The Things I Should Have Told You. Carmel Harrington

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СКАЧАТЬ I close my eyes to rest for a moment. It feels peaceful and I think, this wouldn’t be a bad time to go.

      After a while, something changes and a tension seems to hover in the air like large ice particles, ready to drop and pierce our heads any minute.

      I open my eyes half expecting to see the grim reaper standing over me. But the room is empty except for Olly. His whole demeanour has changed, his shoulders hunched and his fists are clenched by his side.

      ‘Lad? What is it?’ I ask.

      ‘Life just seems too fucking complicated right now,’ he says.

      I look at my son and think for the first time that I can remember, he looks every bit of his forty years. I hear the clock tick tocking in the background, reminding me of my limited time left. Not now. I need more time, damn it.

      I want to say something that will proffer some change, melt those blasted ice particles before they do any damage.

      This is my big opportunity to dispense some father-like advice and make a difference. Here goes. ‘Life can be as complicated or as simple as you want it to be.’

      Olly snorts. That went well.

      ‘You need to take control of your life.’ I wince inwardly as I realise that I sound a bit like one of those cagey inspirational speakers.

      ‘How am I supposed to do that?’ Olly says with irritation and I don’t blame him. My advice is falling short. I need to come up with something better than soundbites, no matter how true they are. How can he take control back? That is the million-dollar question, lad, no doubt about it.

      ‘What do you want from life? That’s as good a place as any to start with,’ I say.

      ‘I’m losing my family. I want them back. I want my family back.’ His sincerity strikes me dumb.

      I wait for him to continue. I can see him grappling with whether he should talk, whether it is fair to burden me or not. He knows I’m in pain.

      And as soon as I think the word ‘pain’, the dull ache that has been nagging me for the past hour begins ramping up and demands more of my attention. I sit up straighter, try to find a more comfortable position, so I can continue. I smile at Olly as I do so, to urge him to keep talking.

      ‘Look at me, Pops. Washed up at forty years old with no job. Evie is lucky to be alive and we’ve not even scratched the surface on that problem. She’s still not telling us what really happened. I don’t buy that bullshit, that she was experimenting with alcohol to celebrate the start of her school holidays. It’s too out of character. Jamie is back to pissing in his bed. He’s not done that since he was three years old. Don’t tell me that’s not related to the trauma of finding his sister half dead in her bedroom. And then there’s Mae. Pops, she can barely look at me any more. Who can blame her? She can do far better than me. And that’s not even the worst of it. What about … what about you? I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet, Pops.’

      ‘Yes, lad. Your life is, without doubt, complicated right now. No one could disagree with that.’

      I know that I’ve got to somehow find a way to make a difference, before I’m gone and it’s too late. I grapple to find the right words, feeling ill equipped to give my son something to help assuage his obvious pain. Unlike the cancerous pain I’m enduring, there’s not a pill he can take to ease away his aches. He has to work through them, sort them out as best he can himself, without any numbing narcotics.

      I’m not sure that there are any words that will help prepare him for my soon-to-be fate. Are we ever ready for a loved one to die? No. And even though there will be no surprise when it’s my time to go, I know that he’s not ready for me to leave.

      I need more time, but I know that’s one thing I don’t have any more. Tick tock.

      ‘I can’t sleep at night worrying about the what-ifs. How did I not see that something was going on with Evie? I’m supposed to take care of her. I’m supposed to be her hero, to save her,’ Olly says. ‘I let her down.’

      ‘Sure, that’s the greatest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. You’re good parents, good people. But even the best can’t get it all right all the time.’ I point my finger at him to illustrate how emphatic I am about this point.

      There it is in all its glory – self-doubt – one of the ugliest of our inner turmoils, glaring out of my son’s eyes.

      ‘I. Should. Have. Seen. It. Coming,’ Olly spits out, his voice rising with every word he says.

      ‘You can raise your voice all you like, but that doesn’t make your bullshit any truer,’ I say.

      He stops at my words and half-laughs, saluting me with the tip of his hand. ‘It’s a while since you’ve used that line on me.’

      ‘It’s a statement I’ve used to good effect in many a battle of wills. You were a stubborn little fecker as a kid.’

      ‘You used to say it to me all the time. Must remember it for the next time Mae shouts at me,’ Olly laughs.

      ‘Don’t you be using my good lines to score points with your wife,’ I say. But I’m smiling too. Olly starts to fidget and I think that he’s about to leave. But I don’t want this conversation to end. What if it’s one of our last ones? I haven’t said everything that I need to.

      ‘Was I a good father to you?’ I ask him. ‘Don’t lie, lad. Speak the truth, now.’

      I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. I want the truth, of course I do, but in the name of God, please don’t let him tell me I was a crap father.

      ‘The best,’ I exhale in relief.

      ‘But did I make mistakes?’ I say again. ‘Were there times that you thought, fuck you, Pops, and the horse you rode into town on!’

      Olly looks shocked at this and begins to shake his head in denial of the statement.

      ‘Liar! You know there were times when I got it wrong. But that’s okay, because in the main I got it right and you always knew I loved you, even when I messed up. Right?’ I demand.

      Olly smiles at me and says, ‘I always knew that you loved me. And you didn’t get it wrong often, Pops.’

      I’m grateful for his words.

      ‘Thanks, lad. But I’m not fishing for compliments from you, although I’m not sorry to hear them. I just want to illustrate that it’s okay to have the odd bad day, as long as in the main you get it right. You can’t be Evie’s hero every day of the week, can you? Even Spiderman gets the odd day off. The girl needs to live her own life, make her own mistakes, learn from them and she can’t do that if she’s under her parents’ coat tails.’

      ‘But every time she goes into her bedroom, I’m worried sick about what she could be doing in there. I tell you, Pops, it’s crossed my mind to put in cameras so I can be sure she’s not downing another bottle of fecking vodka!’

      ‘Would you whist, lad. Let the girl have her privacy. Sure, God knows, when you were that age you spent half your life in your bedroom and you’re still alive. Don’t tell me you didn’t have a sneaky drink back then.’

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