No Going Back (18 page)

He pulled his hand away and slapped his forehead. The molecules splished out to the side like a starburst.

“No,” he said, returning my smile, “actually not quite that much. After all, a girl needs some privacy, doesn't she?”

I nodded.

“See,” he said, a touch triumphantly. “I'm learning. You've taught me a lot, Laura.”

“You've taught me a lot too,” I whispered. “Thank you.”

He stretched his hands up my arms. I moved closer. It felt good but it still wasn't a proper hug.

“Silly girl,” he said softly, his lips almost touching my hair. “You don't have to thank me. That's what proper fathers do.”

He bent his head closer, our foreheads millimetres apart.

“Now, remember, even when you can't see me, I'm still here for you. When I've gone you can talk to me, tell me your troubles and find a quiet space to listen for the answers. Love is eternal, Laura. I will never really leave you, you know that, don't you?”

“Yes.” And then the question I had to ask. “When will you go?”

“Before your mum comes out of hospital, if possible. I wasn't lying when I said that I didn't know how to do the return journey. I'm going to need a bit of help. Can you sort that out for me?”

He was trying to make it easier for me, trying to lessen the pain. But then that's what good fathers do, isn't it?

S
ACRIFICE

“
G
ran, we've got a problem.”

She looked up from her sewing. She was taking up the hem of one of my dresses. Mum had said it was more than short enough when I bought it but Gran agreed to taking it up by another five centimetres if it would persuade me to wear it instead of shoving it to the back of my wardrobe.

“I knew it!” she mumbled. “He's going to be difficult.”

Her face took on that mean expression that she used to have, the one that I hadn't seen for a few weeks, but to be fair she had got a couple of pins in the corner of her mouth. I was worried to death she might swallow them.

“No, it's not like that, but he does need help.”

I explained the situation but she still looked doubtful as to whether it was really true.

She put down the sewing, took the pins out and looked around the room.

“Where is he now?”

“Upstairs.”

I listened, chewing little bits from my nails, as Gran rang Reverend Tim.

“When will you come?” Gran asked him.

Her eyes flickered over to me. I saw relief but also sorrow in the quiver of her lips.

“How long have we got?” I asked when she pressed the button to end the call. She wasn't on the phone for long but by the time she'd finished, all that hard work I'd put into growing my nails had been undone.

“Not long. Apparently they never work alone with this sort of thing so provided he can get someone else to help him out they'll be here this afternoon.”

“That soon?” In my naivety I'd thought it would take at least a day to organise.

“You've got to be brave, Laura.”

“I'll try.”

“I know you will. You don't think he'll change his mind?”

I wondered for a moment how well I really knew Dad. How much of a difference these last few weeks had made to our relationship.

“No,” I said with certainty. “I'm sure he won't.”

“We'll just have to hope not,” Gran replied. “It will make it much easier if he cooperates.”

“He will. He's doing this for me. He won't let me down.”

Before I got the chance to disappear upstairs to find Dad, there was a knock at the back door. It was Sam.

“My dad told me what's going to happen. I wanted to see if you were okay,” he said.

“No, not really.”

He reached out and touched my arm. I felt a little better. We went and sat on the swing seat.

“Will you be here?” I asked.

“If you want me to be.”

I nodded. “Yes please.”

“How's your mum?”

“She's okay but they want to keep her in for another day. Dad wants to have gone before she comes back from the hospital.”

“Probably a good idea.”

I looked up at the sky. “I bet your mum's up there somewhere, watching over you.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, I'm sure of it.”

“Do you think your dad would take a message to her?”

“I can ask him.”

“I wish my mum would come back and see me,” Sam said, “just to let me know that she's okay. Sometimes when I come back from school I expect to find her in the kitchen, making a pot of tea and taking biscuits out of the oven. I don't know why because she never lived in the house we're in now. But it still seems empty without her.”

“It's funny,” I said, “but even though I've lived without Dad for years and years and he's only been back in my life for a few weeks, I'll miss him so much when he's gone.”

“My dad says that just because Mum's gone doesn't mean she isn't still a part of our lives. We talk about her all the time. I think about her every day. I still love her even though I can't hold her or see her.
I'll always love her just like you'll always love your dad.”

“Doorbell, Laura.” Dad stood up and pulled his shirt down at the sides, fiddled with the collar so it was straight. Downstairs I heard Gran fumbling with the catch on the front door.

“This is it then,” I said.

“Not quite,” he said. “There's one more thing I need to do. Come here.”

So I stepped forwards until we were almost touching and he folded his arms around me. It felt like being wrapped in the softest, warmest blanket. It was all the hugs I had missed over the years rolled into one. It was generous and open and completely unconditional. It felt like love in its purest form. Everyone should have a hug like that at some time in their life. As I felt all of Dad's love envelop me I knew that this moment would be one I would remember for ever. This feeling of absolute safety would keep me going when life got hard. This was what I had been searching for ever since he died. We stood there in stillness,
him resting his chin on the top of my head, me resting my face against his chest.

“Promise me something, Laura,” Dad muttered into my hair.

I didn't reply, didn't want to break the magic. He moved away slightly, blew the hair from my face, so so gently.

“Promise me that you'll keep in touch with Daisy. Promise me that you'll be happy.”

“I promise.”

And he smiled the saddest of smiles and clasped me to him all over again. “My darling, darling Laura,” he whispered. “You will never know how much I love you.”

“But I do,” I replied. “Because it's just as much as I love you.”

There was the lightest of taps on my door.

“Laura, are you there?” Sam's voice was barely above a whisper. “They're waiting for you downstairs.”

I opened the door.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, his gaze shooting over my shoulder.

“Everything's fine. We're both ready.”

It was rubbish, of course. I wasn't ready at all. How could I be? I straightened up, tried to loosen my shoulders a little, fixed a half smile to my face, partly for Dad's benefit, partly for my own.

“Let's go,” I said, sounding a lot more controlled than I felt.

“Wait!” Dad said.

“What is it?” Suddenly I wasn't so sure that he could go through with it. He glanced at Sam as if willing him away.

“Can you give us a minute?” I asked but Sam was already sliding out of the door.

Dad twirled a bit of my hair around his finger. “I just wanted to say, Laura, that he's okay, your Sam. I was wrong about him.”

Your Sam
. Those words made my heart do a little leap.

“I'm not sure that he's mine,” I said.

Dad lifted my chin with his fingers.

“He's yours, sweetheart. I'm convinced of it. Don't you let him get away. You might regret it.”

I smiled softly. “I'll do my best to hang on to him then.”

“Good,” Dad said. “And I know you'll look after your mother for me and…” he hesitated, “… if she does find someone else, I won't mind too much.”

“We'll all be fine, Dad,” I said. “You mustn't worry.”

And he took hold of my hand for the last time.

Reverend Tim was in the sitting room talking to another man. They both wore casual trousers, short-sleeved shirts and dog collars. I'd expected them to be all dressed up in cassocks, as if they were conducting a church service, but I was glad they weren't. It made the whole process seem a bit more normal, which is ridiculous because what can be less normal than getting a spirit to leave your house, especially when it's someone you know and love?

“There you are, dear,” Gran said, standing up and shuffling over to put her arm around my shoulders.

Reverend Tim introduced the other vicar. We shook hands. He gave me a sort of pitying look.

I half smiled at him, wondering why
I
felt the need to reassure everyone.

“Now then, dear,” Gran said, giving me a little squeeze, “where exactly is
the problem
at the moment?”

“He's here, Gran,” I replied. “Right beside us.”

Dad puffed out his cheeks and blew softly at the side of Gran's head so that a tendril of hair came loose from one of her clips.

“Oh,” she said, looking slightly alarmed, “so he is.”

I looked up at everyone. Even the two vicars had shadows passing across their faces and they must have been used to this sort of thing.

“It's okay. He won't cause any trouble.”

“Laura,” Dad whispered in my ear, “just check that it won't hurt. I'm not any good with pain.”

I asked the question and Reverend Tim assured us that, if Dad cooperated, there shouldn't be any difficulties. He placed a small black box upon the coffee table. Wedged under the handle was a beautiful wooden cross. Flowers and birds and butterflies were painted on it in bright, clear colours. Once opened, I could see that the box had a sapphire-blue lining and contained a miniature communion set. Reverend Tim spread the pieces out on a white linen cloth. There was a little glass decanter with a silver rim which contained
communion wine, a small silver chalice, a round box for those bread wafers that Gran says always get stuck to the roof of your mouth, and a dish that Reverend Tim said was a paten. When everything was arranged, the other vicar asked if we were ready to begin, or if Dad and I needed a few more moments. Dad looked at me and his face was so sad that I could hardly bear to look back.

“No,” I said. “We've said all there is to say.”

We began by gathering around the front door, Dad close by my side.

“Peace be to this house and all who dwell in it,” Reverend Tim said in a clear, authoritative voice. He blessed the front door and splashed it with some holy water which he had in a little blue pot. The splashing was done with what looked like an ordinary pastry brush from the supermarket. We moved through the house as Reverend Tim encouraged God's presence and said prayers from a slim red leather-bound book. There was a different prayer for each room of the house but in one way or another they all asked for God's blessing and peace. Dad was so close to me as we moved from room to room and Gran kept a slight
distance, as if she knew that we needed our space, this last time together as father and daughter. We spent longer in my room while Reverend Tim splashed the chair where Dad had sat. I felt Dad shiver then, saw his molecules ripple like a churning stream. There was a pause as everyone seemed to sense his sudden distress.

“Are you okay?” I murmured and he nodded, smiled but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Reverend Tim moved on to the wardrobe. He splashed my bed, the curtains, the dressing table, the carpet, all the time spreading his prayers into every available space. Finally, when everything had received a good soaking and Reverend Tim seemed satisfied, we went back downstairs to the sitting room and I knew that the time was getting near. Dad must have known too because he moved away from me and stood in a corner on the other side of the room. Alone. When I went to join him he shook his head and put up his hand to stop me. Already it felt as if he had left me. I could still see him but he looked unreachable, detached, desolate. I stood in the middle of the room with everyone
watching me and I was acutely aware of everything and everyone. Yet I didn't feel part of it. I was separate. I was empty. I wanted it all to be over but at the same time I wanted to hang on to the moment. Impossible. Why did I always want the impossible?

I'm not sure who moved first but I became aware of Gran kneeling down at the coffee table, and the soft murmur of the other vicar's voice as he gave her communion.

“Laura.” Reverend Tim touched me on the shoulder. He gestured to the table, to the wine and to the bread. “Do you want to?” he asked.

I looked up into his face. It was so kind, so full of concern.

“I'm not confirmed.”

“It doesn't matter.”

No, I thought, not much does matter really, does it? All of those silly rules and pressures we put ourselves under. At the end of the day there are very few things that really matter, that are really important. So I moved to the table, as if in a trance. I thought it might help, doing something, reminding my body that although Dad was disappearing I was still here.

Gran's right. The wafers do get stuck to the roof of your mouth. As I knelt in front of the coffee table, trying to curl my tongue around that wafer and free it, I kept one eye on Dad. He was becoming more translucent. I could barely see the edge of him against the flowery pattern of the curtains. Reverend Tim held the chalice to my lips and I took a sip of the earthy-tasting wine. I only averted my eyes for a second but when I looked up Dad was barely there. Despite all of my efforts the wafer was still stuck to the roof of my mouth and the wine felt rough against my throat. I could smell Gran's perfume, a drift of lavender, and outside a bird, maybe a magpie, made a harsh cawing sound.

No, I wanted to shout. Stop! Don't do this. But I couldn't speak. I stayed kneeling while Reverend Tim read a passage from the Bible. I was afraid that if I moved Dad would have gone and it would all be over. But I wanted it to be over, didn't I? As if he knew what I was thinking, Sam knelt down beside me and linked his arm through mine and I let those beautiful, lyrical, comforting words wrap themselves around me like a hug.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness…”

My eyes were full of tears now. I kept blinking them away, trying to keep Dad in my sight but he was leaving me. He didn't have any feet now and I could see his legs disappearing like early morning mist when it meets sunlight. Sam squeezed my arm tighter and on the other side I reached behind me and gripped Gran's hand, hard. Reverend Tim called out Dad's name in full.

“Gareth James Cooper,” he said, adding more prayers asking for forgiveness, repentance and resting in peace. When he finished speaking the room was like a calm pool. Even the frantic beating of my heart had slowed, the churning in my brain settled down and strangely the emptiness had gone.