75. Ollie
Chapter 75
Ollie
The last time Mr Porter asked for a tour of the van, I told him I wanted him to wait until she was completely finished. He’s been pretty patient, but now I’m on my final days of work, there’s no point holding off any longer.
I hang back while he looks around like he’s inspecting the place. He does this on jobsites too, because he’s the one who has to deal with the fall-out if something hasn’t been done to his standard.
With a smile on my face, I watch him pull out drawers and click them back into place, run his hand over the tiling, check the seals on my shower unit. I still can’t believe I managed to fit one in, and when I get a minute I need to think about what that kind of extra flexibility that gives me. I won’t need to always stay within a day of camp sites.
“This is good work, lad. I’m bloody impressed.”
My chest swells with pride. I’m never going to hear anything close to this from my own father, so I’ll take all the compliments I can get.
“Bet you had a good teacher,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around me for a half hug, half pat on the back. “Let me see up front.”
He climbs into the driver’s seat and inspects his surroundings.
“You sure this is secure?” he asks, pressing his palms against the overhead storage bunker that’s accessed from the back of the van.
“Climbed in there myself to check,” I reassure him.
From the front it doesn’t seem like it would be that big, but it’s enough space to store all my clothes and shoes, spare pillows, and outdoor gear I won’t need every day. I can also stash my guitar safely, so she’s not bumping around when I’m on the road.
“Oi, oi! What’s this then?”
I glance over just in time to see him pull the strip of photo booth paper down from the visor. The photos of me and his daughter cuddling up on what was the happiest day of my life. Time freezes and my throat tightens as red rises from his neck to his forehead.
“Mr Porter, I can explain.”
He levels me with a stare that turns my stomach. “You little shit.”
“It’s not what it looks like—” I start, then stop myself. “No, actually, it is what it looks like. There's no easy way to say it, so I'm just going to come right out with it. I'm in love with Megan.”
“I put you in that house to keep her safe, not to lead her astray.”
Lead her astray?
If anything, I’ve been the one keeping her safe and sound all year. Who protected her from a shitty date with bad intentions? Who stepped in when she was about to sign-up for a sperm bank? Who worked day and night to fix her room when it flooded?
Right from that first night, when she was still recovering from her head injury, it was me who was there making sure she ate a proper meal and didn’t push herself. It was no hardship, and I’d do it all again. It’s not like I’ve been stealing her clothes and watching her sleep.
OK, that last one I have done, but when she’s snoring softly in my arms, not through a fucking peephole in the wall.
“I haven’t done anything inappropriate, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Get out.”
“But, this is my van.”
“Just get out, Ollie,” he snaps. “Give me a bloody minute to think.”
I hop down from the passenger seat and slam the door behind me, slumping back against the side of the van. Now this is more like being with my father. A few sharp words and I’m right back there, being scolded for doing things that made me happy, or more often, for not doing things that made him happy.
If Megan wasn’t planning on telling her dad about us, I certainly wasn’t going to, but I know I haven’t done anything wrong. I’m sick of being treated like a kid by everyone who thinks they know what’s best for me.
I know my own heart, and I can’t help it if I fell for her.
When I peer back through the window a few minutes later, he’s studying our photos more closely, a half smile on his face. I chance my luck, popping the door and peeking my head back in.
“Are you OK?”
“I’m sorry for snapping at you. It just came as a shock, that’s all. You have to understand, and maybe you will one day, but that's my daughter. My only daughter. My pride and joy. No man will ever be good enough for her. She's got her plan, she's on her path, and she deserves way better than guys like us.”
“Yeah, I understand,” I tell him, climbing back in. “I feel exactly the same way. She's incredible. I don’t for one second think I'm good enough for her, but Megan doesn't think she's good enough for anyone or anything.”
Finally, he meets my eye. “What are you talking about? She's perfect.”
It’s not my place to talk about Megan behind her back, that’s a rule I set for myself early on. But if I’m leaving, and she’s staying, I need to know she’s got people around her who understand how tough she finds things.
“I agree with you there, but do you know how much pressure that puts on her, to be perfect for everyone? To put everyone else's happiness before her own? She’s got big dreams for herself, but she never asks for anything, never complains, never wants for more.
“Did you know she's covering two jobs at work? She says she loves her job, but I’m not sure she does anymore. She's stressed all the time, she can't ever switch off and properly relax. She's constantly trying to fix herself because she's convinced she's broken. She thinks she should be grateful for everything she's got, but everything she does is to make other people happy. She never puts herself first.”
I’m gasping for air by the end of my rant, and god it feels good to get that off my chest. There’s nobody in my life I can talk to about her, and clearly that’s been building for a while.
“She looks happy here,” he says, handing the photos over. I reach up and tuck them back behind the visor.
“She was. That’s why I asked her if I could have them.” Right before I opened my big mouth and ruined everything between us. “So I had something to remember her.”
He looks confused.
“I asked her to come on the road with me.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” he groans. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack now?”
“Don’t worry. She said no. She’s looking for ‘a forever kind of love’ and apparently I’m not it.”
“What does a young lad like you know about love?”
“You were younger than me when she was born, so don’t tell me young people don’t know shit about love. I’ve seen the way you are with your family, you’re telling me it wasn’t always like that?”
He rolls his eyes, looking away and then back again as my words sink in.
“You’ve got me there,” he sighs.
We sit in silence for a long minute. I’ve said all I need to say.
“She’s always been a go-getter, our Megan. Always coming up with these plans for herself, and everything she wants, she goes after all guns blazing. She wanted to go to university, and she got the grades to make that happen. She wanted to live with Hattie, we helped her find a place. She wanted to be a teacher, we welcomed her home whenever she needed a quiet place to study. And we weren’t pushy parents, you know? We supported her with whatever she wanted to do. Kept our mouths shut when we didn’t agree with some of her choices, but all we ever want is for Megan to be happy.”
“That makes two of us.”
Her happiness means more to me than anything, and as painful as it is, if Megan wants to stay, I won’t try to convince her otherwise.