This is a Love Story (45 page)

‘Hello, George Walker speaking,’ he said in an unusually gruff voice. He had obviously been asleep, I thought.

‘Hi George, it’s Nick,’ I replied, feeling a rush of anticipation all over my body.

‘Oh, Nick – it’s so nice to hear from you.’ He sounded really sleepy. I was worried about putting strain on him if he was having

an off day.

‘You too. I think you need to sit down for this,’ I said, knowing that imparting this news while he was standing up would be a bad

idea.

‘Yes, definitely – hang on a sec.’ I heard him sink into his leather chair, which always squeaks when you sit on it. I could just

picture him in the flat. Notebooks and plates everywhere, mugs collecting on the table.

‘Sienna has achieved something quite amazing today. I don’t want to tell you exactly what it is, because that’s her job, but she’s

been given a great promotion,’ I started, feeling a bit sick now. I took a deep breath and looked at my noticeboard, which was

covered in photos, including one of Sienna and me on a company team-building day. I looked into her eyes and just knew I was

doing the right thing.

‘Oh, really?’ he said, his voice starting to twinge with emotion already.

‘It’s something so big, it will make you feel very proud.’ The hairs rose on my arms as I was saying this.

I heard him breathing heavily down the line. In. Out. He didn’t say a word; I knew he was fighting off the dark cloak of sleep.

‘You there, George?’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly.

‘OK. If it’s all right, I’m going to order some flowers and balloons from you for Sienna. I hope I’m not crossing the line by doing

this. It’s just, I know you can’t go to the shop . . .’ Oh dear. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

There was a long pause before he spoke. ‘Really? That’s ever so kind, Nick.’

Phew. ‘Well, it’s nothing. They’re from you – I don’t really have anything to do with it. It’s just . . . this is big news, George, and

I want you to be able to celebrate with her . . .’ I trailed off. I felt I’d handled it OK and I was glad.

‘Thank you, Nick. You mean a lot to us both, I hope you know that,’ he said, very slowly now.

‘You too, George. I’ll order them now so they arrive by the time she gets home. I’ll tell the company to leave them in the

cupboard by your door if you’re unable to answer it.’

There was some more heavy breathing and then the phone clicked off. He was probably asleep.

I ordered the most beautiful bunch of flowers, a bottle of Moët champagne, a card and two big helium balloons. I couldn’t wait to

see her for dinner later. I was going to tell her.

Tell her I love her and always have, since the day we met.

Fifteen

‘Dad. Tea’s ready.’

Sienna

It had been an agonising countdown for the clock to strike five so I could rush home to tell Dad. He’d be so happy I reckoned he

would fall asleep immediately, but that would say it all, wouldn’t it? That was more than enough for me. Then I was to go out for

dinner with Nick to celebrate. I just couldn’t wait. This was so exciting.

As soon as the second hand reached the right spot I quietly packed up my things, trying hard not to seem so desperate to leave the

office. I wanted to run outside and tell the world that everything was OK. Everything had worked out just fine . . .

The usual suspects had already scarpered, shaving an extra five minutes off the working day. Yet I knew that Julie and Alan in

admin would pretend to be working for at least an extra hour for those horrible office Brownie points they seem to be dying to

collect. They stumble into the office early with their shirts inside out and a piece of toast hanging from their mouths, and leave

sometimes several hours late, almost frothing at the mouth with hunger and exhaustion. And what does it really achieve?

No, tonight I was going to be strict on myself. I was leaving at five, and wouldn’t be pulled into all this bullshit, so I could see my

father and then have some fun with Nick. I was going to present my list to Dad so he could start writing about our adventures. I

waved goodbye to the last clingers-on and peered into the small office that would soon be mine. Luckily it was quite a distance away

from Nick’s. At least now his window would be out of sight, so I’d be able to focus on the task at hand. And what a task it was.

The office was small but bright and all the walls were painted ivory. I imagined myself sitting in there, living out my dreams. This

was really going to change my life.

The car alone would make a huge difference. This would mean we could go out. Dad and I – out. I imagined walking him slowly

to the front seat with an arm around his shoulder and driving him around at weekends so he could see more of the world. He could

breathe the fresh air of the seaside and eat fish and chips with the door open. I could take him to Yorkshire where he could see all the

pretty stone walls cutting across the fields like scars. He could actually get out and experience the world rather than tottering around

our balcony garden, with its thick, high fence just in case he falls. Maybe he would snooze for a lot of the journey, but still . . .

This was the start of a new chapter for my dad and me. I could take him to visit family, even though they never came to him. It

would be all too easy to hold a grudge, but that wasn’t the point of life, was it, to hold grudges? Babies had been born in our family.

New lives, new beginnings. And my dad hadn’t been any part of it. I didn’t think my dad had held a baby since I’d been one. And I

wanted the youngsters in my family to grow up knowing my dad. Not to know my father is to miss out . . . The thought of the places

we could go to brought a lump to my throat. I could wholeheartedly say it meant more than the promotion itself.

As I walked towards the station listening to Ellie Goulding through my earphones, my head was swamped with the wonderful

memories I had yet to experience. I was walking on air. And tonight I was going out with my best friend to celebrate the occasion. I

almost broke into a run to get home once I’d left the train, but everyone seemed to be getting in my way as if the world was

conspiring against me. Charity touts were approaching me, plying me with their guilt-inducing spiels, newspaper stands seemed to

be all over the pavements, and there were lots of people with those suitcases on wheels, all making it difficult for me to navigate my

path. Still, I wouldn’t let it deflate my mood.

The crowds were like treacle until I neared my road and then they dispersed to clear the way. My chest was full of excitement as I

prepared to tell Dad all about my news. How would I start? So, Dad . . . I mouthed the words under my breath as I hurried along the

streets. I have something to tell you . . . Dad, I got promoted – things are going to be very different for us now . . . Dad, I made it!

Whatever way I imagined it coming out, it all seemed so corny, and just not really my style. I decided to ad lib and let it roll.

I turned the key in the door and as soon as it opened I was greeted by a huge bunch of pink and white flowers, which sat on the

doormat looking lusciously at me, a small card wedged inside. Unable to speak, I reached down and opened the card. I immediately

recognised the shaky writing. It must have taken him ages to do this – but how had he known? I hadn’t even told him yet. A thin line

of biro trailed off from one letter where he must have fallen asleep mid-word. The third kiss was particularly wobbly.

To you, Sienna, my gorgeous girl,

I am more proud of you than I have ever been. We are family, you and me, however small the unit.

Thanks for being my world.

Love, Dad

x x x

‘Dad!’ I exclaimed, choked up with thick tears. ‘Thanks so much! I’m so happy, you literally have no idea . . .’

Nick must have told him. What a sweetheart, I thought as I hurriedly kicked off my shoes, losing my balance and nearly knocking

over our coat stand in the process. I managed to steady myself by gripping on to the radiator. Phew. I scooped up the flowers and

buried my head inside; the most crisp, stunning smell wafted up my nostrils. I stood there for a minute, taking it all in before

speaking again. Amazing things like this didn’t happen very often. I wanted to seize the moment to take a picture in my mind, so I

could remember this in the hard times.

‘Dad?’ I tried again. Silence. ‘Dad!’ I shouted, even louder. Nothing. Probably asleep, I thought with a smile. I turned into the

living room; it was pretty dark and so quiet I could hear the clock ticking as if it was right next to my ear. I would find him snoozing

in his room, I bet. Hmm, I thought, that’s a shame – I was busting to tell him. I decided to make some tea.

I turned into the kitchen and saw something that struck me as odd, but not totally out of the ordinary. The bottom half of Dad’s

legs on the floor, poking out from behind the kitchen counter. A pair of fluffy brown slippers at the bottom of some black tracksuit

pants. My dad. Two pink helium balloons floated in the air, bobbing sadly against the ceiling. Bump. Bump.

My stomach plunged. I couldn’t look. Please, no. Please. I stood still, my heart thumping in my chest. Nausea started to rise in my

throat. Now come on, Sienna, I told myself sternly. It’s probably just one of his usual falls, he’s likely to still be passed out. I looked

over at the sofa. His crash helmet was sitting uselessly on a cushion, staring back at me. Shit. He wasn’t wearing his crash helmet.

There was silence, broken intermittently by the gentle thud of the balloons, which were shifting in the cool breeze from an open

window. Calm. Quiet. Peace.

I took a deep breath and one step forward. I saw my father lying face down on the floor. My eyes seemed to zoom in and out,

trying to make sense of a small pool of blood surrounding his head. The balloons were streaming from his right hand, which was

gripped into a fist. The ribbons ran through his fingers. My heart sank, and my head started to spin immediately. Adrenalin trickled

into my legs like alcohol. I felt weak. No. This was some kind of sick joke.

I rushed down to his body and pressed my trembling hand against his cheek. It was cold. I instantly started to cry, my whole body

shaking as if I had been left outside on a wintry night. I felt the distinct moment when my heart broke into tiny little pieces. It was

like a tearing in my soul, each twist and rip made me feel like the world had really ended. I was losing my grip, losing him.

I pushed my fingers against his lips, into his neck, on to his chest, frantically searching for a sign of life. A heartbeat. A breath.

Anything.

‘No. No. No. No. No,’ I started to say again and again. I shouted it out in my empty flat so loudly it echoed around the walls and

came back to taunt me before the ticking of the clock took over again.

‘Please, no, not my dad!’ I shouted it so piercingly this time I felt like the world might hear it. My throat felt as if it would split I

yelled so loudly, and my voice cracked under the strain.

I lay across his back, crying so hard it hurt. My lungs rattled. My breath was choked with tears. This physically hurt.

Not my dad. No, please. Please. Please. I ran my hands over his face, then wrapped my arms around his chest, gripping on to him.

I squeezed hard. Nothing happened. My mind started to twist and turn as I lay there.

Eventually shock set in and I calmly got up and put the kettle on. No, this wasn’t right. I was definitely imagining the whole thing.

I’d been under a lot of stress lately. This was just a figment of my imagination. You hear about this kind of thing all the time, don’t

you? Don’t you?

The water boiled so hard that the kettle rattled against the work surface. Teaspoons clattered in a pot. I got two mugs. One green.

One blue. I poured the water into them, on top of teabags and sugar. I needed to be good to myself. Give myself a moment to take in

my promotion, everything that had happened. Dad will wake up soon, I thought. I poured a splash of milk into each cup, watching it

infiltrate the muddy brown water.

After a time I slowly picked up the mugs and walked into the living room. I sat there for what seemed like hours, just absorbing

the silence. I needed to give myself a break. I was clearly going mad. A doctor’s appointment. That might help. I would tell my

doctor that I was seeing things. Imagining things. Terrible things that weren’t actually there. My phone rang. It was Nick. I ignored

it. I looked at the clock, it was 7.30 p.m. already. Darkness was creeping into the summer evening, slowly, through the blinds.

A while later, I broke the chasm of quiet. ‘Dad, your tea’s ready,’ I said quietly. He would come in any minute, I just knew it.

Shuffle shuffle. That was my father’s trademark noise. Maybe I should get his tablets ready, I thought. But then the stabbing

realisation started to creep into my mind, and the image of him on the floor kept flashing before my eyes. The haunting silence

remained unbroken. I rubbed my eyes hard with my fists, trying to wipe the visions away. It never happened, OK? My bottom lip

wobbled uncontrollably.

I tried again, just to be sure. ‘Dad. Tea’s ready.’ My voice was getting hoarse now.

No sound. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. ‘Your tea, Dad. Come on, hurry up – it’s getting cold.’

Tears started to leak from my eyes again, but I felt nothing. Numbness had spread like anaesthetic. They dripped on my lap and

my fingers. They collected in the base of my neck like a swimming pool. I bent over and touched his mug. It was cold. Stone cold.