Time to Say Goodbye: a heart-rending novel about a father’s love for his daughter. S.D. Robertson

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СКАЧАТЬ hands out in front of me and tried to push them into the wood. Nothing. I didn’t get thrown backwards as I had after touching Ella or the paramedics. I just couldn’t move past it. Next I tried to turn the handle, although that was no use either. My hand stopped upon reaching it, but I couldn’t feel or exert any pressure on it.

      I went back to trying to pass through the door. I imagined myself doing so, pushing through like it was made of liquid. I even tried running at it, shouting and screaming, hoping my anger might unlock some hidden ability. But nothing worked. I really was trapped until Ella came in to get a jumper from her wardrobe a short while later and I was able to exit the traditional way.

      The death knock came just after lunch. I’d been expecting it. I’d been out on plenty of them myself early in my career; little had I imagined that a few years later I’d be the subject of one. Considering my family circumstances and the way in which I’d died, it was inevitable that a local newspaper reporter would call at the house soon.

      ‘Can you get that, Tom?’ Mum shouted from upstairs, where she was plaiting Ella’s hair.

      ‘Right,’ Dad shouted, stubbing out the cigarette he’d been smoking at the back door and trudging through the hall. He was a big man, although he was one of the lucky few who carried it well. Thanks partly to his strong jawline and broad shoulders, he’d managed to stay handsome in spite of the extra weight. He enjoyed his food and drink and rarely rushed anywhere; today he was even slower than usual. He opened the door to an attractive girl in her mid-twenties.

      ‘Hello there,’ she said, wearing her best sympathetic smile. ‘I’m awfully sorry to bother you. I’m Kate Andrews, from the Evening Journal. We heard about the horrific accident yesterday involving William Curtis. I just wondered if a family member was available for a quick chat. We’re very interested in running a tribute article.’

      I smiled to myself. ‘Tribute’ was the term I used to use on death knocks. I’d always found it an effective way of getting the family onside.

      Dad, whose years as a solicitor had fostered a distrust of the press that I’d never been able to shift, demanded proof of ID. After he’d given her pass the once-over, he left her on the doorstep while he went to confer with Mum.

      ‘Come on, old man,’ I said, the journalist in me realizing it would be hypocritical not to allow her an interview. ‘Give the girl a break.’

      ‘What do you think?’ he asked Mum. ‘I’m not convinced it’s a good idea.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Do you really want our private business splashed all over the news?’

      ‘I’m sure it’s what Will would have wanted. He was a journalist, after all. It’s only right there’s a tribute to him in the local paper.’

      ‘Really? And what if they get it all wrong?’

      ‘Surely that’s more likely if we don’t talk to them, isn’t it? There’ll be a story one way or another, Tom. They won’t just ignore it. Better we have some input.’

      ‘Well I’m not getting involved. You speak to her, if you must. But don’t let her put words into your mouth and steer clear of talking about the accident – particularly who might have been to blame. I’ll take Ella out for a walk. I don’t want her involved either.’

      I decided to stay to hear the interview.

      ‘Thanks for agreeing to speak to me,’ Kate said, sipping on the cup of tea Mum had made for her before they sat down in the lounge. Mum was dressed casually, in a navy cardigan and jeans; I noticed she’d applied some lipstick and combed her short dark hair before coming downstairs. I could see she was trying her best to put a brave face on it.

      ‘That’s okay. It only seems right, what with Will being a journalist too.’

      ‘Really? I had no idea. Who did he work for?’

      ‘He used to be a staff reporter on The Times. He was based in London at that point but moved back up north about six years ago and went freelance. He still mainly writes – sorry, wrote – for The Times, but he also did work for other national papers and some magazines. I’m surprised you’ve not heard of him.’

      Kate didn’t get another word in edgeways until she’d been subjected to a gushing, cringeworthy history of my entire career, from my days on a local weekly up to the present. She eventually got the chance to ask a question about my family life. I saw her eyes light up when Mum explained I’d been a single parent; that Ella’s mother was also dead.

      ‘Ah, now we’ve got your interest,’ I said, peering over her shoulder at her shorthand notes. ‘Yes, it’ll make a decent news story. Nothing like a good tragedy to shift a few papers. You never know, it might even make front page.’

      ‘How’s Ella dealing with it?’ Kate asked. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how she must be feeling.’

      I was furious. ‘Don’t give me that fake sympathy shit!’ I shouted. ‘Leave her out of it. She’s just a little girl.’

      Mum shuffled on the couch. ‘I, er, don’t really want to go into that.’

      ‘Of course,’ Kate replied. ‘I understand. What about you and your husband, then? It must have been such an awful shock.’

      Calm down, I told myself, shocked by how easily I’d flown off the handle. It’s okay. Mum can deal with this. The girl’s doing her job, that’s all; I’d have asked exactly the same things.

      ‘Yes,’ Mum whispered. She took several deep breaths before adding: ‘It hasn’t sunk in yet. We’re both still in shock. No one expects to outlive their children. It’s like we’re on autopilot, holding things together for Ella.’

      Once Kate had gleaned all the information she needed to write her story, she asked Mum if there was a picture of me she could borrow to run alongside it. Well, she actually asked for a photo of me with Ella, but Mum had the good sense to say no. She rooted around in her handbag and pulled out a small leather wallet containing snaps of her nearest and dearest. There was an old one of me that I’d never much liked. She stared at it for a moment and I feared she was about to start crying. But after fanning herself and taking some more gasps of air, she held her composure.

      ‘How about this? It’s not that recent, but it’s a nice picture of him. It shows off his lovely blue eyes.’

      ‘Yes, that’ll be ideal.’

      ‘He’d not changed much, apart from a few more grey hairs. They started to come in his twenties. Probably caused by stress. He was handsome, don’t you think?’

      I cringed as Kate was forced to agree.

      ‘You will look after it, won’t you?’ Mum asked her. ‘It’s precious. I need it returned in one piece.’

      ‘Of course. I’ll drop it back in a couple of days, if that’s okay. Thanks ever so much for chatting to me. And sorry again for your loss. I hope everything goes all right with the funeral.’

      ‘Thanks, love. You will make it a nice piece, won’t you? The last thing we need is any more upset.’

      Kate flashed that sympathetic smile of hers again. ‘Of course. СКАЧАТЬ