When I Met You. Jemma Forte

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СКАЧАТЬ it the, by now, very crumpled receipt.

      After a few more moments of agonising, I take a deep breath and force Gary and his inappropriate comments out of my head, knowing that what I’m about to do will alter the course of my life for ever. It’s time. Time to take control of things, time to make my own decisions. I dial the number.

CHAPTER EIGHT

      Just off Romford High Street, on a narrow side road, there’s a small café called ‘Ron’s’ where cab drivers tend to congregate, waiting for jobs to be radioed in. This is the designated spot where I am to meet my dad.

      When I got back from Hayley’s, Mum was deeply suspicious when I said I was going out again and interrogated me for ages, so in order to get her off my back, I told her I was off out to meet Jason. I know I’ll have to come clean about what’s going on eventually but, today, I just wanted to leave the house with as little fuss as possible.

      I’ve made a bit of an effort with my appearance. I’m wearing a floral tea dress and a little jacket. I’ve also plastered on the make-up. In many ways I hate Ray for everything he’s done and yet I still want his approval and for him to see me looking nice. This is too confusing to analyse at any great length, plus if I stop to think about everything for too long, my head’s probably in danger of exploding.

      As I sit on the bus – Mum needs Tina tonight – I try to read a newspaper that someone’s left on the seat next to me but can’t concentrate on the words. I’m nervous, really nervous, about seeing Ray, but also strangely excited. It’s weird. Despite what he’s put us through, I don’t think I could contemplate not trying to get to know him. Of course, the fact he’s so ill has acted as a pretty strong catalyst for me, in terms of making my mind up. It’s not like I have the choice of making him sweat for a few months before agreeing to see him. Though, with regard to that, I’m starting to wonder whether maybe he’s exaggerated his illness a bit, in order to get my sympathy. It would be rather a sick thing to do but given that I’m on my way to meet him now, effective too. My doubts stem from the fact that he looks like such a big strong man. Not one who’ll be going anywhere any time soon.

      After a fifteen-minute bus journey and a short walk along the high road, I shove open the door to the café, which was his suggestion for our designated meeting spot. It’s very full.

      I’m the first to arrive and manage to nab the only free table left. I feel a bit like a rose among thorns. Grizzled cabbies surround me chatting away, drinking their tea and eating fried food. Still, it’s as good a place as any for our meeting, plus nobody I know is in any danger of popping in. I sit for ten minutes, but don’t mind. I’m early and on the dot of quarter to eight, which is the time we’d arranged to meet, Ray appears.

      I smile nervously and half get out of my seat, hovering as I wave in his direction. Once he’s spotted me I sit back down again, awkward and clunky, unsure of how to be.

      ‘Hi,’ I say shyly as he approaches.

      ‘All right,’ he says, looking relieved to see me and just as nervous. ‘Do you want a cup of coffee or something?’

      I nod even though I don’t really want a coffee. I hate coffee.

      The café’s lighting is stark to say the least. It’s perfect for this situation though because I’m fully intent on sussing Ray out as much as possible. As he places two cups of coffee on the table I scrutinise his face.

      ‘You trying to see whether I’m really ill?’ he asks gently.

      I’m startled. Had I been that obvious?

      ‘It’s all right, I do it myself,’ he says. ‘But just so you know, I am. That ill I mean, and shit as it may be, that ain’t gonna change.’

      ‘Right,’ I say weakly, desperate for more information but not wanting to ask, in case he can’t face talking about it. However, Ray seems to pick up on my need to know more about his illness because although at first he looks reluctant about doing so, he starts to tell me.

      ‘Three years ago I was feeling really knackered all the time and then I noticed a bit of blood when I … well, when I went to the toilet and that.’

      I nod in order to demonstrate that I know what he’s getting at.

      ‘Anyway, long story short, they found out I had cancer of the colon, so I had an operation to remove half of it. After that they blasted me with chemo and radiotherapy and for a long time I was good as gold. Until a couple of weeks ago when during one of my check-ups they discovered it was back, only this time it’s spread,’ he says plainly, conveying the facts precisely as they are, so there can be no confusion on my part. ‘It’s on my liver and in my lymph and there ain’t much they can do about it. There are things they can do to help but they can’t cure it no more,’ he says, needing me to get it, needing me to be very clear on the subject. He was going to die.

      It’s so horrendous and I wish more than anything that he’d got in touch years ago. Not at this stage, when death’s hanging over everything. So much wasted time, and sad that it took something this drastic to galvanise him into action.

      ‘You’ve still got your hair,’ I remark cautiously.

      ‘Well, chemo was a while ago now but also not all types of chemo make your hair fall out anyway. It depends on the drugs they give you, which are all tailored to the individual. I got lucky,’ he adds wryly.

      ‘I’m sorry, I suppose it’s just that you seem … all right,’ I whisper apologetically, because as much as I know he needs me to accept what he’s just told me, I’m having real trouble digesting it as fact.

      ‘I am all right,’ he says, nodding in agreement. ‘I really am at the moment. In fact, ever since I got my head round the fact that there weren’t no more they could do, I’ve felt positively good. I get a bit tired and that, sometimes have trouble sleeping, but you know …’ he trailed off.

      I can’t bear it. It must be so frightening knowing what pain lies in wait. I can feel terror advancing on me like an army just thinking about it. The certainty of the end is something surely we’re not really programmed to deal with.

      ‘What about America? They probably have more advanced medicine over there don’t they?’ I say, clutching at straws.

      ‘A bit,’ he agrees, smiling ruefully. ‘But they don’t perform miracles, which is what I’d need.’

      We both concentrate on our coffees for a while until he says gruffly, ‘Nice that you seem to care a bit though.’

      I shrug, not sure what I feel really. I mean, if anyone told me they were dying I’d feel sad. It is sad. Tragic in fact. The fact he’s my father makes it even more poignant than if he were some stranger of course, and yet that’s still kind of what he is to me. What do I really know about him after all?

      I decide to swerve this potentially thorny subject and instead ask something I’m curious about more than anything. ‘So, while you’ve been going through all of this, who’ve you been with? Are you married? Do you have kids?’ My tone is deliberately light but I can’t look at him as I ask this. It’s something I’ve been fretting about all day, knowing that the answer could change my life all over again.

      ‘No. I never re-married. I was in prison such a long time СКАЧАТЬ