Chapter 31
LYRA
One and a Half Weeks Until My Sister’s Wedding
I used my sister’s hen party – an all-day spa in Northumberland – as an excuse not to cover the Stroud wedding last weekend. As it turns out, Mandy told me Guy didn’t show anyway, and one of Dave’s other singers replaced him.
I’m sure the Strouds were disappointed but hey, every wedding has a glitch, and they still ended up as husband and husband by the end of the day, so all’s well that ends well… for some people.
Meanwhile, my sister asked me today if I intend to bring Guy as my plus one during the day at her wedding because she needs to submit the final table plan to Earl’s Castle.
So I told her honestly, ‘I don’t know. Though, given I haven’t heard anything from him since our blow-up a week ago, my best guess is no. ’
And when she turned my hurt into panic about her, that Guy needs to turn up because he’s supposed to be performing on her wedding night, I told her, ‘He’s a professional. He’ll be there.’
Honestly, I hope he doesn’t drop her in it but I just don’t know.
Tonight, Mum has been held up at the hospital, so I came over to my parents’ house to make Dad’s dinner but, in truth, I’m happy to be here with company.
Dad has insisted that he load the dishwasher tonight, since I roasted a chicken and made us both Caesar salad. I’m sitting in the hideaway on my piano stool, occasionally striking a note, mostly staring into space, trying not to help Dad every time I hear a dish fall too heavily into the machine.
I’ve started playing Coldplay’s ‘Sky Full of Stars’, falling into the tune after playing the same few chords on repeat.
Dad near shocks the life out of me when he appears in the doorway. None of my family come in here these days.
‘Keep playing,’ he tells me, coming to sit into the wingback chair closest to me.
‘I always liked listening to you play.’ He speaks slowly, steadily, thinking about each word and forming it as best he can, which is pretty good these days, especially considering he was close to non-verbal at one point.
When I’m finished the song, I stop, hands on my thighs, staring at the sheet music in front of me.
‘Play me something from the man who’s put the biggest smile on your face that I’ve seen in as long as I can remember.’
I breathe in, not sure if I want to, knowing I’ll do it because Dad has asked. Also knowing that I don’t need sheet music for a few of Guy’s songs, not least because I’ve been teaching him to play them himself recently.
So I play, and in my tone-deaf voice, I sing intermittently too, mostly in the choruses. When I stop, Dad asks, ‘Why are you sad?’
Sighing, I close the lid on the piano and shuffle on the seat to face him. ‘We had a fight. Probably the fight. I haven’t heard from him since.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he tells me. ‘But in my experience, couples only fight over things they care about.’
‘I’m not so sure, Dad.’
He pats the arm of the chair and I go to sit by him.
‘Tell me about him.’
‘He swears too much. He dropped out of school when he was sixteen. He grew up in a council house in Jarrow. And he’s a wedding entertainer with no clear view of what his next step is in life.
‘His band was… Well, you know how much I loved The Hand Me Downs. But he’s broke now because he gave all his money to other people. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders so that others don’t have to.’
I glance down to find Dad smiling at me.
‘And he’s the most talented, incredible man,’ I admit. ‘He makes me feel like I could be anyone and go anywhere, do anything.’ Pierce my bubble, I think. ‘He makes me dizzy with how much I want to be near him even when I can’t get any closer to him. He’s perfectly imperfect.’
Then I tell him about the fight, spilling it all until there’s nothing left to say.
Dad nods. Just nods. Choosing now to revert back to being a man of few words, when I’ve basically just poured my heart out about the man I’m in love with. Who I’ve screwed everything up with.
Dad squeezes my hand where it rests on my leg.
‘Lyra, I pretended to myself when you lived here that you weren’t babysitting me but now that you’ve moved out, I know that’s what you’re doing.
I love you, but do you know how undignified it feels to be watched over by your daughter?
I’m a grown man. My issues are my own and I don’t need to be hand-held through life. ’
‘Dad, I?—’
‘Don’t deny it. It is possible that Guy wants to stand on his own two feet before he lets you carry his load.’
‘What are you saying, Yoda?’
‘Don’t give up on him yet.’
I lean my head against his and sigh.
‘Also, I’ve asked your mum to retire, at last,’ he says. ‘Life’s too short to work this hard for this long and I’d like to spend some time with her, doing things we’ve always wanted to do.’ He shifts to kiss my scalp. ‘I suggest you do the same.’
‘That’d be great, Dad, if I actually knew what that was.’
‘I think you do know, you have just stopped yourself from wanting it. You knew when you dropped out of medicine, then life got in the way of your dreams. It’s time for us both to move on now.’ Sweetheart.
Half an hour later, Dad insists I stay downstairs whilst he settles himself to bed upstairs, and I pick up a notepad and paper.
After breakfast the next day, I choose one of my favourite photographs from my dark room at home.
At work, in the studio, I frame it and wrap the whole thing in brown paper.
Then I type and print my article about Guy and stick it to the front in an envelope marked Guy on one side, and on the other, If you want to know what my article would have said, this is it.
If not, don’t open it, but the picture is a gift. I want you to keep it.
I deposit it against the wall beneath Guy’s mailbox and walk away from his apartment building.