Chapter 32
32
On Thursday morning I woke up feeling concerned about Dad. Across the week, I’d respected his desire to have space. I’d checked in with him over the phone on Tuesday morning and he’d told me that Regan and Clarke were visiting after work so asked if I could give him some space for the rest of the day. Georgia and Keira had visited him on Wednesday afternoon and I’d spent the day with him yesterday. The results from Mum’s post-mortem had come through and confirmed what we’d all suspected – sudden cardiac arrest. How strange that my eighty-year-old mum and my eighteen-year-old son had both died from fatal heart attacks, albeit for very different reasons. Both left gaping holes behind them and a trail of broken hearts. Having Mum’s cause of death confirmed meant we were able to sort a date for the funeral so Dad and I spent most of the yesterday phoning round to let people know the arrangements.
With all those visitors and so much to do, Dad had barely left the house and that wasn’t good so I phoned him after I made my morning coffee and suggested a walk together today. He passed on my offer but phoned back within the hour to say he’d changed his mind and getting out into the fresh air would be very welcome. As he hadn’t spent much time in the fells since Mum’s back problems started, he didn’t want to go anywhere too strenuous but, equally, he’d prefer somewhere there weren’t hordes of people. That was going to be a challenge. It was Good Friday, sunny and mild so there’d be people everywhere, somewhat limiting our options. I ambitiously suggested Latrigg to the north-east of Keswick but, when we approached it, we could see a stream of people making their ascent or descent.
‘Why don’t we try the old railway?’ I suggested. ‘If it’s just as busy, we can return to Willowdale and walk round the lake instead.’
The three-mile former railway line ran from Keswick to just outside the village of Threlkeld and was popular with walkers and cyclists as well as being pushchair and wheelchair friendly thanks to the smooth tarmac surface. Those wanting an extended circular walk could cross over the main road instead of turning off to the village and follow the route back into Keswick via Castlerigg Stone Circle. Dad and I decided to take the circular route but, if the popular stone circle was too busy, we could walk straight past it.
We were about halfway along the railway track when Dad announced that he’d spoken to Flynn this morning. My stomach lurched at the mention of his name and what I knew would be coming next.
‘I’ve invited him to the funeral.’
I’d already found out from Georgia that Dad had rung Flynn on Monday, wanting the news to come directly from him.
‘Is he coming?’
‘Yes, but he isn’t coming to the inn afterwards.’
‘Because of me?’
He sighed. ‘He said he doesn’t want to cause any tension on an already difficult day.’
We continued on in silence and I tried to make myself say the words I was certain Dad wanted to hear – I’ll call him and let him know it’s okay – but I couldn’t do it. This was hard enough without throwing a telephone conversation with Flynn into the mix.
‘I was wondering if you could—’ Dad started.
‘I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s right that he comes to the funeral and I think he should come to the wake too but please don’t ask me to tell him that myself.’
‘Why won’t you speak to him, Mel? I don’t understand.’
That made two of us! ‘It’s complicated. And I know some people think that’s a pathetic non-excuse but it’s all I have. You can tell him he has my blessing to be there, but I’m not going to get in touch with him to give it myself.’
‘I just think that, if you?—’
‘Dad!’ The word came out a bit louder and harsher than I intended and I apologised. ‘Can we drop the subject, please? You asked for space this week and I’ve respected that. Not talking about Flynn is my request and I’d appreciate if you respect that in return.’
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m not convinced that avoiding him is the right thing to do but I’ll respect your wishes.’
‘Good. Thank you.’
‘If you ever do want to talk…’
‘I appreciate the offer, but I’m fine and dandy.’ I cringed inwardly. Fine and dandy? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d used that old-fashioned phrase and, truth be told, I was anything but fine and dandy, but the last thing I was going to do was unleash it all on my dad with what he was going through right now.
We walked in silence for several minutes and I hated the tension between us. I needed a subject change.
‘So, good news, Dougie’s team are almost ready to start working on the boat house…’
It couldn’t have been a better distraction. With Dad sharing my passion for history and old buildings, the conversation flowed all the way to the stone circle. We talked in more detail about the restoration of Willowdale Hall, the other projects I was working on now, and the various projects I’d worked on while I was living in Newcastle.
‘It’s looking busy,’ I said as we reached the trail of cars parked on Castle Lane – the road running alongside the stone circle. ‘Go in or go past?’
We paused by the first entrance and looked into the field where there were people wandering between the stones, taking in the views and posing for photos.
‘I’ve seen it busier,’ he said. ‘Let’s go in.’
Several children and a few adults were clambering onto the smaller stones and I sighed inwardly. There were signs at the entrance stating no climbing and it frustrated me when people ignored that, especially at a site which had been around since about 3000 BC and needed preserving. A cyclist had even propped his bike up against one of the taller stones.
‘I know,’ Dad murmured, catching me scowling. ‘Drives me mad too. Don’t look at it. Look at the view instead.’
We walked round the circle and stood at the far end of the field. Potentially one of the earliest of the 300-plus stone circles in Britain, the views from Castlerigg were second to none. Overlooking the Thirlmere Valley, the vista took in the fells of Helvellyn and High Seat.
‘It’s so beautiful,’ I said.
‘That’s why I proposed to your mum here.’
My head shot round. ‘You did? Why didn’t I know that?’
He shrugged. ‘I guess it never came up.’
‘Would you tell me about it now? Only if it’s not too painful.’
He smiled. ‘That memory could never be painful.’
Dad had worked in the finance department for the water authority all his life, surviving through many changes over the years and finishing his career as finance director. I knew that my parents had met there but I realised I didn’t know their story. When he’d mentioned in his speech at Mum’s birthday that it had taken him eighteen months to ask her out, that had been news to me.
He told me that, when he was in his early twenties and Mum was in her late teens, she’d joined the typing pool and he’d thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He’d wanted to ask her out but she was really confident and popular and he was quiet and shy so he couldn’t imagine she’d be interested in him. She often spoke to him but he thought she was just being nice. After a couple of drinks at the Christmas party eighteen months later, he braved asking her to dance and was stunned when she said yes. While they danced, she told him that, if he asked her on a date, the answer would be the same. So he did ask, she said yes, and then she proceeded to give him a lecture about what a tiresome eighteen months it had been making up reasons to visit the finance department and dropping subtle hints that she liked him. I smiled at the thought of her giving him what for. She’d never have asked him for a date outright – it hadn’t been the done thing back then – and it tickled me that Dad had been as useless at noticing subtlety as I was.
‘That sounds very much like Mum,’ I said.
‘She was everything I’d ever hoped for in a partner and a million things more. I knew early on that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and just needed to find the right time to ask her. I brought her here on the first day of spring, telling her it was to watch the sun set, but it was really to ask her to marry me. I knew how much she loved reading love stories so I wanted to do something romantic. I’d prepared a poem and everything but I was so nervous. I couldn’t stop fidgeting and, just before the sun dipped out of sight, she turned to me and said, For goodness’ sake, Bruce, are you going to ask me to marry you or do I have to get down on bended knee myself? Knowing it was going to be a yes gave me the confidence to do what I’d intended to do.’
‘Aw, that’s lovely. And I hadn’t realised Mum was quite so feisty back then.’
‘She’s always been feisty – just like someone else I know.’ He raised his eyebrows at me and I smiled.
‘So what was the poem?’
‘Oh, gosh, it was awful and poem was a stretch – more like a few rhyming lines. Let’s see if I can remember it.’ His lips moved as though reciting it. ‘Got it!’
Spring is here, which brings new life
The flowers are pushing through
Please say yes to being my wife
I’ll never stop loving you
Spring is here, a brand-new start
The birds are in fine song
To you, my dear, I give my heart
I’ll love you my whole life long.
‘Aw, Dad, that’s beautiful.’
‘And I did,’ he whispered, his eyes clouding with tears. ‘I loved her my whole life long. I just wish we’d had longer.’
I hugged him tightly and we stood there for several minutes in this place that I hadn’t realised was quite so special to him. Other than that sticky moment regarding Flynn, it had been a lovely walk full of interesting conversations but one thing had concerned me – that Dad seemed on exceptionally good form for someone who’d lost his wife less than a week ago. But holding him now, it was clear that he was struggling just as much as the rest of us. He’d already shared that he was of the stiff upper lip generation so I hadn’t expected him to break down in floods of tears in front of me, but it was comforting to see some emotion.
‘Thanks for sharing that with me,’ I said as we left the stone circle and set off down Castle Lane for the last stretch of our walk into Keswick. ‘I know you won’t like this question, but how are you really doing?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Fine means a million different things. Define yours.’
He laughed at that. ‘My fine is fine. I wish with all my heart that what happened on Sunday hadn’t happened but I can’t change it.’
That didn’t really answer my question but I wasn’t going to push him any further.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said after a while. ‘But you can stop worrying about me. When you lose someone you love, I know how important it is to give way to your emotions instead of bottling it all up but, like I said to you and Georgia, I’m not the sort of person who’ll do that in front of others. That’s private but the important thing is that I’ve done it.’
I could feel his gaze on me and wondered if that was a dig at me about Mum or perhaps even about Noah. Or both. I had kept it all bottled up and it terrified me that one day soon the bottle might become too full and the cork would spring out. It would be like opening up one of those cans full of springy worms and them escaping everywhere. If I could just shed a few tears, maybe it would be enough, but they just wouldn’t come. Maybe they would at the funeral next Friday. When they did, I just hoped that it would be a bit of seepage and not the uncorking of the bottle because I couldn’t help thinking that, if and when the cork did come out, it would be carnage.