Her One Mistake(60)

As I grew older I understood Mum well enough to know she wouldn’t have coped with the looks of pity, or neighbors talking behind her back, asking questions and wondering what it was that finally drove my father away. Or maybe what took him so long. I don’t know if Mum blamed herself for his departure—outwardly she blamed him—but she would have assumed everyone else thought it was her fault.

All I was left with was a memory of him from an old crumpled photograph. Our faces pressed together with wide smiles as he held me in his arms, both sharing an ice cream.

Now I searched his face. The features I remembered were there, but hidden under skin that puffed in layers on his cheeks. The bright green eyes were watery now and drooped under his white eyebrows. The years had taken away the one picture I’d had in my head and replaced it with this old man who looked so lost and out of place in my kitchen. Years I would never get back, I thought, as I turned away from him sharply and fussed with the kettle so my face wouldn’t betray me.

His sudden appearance had brought a rush of unexpected emotion that I hadn’t even realized I’d been ignoring. Had I actually missed him? “How did you find me?” I asked eventually. Not why. I didn’t know if I was ready to hear the answer to that yet.

“I found you on that Facebook about a year ago.” He had a gentle lull to his voice. “You were there under your maiden name and it said you worked at St. Mary’s School in Chiddenford.” I had set up a page once to stay updated on school news, but had never added a post or even bothered updating my details when I’d left.

“Bit of a funny story after that,” he’d went on. “I have a cousin who lives down here. He knows the area well, told me where the village was.”

“Yes?” I prompted.

“One day I thought I’d come down and have a look around. I didn’t really think I had any chance of seeing you, but I happened to be walking past a park just around the corner from the school and—” He paused. “I recognized you straightaway. I never forgot your face. You had your little girl with you. She looks just like you,” he said, looking up at me and smiling. “The image of you back then.”

“So you saw me and then what?” I said harshly.

“Then I followed you,” he said, dropping his eyes to the table.

“You followed me?”

“I know, I know, it was an awful thing to do, I just— Well, I should have talked to you but I didn’t have the courage,” he said. “I dithered for ages until you got up and started walking away, and I didn’t want to blow it. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say and—” He laughed and broke off. “Now I fear I’m still not doing a very good job.”

I dipped tea bags into the cups, poured in a splash of milk, then turned back to him. My dad fidgeted uncomfortably at the table. Had he come to tell me he was dying? I wondered. Would that matter to me?

“It’s a shock for you, I know that,” he said. “Seeing me on your doorstep.”

“I think there was a part of me that always imagined it might happen one day.”

“I hope I haven’t upset you?” He looked at me with a glimmer of hope as he tried to meet my gaze, but he couldn’t hold it for long.

“I’m more intrigued than anything,” I said, trying to sound distant. Often I had looked at Brian and thought children are better off without their fathers, but mine had never given me the chance to find out.

I handed him the tea and he wrapped his large hands around the mug, pulling it toward him and studying the liquid inside. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

“What are you actually sorry for?” I asked, my back pressed firmly against the sink as I clutched my own cup tightly. A sudden desperate need to believe his apology surprised me.

“For the way it happened,” he said. “For not seeing you again.”

“I don’t really know what happened,” I admitted, watching him, wondering what it would have been like to have had a father around. If my life would have taken a different path and whether I’d have wanted it to. The quiet hum of a kids’ TV show filtered through the wall and I knew that no, despite it all, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. “Obviously Mum told me her version.”

“It didn’t happen quickly,” he said. “It was never a light decision for me. When I first met your mum she was a beautiful young woman.” His eyes sparkled at the memory. “Full of energy and plans, and I fell for her head over heels. We didn’t have much money but we were happy for a long time. Over the years I began noticing she had a lot of demons, troubles I wasn’t very good at handling. She worried about everything. Hated me leaving the house, convinced I wasn’t coming back. Every night she made me get out of bed at least three times to check the locks. Always at me over some concern about something or other. I started drinking a lot.” My father paused and nodded. “My way of blocking it out. One day I realized I wasn’t living anymore, I was surviving, and I didn’t want to do it any longer.”

I pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him.

“I was suffocating, Harriet,” he said. “Being in that house with her was too much. But I don’t expect you to understand what I mean.”

I didn’t answer but I must have made a sound because he looked up at me and said, “I’m sorry. Of course you understand. You would have seen the way she was. I realize I don’t know how it was for you after I left.”