Before I could reply someone knocked, no
pounded
on the front door. Chris jumped
to his feet and made his way towards the noise. Meanwhile, Dexter leaned over
and kissed the tip of my nose, combing my hair behind my ear with his fingers.

“How’d you get my address?” Chris said to whoever
stood on the other side of the door.

“I asked around. Wasn’t too difficult, you’re known by
a lot of people.” My heart quickened at the sound of my dad’s voice. Was I
ready to see him? Was he my dad or was that going to be the next bombshell?
“Can I come in?”

Chris didn’t reply but he stepped aside, gesturing my
dad into the house with a roll of his arm. He walked hesitantly over to me
while Chris closed the door. He hovered in the middle of the room, until Chris
told him to sit down. Then with a weak, nervous smile, he settled himself into
the armchair opposite me. Chris sat on my other side, meaning the three of us
were sat in a row, staring at my dad like he was under interrogation.

“It’s been too long since we were all together,” Dad
began.

“Get to the point, huh, Dad?” Chris shot back, clearly
frustrated by his attempt at small talk.

“Princess I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“You should have told me. Whether
Jocelyn
was a good mother or not, I deserve to know where I come
from!”

“I… I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how I can
make this better.”

“You could start by telling me the truth for once.”

“When I lost your mother…” Tears pricked the corners
of his eyes and I’d have to have a heart made of stone not to be affected by
it. “I was mess, Emily. Your mother raised Chris while I worked all the hours
God sent. Suddenly I was left with two children I didn’t have a clue what to do
with. Chris cried all the time – of course he did, he missed her. You
were a newborn, so naturally you cried all the time too. I started drinking…
leaving you with anyone that’d have you. I knew it was wrong and I knew it
couldn’t go on. You needed a mother, so I found you one. Jocelyn.”

“You make it sound like you bought her or something!”

“No, no… nothing like that. I was well off - she liked
that. I bought her expensive gifts, wooed her. She knew I had children but
didn’t seem put off by it in the least. For a while she was great with you two.
But then we lost Livvie and… she changed. Though I had no idea you were
suffering because of it. You have to believe that, princess.”

“Funny, there’s a lot I ‘have’ to believe tonight. Yet
I can’t help not believing a damn word that comes out of anyone’s mouth.”

“Please. Please let me make this right. Both of you… I
love
both of you.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Chris muttered under his
breath.

“I know that,” my dad agreed. “This past few months…
Jocelyn and I have been growing apart.”

“Diddums,” Chris interrupted sarcastically.

“I’m not asking for your sympathy, Christopher, I’m
just trying to explain.” Chris rolled his hand, signalling Dad to go on. “Call
it a midlife crisis maybe… all I know is that lately I’ve been regretting so
many things. I’ve been looking at my life and realising it’s worth nothing
without my children in it. Sometimes when I’m alone I think of Gemma, and I
wonder how disgusted she would be with me if she knew what a foul job I’ve done
of raising you both.”

“Gemma?” I interjected. “My mum’s name was Gemma?”

The name pierced my heart and as I choked out the
word, it forced a lump to form in my throat.

“Yes. And she was beautiful. I’ve never loved anyone
the way I loved her,” Dad confessed, closing his eyes briefly and getting lost
in the memory. “And I’ll never forgive myself for letting her down. For letting
you
down.”

Dexter squeezed my hand as my tears fell faster. Even
through his silence he offered the most amazing kind of support.

“And Christopher… my boy. Were you ever going to tell
me?”

Chris shot me a disapproving look before softening
almost immediately.

“I wasn’t planning to, no.”

“This is all my fault. I’ve lost you – lost my
own children.” My dad threw his head in his hands and his tears seeped through
his fingers, falling in little sparkly droplets to the floor. “And for you at
least, Christopher… I don’t have time to make it right again.”

Chris’ own eyes were burning around the edges now, and
after exhaling a deep sigh he turned to our father.

“You can try. I can’t promise anything, but I’m
willing to give things a go before… well, you know.”

“Christopher…” my dad began but the rest of the
sentence seemed to have gotten lost somewhere from his brain to his lips.

“But I want nothing to do with
her
,” Chris added firmly with a disgusted scowl. My dad nodded
weakly, seemingly understanding. “And more importantly than trying with
me,
you better make damn sure you make
it up to this girl here,” he ordered, pointing to me. “You’ve let her down,
Dad. She’s grown up wracked with guilt, convinced she killed her baby sister
when she was nothing but a kid herself. That’s so fucked up, Dad, and you make
that
right before
anything
else. You hear me?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I will. I swear to both of you I
will make it up to you. I want to be a father again - a
real
one. I’ve missed out on so much –
too
much. I refuse to allow that any longer.”

“Tell me about her?” I asked curiously, wiping the
rolling tears from my face on the back of my hand. “Tell me about Gemma… about
my mum.”

**********

Once we’d been talking for a while a memory that I’d
never given a second thought to popped into my mind. When I applied for my
passport and my driving licence, both times my dad offered to post them and
said he’d slip my birth certificate in as proof of my I.D. before he did so. He
gave the same excuse each time – it was filed away in his office and he
didn’t have time to go and get it just now. But now I know the real reason I’ve
never seen my own birth certificate, and suddenly that one piece of paper means
the world to me. It feels like the only connection left between me and my
mother and I craved to hold it in my hands, for no other reason than to stare
at her name.

I don’t know how I felt listening to my dad describe
the mother I never knew I had. Or at least, I don’t know what emotion to narrow
it down to. My chest ached – like something hard was pressing on it from
every angle. My eyes stung – like when the very first tear appears and it
feels like you’ve got a grain of sand lodged under your eyelid. My stomach
twisted – as if it were a piece of laundry being wrung out to dry. And my
throat closed up, locking any words inside. It felt like someone had their
hands around my neck – choking me – and I started to panic.

“Emily, calm down,” Dexter ordered, shifting his
position so he was right in front of me, holding onto my shoulders. “Breathe
for me, doll. Nice and slow.”

Looking straight into my eyes, Dexter sucked in slow,
purposeful breaths through his mouth before steadily blowing them out through
his nose. Keeping my eyes on his, my own breaths gradually fell into line with
his, and the pressure on my throat eased – calming me instantly.

“I think you should leave now,” he said to my dad.
“She’s heard enough for today.”

“Princess?” Dad asked, refusing to take orders from
Dexter.

“He’s right. I need some time to process all this.”

“I can come back though, right?”

“Yes,” I eventually breathed after a long, hesitant
pause. “I’ll call you.”

My dad’s face crumpled and he wiped away a lone tear
on the back of his knuckles before nodding weakly and rising to his feet. He
hovered for a moment as if contemplating what his next move should be. Then he
took a step towards me and stopped, seemingly thinking better of it.

“Let’s go some place else,” Chris butted in. “I want
to talk too.”

“W-with
me
?
You want to come with
me
?” Dad
questioned in disbelief.

“Don’t get your hopes up, I just want to talk. But Dex
is right, Emmie’s had enough for today.”

“I don’t… I mean I…” my dad stumbled on his words
before eventually croaking “thank you, son.”

“Let’s not push it with the ‘son’ thing just yet.”
Then, after giving me a brotherly pat on the shoulder on his way past, Chris
grabbed his jacket and headed out with our father, leaving me and Dexter alone.

Not knowing what else to do, I threw myself onto him,
and cried violently into his chest.

Chris

When
Emmie uttered
the words ‘she said she’s not my mum’ my heart sank. After all this time, I
never wanted her to find out the truth. I thought it would destroy her. What I
should’ve realised however, is that my baby sister is so much stronger than any
of us give her credit for. I also should’ve known secrets
always
have a way of breaking down, and that it was inevitable she
would find her whole life being twisted into one giant question mark
eventually.

Now? I’m relieved she discovered the truth while I’m
still here to support her. I can get her through this. I can share stories
about our mother, I can console her when she cries and I can make damn sure my
dad steps up to the mark before I go.

That’s why I wanted to talk alone with him. I don’t
give a shit if he fails me… but if I find out he’s fucked with Emily’s head
once I’m gone I will fucking haunt him.

“This is all such a mess,” my dad said, shaking his
head as he draped his long, grey coat over the back of his chair before sitting
down in it. We’d stopped at a café nearby. It was quiet enough for us to talk, yet
public enough to stop me flooring the bastard for everything he’s put us
through.

“
Your
mess.
You created it.”

“I know I did,” he replied on a whisper. In that
moment the coffees we ordered when we came in arrived, and my dad looked up at
our waitress, forcing a weak smile, before focusing his gaze on the steaming
mug. “And I will regret it for the rest of my life.”

“Why now, Dad? What’s changed? Is it just because
Emmie’s found out the truth and you feel like shit for lying to her since she
was born?”

“It’s always been there, son.” There he went again
– using that word. I let it go, not wanting to cause a scene in a public
place. “This regret, this shame. But do you know why I lied to Emily? Because I
didn’t want to deal with it. I didn’t want to have to comfort either of you
when you cried. I didn’t want to have to talk about Gemma, or keep pictures of
her, memories of her… I wanted you both to forget her.”

My God… he was fucking serious! There was no mistaking
the completely serious and even tone to his voice for anything but honesty.

“I knew if I had to keep her as part of our lives… it
would destroy me. You were a child… Emily was a baby – I didn’t have the
first clue how to raise you, and to be honest I didn’t particularly want to
learn. You both have Gemma’s red hair, her dimples… Looking at you was torture
for me. Thinking about her, remembering her… it hurt so much. I just couldn’t
do it.”

“Have you any idea what a selfish bastard that makes
you?” The words spat from my mouth like venom. Yet as much as his words
disgusted me, I couldn’t help admiring him for the first time in my life. That
level of honesty takes balls.

“I know that. I’ve
always
known that. Truth is, I always planned to stop the charade…but every day it
got harder. And I swear on Gemma’s grave, Christopher… I had no idea of the
tension going on between your mu…Jocelyn and Emily. Some of the things she’s
admitted saying to her this afternoon after Emily left… I don’t know how I’m
supposed to forgive her. How can a grown woman hold such hatred for a
child?
And how did I not notice!”

“Yeah well,” I began, my frustration softening. “I
didn’t notice either. I’ve always felt like I knew Emmie better than anyone and
yet I had no idea what a miserable childhood she’d had. I mean, sure, there’re
kids worse off… kids that have been abused or neglected and stuff like that.
But Emily’s spent her whole life blaming herself for
killing
our little sister. She’s grown up feeling guilty and unloved,
and everything she’s ever done with her life has been to try and earn some kind
of affection from that vicious bitch you chose to replace our mother!”

Okay, so my frustration had returned with a vengeance.
But thinking about Emmie and how shit the people who were supposed to love her
more than life itself had made her feel throughout her entire life, sent waves
of hot rage rolling through my body.

“I don’t have time for this, Dad,” I muttered on a
heavy sigh.

“Please, son. Don’t go, not yet. Let’s have another
coffee, then if you still feel the same, we’ll go back to how things were.
Apart.”

“No, I don’t mean right now. I mean I really haven’t
got time to keep hating you. There are so many things wrong with what you’ve
just told me, there are three thousand reasons why I should walk out of here
and never look back, and I genuinely don’t know how you can ever make this
right with Emmie. But… I won’t be here in twelve months time, Dad. I can’t
spend those months fighting with you – reasoning with you… struggling to
understand what you did.

“In order for me to have any hope of enjoying these
next few months of life, I can’t afford to dwell on the past. I don’t
understand the decisions you’ve made in your life, Dad, but I accept them, and…
I forgive you.”

I noticed tears bubbling up in the corners of my dad’s
eyes and I had to force myself to look away before mine started falling too. It
took all my strength not to be mad at him. Why couldn’t he have done this years
ago? Back when I really needed him.

“And they’re sure? The doctors?” he asked with a
slight tremor in his voice. Why does everyone ask that? It seems like doctors
are classed as superheroes until they tell you something bad.

“Positive. I had my first chemo session a couple of
weeks ago. I have another in two days. That
should
slow it down… but only by a few months and nothing’s guaranteed.”

“
Months
?” he
repeated – barely a whisper. I noticed my dad look down at his mug and I
suspected it was to hide his suddenly damp eyelashes. “Christopher…” he breathed,
refusing to look at me. “I don’t want to lose you too.”

What the hell was I supposed to say to that? ‘Oh okay
then, Dad. I’ll stay alive just for you.’ I knew my anger was unjustified and
so I swallowed it down with a sip of coffee.

“I don’t want it either,” I admitted.

“I’m so sorry, son. I’ve missed out on so much. I
don’t deserve to be a father.”

“Whoa,” I said, straightening my back in my chair.
“Don’t you start the feeling sorry for yourself bullshit. Whether you deserve
to be or not, you
are
a father. So if
your next line was going to be that you’d be better off leaving Emmie to get on
with her life without you, don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking
dare.
You’ve let us both down, Dad. It
might be too late to make it up to
me
but
you better spend every single day of the rest of your life making it up to
Emily.”

“I will. I swear I will.”

You know what? I believed him. When I looked into his
eyes I saw the pain lingering behind them and from the intensity of his stare,
I realised it had been there a very long time.

“Welcome back, Dad,” I said, standing from my chair
and holding my hand out for him to shake. Shaking his head lightly he ignored
my proffered hand and in a move I wasn’t expecting, he opened his arms and
threw them around me, clutching me close to his body. I stood there for a few
seconds completely stiff, not knowing how to respond. Somehow my arms started
moving of their own accord and found their way to his back.

I hugged him. Hard. I hugged my father and he hugged
me, and I was pretty sure that was the first time in my life.

“I’ve always loved you, Christopher, even if I didn’t
know how to show it until it was too late.” He pulled away from me and his eyes
were glistening with tears that he wasn’t even attempting to hold back now.
“I’ll make this right. I don’t know how but I will. I will be the dad you kids
have always deserved and I will make your mother proud.”

“Have you still got that box of Mum’s stuff?” I asked.
I remember finding it in the bottom of his wardrobe when I was twelve while
raiding the house for any clues to my Christmas presents. It was an oversized
shoe box – big enough for a pair of men’s hiking boots – filled
with photos, cards, jewellery and other bits and pieces she liked to collect. I
didn’t get time to look through it properly because Jocelyn caught me and
ripped it out of my hands. “I’d like to show Emmie.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “It’s in the loft. I’ll dig it out
tonight.”

“I’m surprised Jocelyn didn’t toss it,” I muttered
sardonically. I’ve never been able to say her name without a vile taste coating
my tongue, and having to refer to her as ‘Mum’ for Emily’s sake for all these
years literally made me nauseous.

“She thinks
I
did,”
he confessed with a guilt-ridden sigh. “I hid it instead.”

Just a few minutes earlier I made a silent vow to
myself to let go of all the hurt and hatred I had spent so many years feeling
towards my dad and my fake mother. Hate only affects the person feeling it, and
I won’t spend my last days feeling anything but hopeful – hopeful that
life will go on to bring happy things for the people I love when I’m gone. I
might never get to see it, but if I can die knowing it will happen, I will die
a happy man. So anyway,
that’s
why I
refused to take on the comment about Jocelyn wanting him to throw my mum’s
stuff away. Love and hate both take a lot of energy – energy that woman
isn’t worth using on. Indifference. That’s all she deserves from me.

“If you mean everything you’ve said today, Dad… then
everything’s going to be okay. We can do this – all of us. We can be a
family again.”

“I’m so proud of you, son. I wish Gemma was here to
see how far you’ve come all on your own.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell her when I get up there.”

And then, with a quivering smile, my dad patted my
shoulder and we made our way out of the café and to his car. During the drive
home, for the first time since I was diagnosed with this murdering illness, I
started to believe everything really was going to be okay. I’m not so worried
about leaving Emmie behind anymore. She’s going to be just fine without me.