Perfectly Ordinary People(125)

‘Did they even want me, though?’ Dad asked, unexpectedly.

‘I’m sorry?’ Igor said.

‘Did they want me?’ he said again. ‘That’s the only question I really need answering. Or was I just something that happened along the way? A bundle that got dropped in their laps.’

‘Oh, God,’ Igor said. ‘Oh, Billy, you can’t possibly think that.’

‘Can’t I?’ Dad said.

‘They loved you,’ Igor said, nodding slowly as he spoke. ‘They loved you more than anything.’

‘How can you be sure?’ Dad said. ‘Because I read that transcript, and it didn’t sound like they had much choice.’

‘They loved you so much that they stayed together until you were eighteen. Because neither of them could bear to be away from you.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. It would have been far easier for them to go their separate ways. But they needed to be with you. They both needed to be with you. Because you were the person they loved the most. Actually, talking of those stories, did he ever tell you the one about the lonely sheepdog?’

‘The lonely patou?’ I said. ‘Oh, I used to love that one.’

Dad nodded. ‘It was one of my favourites, too.’

‘Well, it was an allegory, wasn’t it?’ Igor said. ‘It’s about feeling different to other people, and finding love all the same. Ultimately, it’s about founding a family, too. The puppy they find – because, if you remember, they can’t have one of their own – so the puppy that makes their lives complete—’

‘Oh God, Dad, that’s you!’ I interrupted, reaching for his hand across the table.

Dad closed his eyes and licked his lips. ‘Maybe,’ he whispered.

‘Definitely,’ Igor said. ‘It’s no accident he told you that story.’

A tear rolled down Dad’s cheek. ‘I wish I’d known that, though,’ he said softly. ‘I wish I’d felt it.’

Igor stood and moved around the table so that he was standing beside my father. ‘This is where you stand and you let Uncle Igor give you a hug,’ he said.

‘Erm, I’m not really much of a hugger,’ Dad said. ‘Like father like son.’

‘No,’ Igor laughed, reaching out to pull Dad to his feet. ‘Well, stand up, because I have something to tell you. Something that will set you free.’

Dad reluctantly stood but remained rigid as Igor wrapped his arms around him.

‘He may not have let you see much of it,’ Igor said. ‘But he liked to hug. Your father loved to hug. He loved to sing, too. And he loved to dance. So if you’re a real believer in like father, like son, you can enjoy all those things too.’

Igor started to force Dad to sway then, and I could tell that Dad was both mortified about being held in Igor’s arms but was also quite moved by the experience. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and willed my father, for once in his life, to let go.

‘I miss him,’ I heard Dad croak. ‘I never even knew him properly, but now he’s gone I miss him. I miss them both so much.’

‘Well, I really did know him,’ Igor said, sending me a complicit wink. ‘And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t help at all. Because I really miss him too.’

They swayed through 360 degrees before Dad suddenly said, ‘Enough,’ and pushed Igor away – taking his elbows and holding him at arm’s length. I could see that, despite his tears, he was smiling.

‘The good thing, as far as I’m concerned, is that you came,’ Igor said. ‘Because, Christ, you remind me of Chris. It’s almost like he’s back. Almost every mannerism is the same.’

‘And I’m glad to know he had you in his life,’ Dad said, with a sniff. ‘I honestly am. Because you seem like a really good man.’

‘Oh, I’m nothing special,’ Igor said. ‘We were just perfectly ordinary people. It was all we ever aspired to: normal lives, normal jobs, fitting in, not being noticed . . . Because that was how you earned the right to carry on living. It was how you earned the right to carry on loving. We didn’t care about stuff or cars or whatever other people seem to spend their lives worrying about. We didn’t want anything exceptional, really. It was just the relationships we built . . . the love your father and I shared – the love that we had for each other, all four of us – our friendship. That really was something special. And that’s real. That’s the stuff that makes life worthwhile.’





Epilogue.

TALL TALE #3: THE LONELY SHEEPDOG.

Did I ever tell you the story of the lonely sheepdog?

Well, once upon a time, a farmer called Jean owned a sheepdog called Butch.

He was what the French call a patou, and had been brought up with the sheep from when he was born. As you know, patou will do anything to protect their sheep families from rustlers and wolves or even other dogs.

This was a small farm and the farmer only had Butch to keep an eye on his twelve sheep and, as a result, Butch was always very busy. But he was also very lonely.

Sure, he got to spend all day with the sheep, and he loved them and cared for them as if they were his own, but he also sensed that he was different to them. Though he could understand everything the sheep said – because sheep language isn’t that complex – the sheep couldn’t understand Butch’s barking at all.