by Lisa Young
So far she had attempted soft entreaties, cross instructions, and morsels of beef at the entrance point. All to no avail. She
knew she was fighting against the clock, as Archie would be home at any minute, and at which point, her attempts to keep the sofa intact would be futile, as he would insist upon immediate disassembling of the furniture to provide a swiftly executed rescue.
Lottie was quite fond of her furniture. Although worn and a bit tatty, it had survived two children and numerous house moves in the early days of her single life, not to mention the fonder memories of her earlier forays into gay dating, where many a virgin fumble had been had late at night on that same sofa. An involuntary smile momentarily passed her lips before she gave herself a stern telling off, and instructions to get back to the task in hand.
Her mission of mercy was disturbed by a loud rapping on the front door. Glad of the distraction, she carefully straightened her aching limbs and hobbled in an ungainly fashion to open the door. A gust of cold autumnal air took her breath away, and she was reminded of the changing weather. On the doorstep stood the postman, and in his outstretched hand he clutched a small parcel, with the unmistakeable handwriting of her absent father. Thanking him, she took the parcel and put it on the side table.
Her father had an untraditional view of the world, and parenthood for that matter. Predominantly because he viewed it from the bottom of a bottle of whisky. Only the finest Scotch whisky of course, she reminded herself with a wry smile. He did, however, have a knack of picking the most exquisite keepsakes on his travels, which she regularly received in the post.
The past month, after his post had finally caught up with her, he had sent his congratulations on their engagement by way of a deer antler that had been inscribed with an ancient wedding poem. Alice baulked at the idea of displaying it in the house, but Lottie had found it thoughtful. It was currently gracing the utility room wall, hopefully serving as a reminder to Boots of what his fate could be if he continued to cause trouble.
Crouching to resume her search, she noticed that the mewling had mysteriously stopped. She dropped fully onto her knees once again, and urgently inserted her hand into the dark hole. Feeling a warm furry bundle, she extricated the first, and then the second of the two kittens. She felt a warm glow that her valiant efforts had paid off. With trepidation, she inserted her hand for the third time, wincing in anticipation of an ungrateful reminder from Stripe that he did not need her feeble rescue attempts. Feeling around in the empty cavity she discovered a small coin and a toothpick, but no Stripe. Sweeping more bravely, she reached deeper into the sofa’s interior. Despite her dislike of him, she hoped that Stripe hadn’t come to any harm. Feeling the creep of a mild panic, she sat back on her heels to re-evaluate. Maybe he’d found another way out. Her foot cramped, and as she turned to stretch it out, she jumped out of her skin!
Sitting behind her was Stripe, casually grooming his face
with one large paw, and standing behind him was Boots.
“How the bloody hell did you get out?” she bawled at the unfazed cat who moved forward slightly, to sit in silent allegiance with his prodigy, Stripe. Together the pair silently eyeballed her. What was it that she saw glinting in their scarily similar gray eyes? It looked like glee, or possibly just a cool disdain. Trying to maintain a semblance of dignity, she stared determinedly back at them, but she couldn’t shake the feeling she was staring into the eyes of a feline version of the Kray twins. In perfect unison, both rose to their feet, turned smartly on their paws and swept out of the room, as if her mere presence was a source of utter boredom. Lottie mentally noted that she must get around to putting an advert into the paper to rehome the furry nightmares. She knew Archie would protest, but she also knew that the house would be completely destroyed if she did nothing.
Lottie sighed in despair, but her ruminations were interrupted as Archie burst through the door and threw his bag carelessly to the floor.
“Mum, right, you are not going to believe what happened to Jason today! Mum! Are you listening? You can’t even make this stuff up!”
At the sound of Archie’s voice, Odie bounded into the room, knocking the package off the side table. Lottie suddenly felt an unexplained chill run up and down her spine.
“Mum! What’s wrong? You’re all pink-looking! You’ve made a right mess in here!”
Archie scooped up Odie, who had stretched to his full length, trembling with excitement at the return of a saner member of the family. Lunging earnestly at Archie’s pink cheeks, Odie managed to get in one or two welcoming licks before he was roughly deposited onto the sofa, as Archie spotted the parcel.
“Oooh, a parcel from Grandad. Cool! Let’s open it!”
Lottie smiled, despite the oddity of the usual contents of these parcels and the lack of formal contact with her father, Archie greeted a communication from him with all the innocent enthusiasm that his years commanded. Without waiting for permission, he tore the top layer of the brown paper, but Lottie halted his eager progress swooping the half-opened package from his hands.
“Come on, Archie, you know I always have to see what Grandad has sent us first. It’s the rules!”
Archie’s face crumpled in disappointment. “I don’t understand why, Mum. I know he sends weird stuff but it’s always so funny!”
Lottie couldn’t help but agree.
Since her father had set off when she was only thirteen, for what turned out to be decades of wandering, she had periodically missed having a more traditional father figure. Despite that, she couldn’t help but admire his single-minded, selfish, and yet determined approach to take advantage of life and the open road. His travels were assisted by the purchase of a small motorhome which he had proudly displayed on Facebook. In her younger years she’d had many odd parcels and postcards from various exotic locations. The longest he had been out of contact with her was for three months in the late eighties, when he had abandoned the safety of his motorhome for an adventure aboard a freight ship bound for Russia. Typically, he hadn’t fully considered the implications of international politics on his travels, but he had eventually been allowed to return to the UK courtesy of the foreign office who had confiscated his passport for a period of two months in an attempt to curtail his meandering.
Archie implored Lottie to be allowed to open the package, and she eventually relented, handing it to him.
After removing the inner wrapping of the parcel, his face crumpled with disappointment.
“Mum? Why has Grandad sent his watch and his lucky rabbit’s foot to us?”
Lottie’s knees gave out beneath her, and a wail escaped her lips. Silently, she reached out to take the plastic container into her hands, where she pulled from underneath her father’s prized belongings a note. His unmistakeable grandiose scrawl stretched out on the page.
Sensing the gravity of the situation, Archie silently pulled his mum to her feet and guided her towards the only piece of undisturbed furniture, a large and solid wooden rocker.
Her hand shook ever so slightly as she silently read her father’s words:
Sweetheart,
If you’re now in possession of the rabbit’s foot, you’ll know that my luck has run out. I always said that when my journey ended I would go out with a bang and not a fizzle. Well, my darling, it seems this is the end of the road for me. I won’t bore you with the details, but I’ve been diagnosed with the Big C and it’s seriously curtailed my preferred lifestyle. I don’t want to linger on and I don’t want long and painful goodbyes. My time is up and that is that, it’s simple. I’ve made my own funeral arrangements, a wicker coffin and a nice pine tree will see me off nicely and it’ll all be a done deal by the time you get this box. No lining the pockets of those robbing funeral directors!
Captain Tom from the pub promised a delay on the posting of this as I just don’t want you having to deal with all that post death nonsense. He’s taken care of everything and you’ll be receiving an inheritan
ce of sorts in due course. I sent a letter to your siblings too, so don’t worry, you don’t have to make that awful round of phone calls. You’ll be upset of course, but I lived my life to the full and I have absolutely no regrets. Give my watch to Robbie and the rabbit’s foot to Archie—it really is lucky you know. Put this letter in the file and raise a glass of Scotland’s finest to me, and then move on with your life.
Love as always, Pops xx
The letter slipped from Lottie’s hand, and a solitary tear rolled down her cheek.
“Is he dead?” Archie’s tremulous question brought her back to the present.
She nodded, and Archie reached out to take her hand. Softly stroking the underside in a childish gesture to comfort her, he began to cry.
LATER THAT EVENING, after Alice had made tea and Lottie had commiserated with her siblings and her mother, who was surprisingly upset, Alice had distracted Archie, while Robbie dealt with other phone calls.
Finally alone, the pair sat quietly in the kitchen nursing a glass of Glenfiddich whisky apiece. Lottie’s eyes were swollen to small slits, and a red tinge edged her delicate nose. Alice had established that Lottie’s father had indeed considered everything in arranging his funeral, as well as the disposal of his few belongings, nominating old Tom as his next of kin for the registration of his death.
Although she appreciated her father’s attempts to protect her from the inevitable practicalities of his death, Lottie felt strangely bereft of anything practical to do. She stroked the rim of her glass and stared absent-mindedly at the faded floral pattern of the plastic tablecloth. Alice gently caught her finger tips and diligently kissed each one in turn. A single tear slipped down Lottie’s swollen cheek. Letting go of Lottie’s hand, Alice sighed gently as she wiped the solitary tear trail away with the tip of a tissue.
Lottie managed a half smile, grateful for the tenderness of Alice’s obvious loving care in her distress.
“I know this may seem like totally the wrong time, Lots, but hear me out, would you?”
Lottie caught her breath, but sensitive to the serious tone of Alice’s plea, she cleared her throat and tried to give her full attention.
Alice shifted her chair closer to Lottie’s in an attempt to remove the visible space between them. She reached around Lottie’s waist and scooped towards her, meeting no resistance, until Lottie was sitting gingerly on Alice’s knee. Lottie curled up instinctively towards the comfort of her body and rested her hot cheek in the nook of Alice’s neck.
“This is what I want to say to you. Just listen, okay?”
Lottie nodded, a tired sign of assent. Assured that she could safely continue, Alice protectively curled her arm around Lottie’s waist and caught the edge of Lottie’s forearm which she stroked, absent-mindedly.
“Your dad lived his life to the full. He travelled, he drank, and he undoubtedly met a lady or two along the way.”
Lottie harrumphed with discomfort at the idea of her father and his possible indiscretions.
Alice continued undeterred. “The point is, Lots, that your dad loved you in his own unique way. He loved your boys and he will be missed, even if he has not always been physically present.”
She paused as Lottie looked towards her questioningly.
“You might not be able to appreciate it now, Lottie, but your dad didn’t want you to have to deal with all the horror that death brings. He did as much as he possibly could to minimise the impact on you. You can see that, can’t you?”
Lottie slowly nodded agreement and Alice continued. “I know you’re feeling a little lost, but I think I know what could help you get through this. Let’s get on and get the wedding planned. Let’s have a positive focus to the future, and then let’s raise a glass of the finest whisky to your dad on the day. How about it?”
Lottie’s face flooded with fresh tears. “Okay.” she said feebly, and Alice stooped to place a tender kiss on her warm forehead.
THE NEXT MORNING, Lottie was still in bed. Alice had slipped away to catch up with work at the surgery and to check on Mr. Dutton’s cocker spaniel, who was struggling to recover following his neutering operation. A dull thudding permeated Lottie’s semi-conscious state, an after-effect of the crying which she had thought would never end. Odie raised an ear and began a low growl. Lottie rolled, and pulled the duvet up over her head, swatting feebly at the dog who moved to poke a head out of the sheets.
The dull thud took on a more insistent tone, and she heard Robbie emerge from his man cave and take the stairs three at a time. Convinced the dull thudding of the door knocker must be his new FIFA game being delivered, he eagerly swung the door open, only to be greeted by a rugged looking man who proffered a set of car keys.
Confused, Robbie hesitantly reached out and took the keys. The man winked and tipped his plaid cap before disappearing down the path. As he closed the gate, Robbie caught a glimpse of a bright yellow motorhome.
He looked down at the keys in his hand and attached to the ring was a yellow motorhome keyring.
“Mum!” he shouted.
Groaning, Lottie dragged herself out of bed and gingerly made her way down the stairs.
Robbie, dropped the keys onto the kitchen table, shrugged and loped back to his bedroom muttering. “Weirdo…keys…van.”
Lottie fingered the keys absent-mindedly, as a wry smile spread slowly across her face.
“Oh, Dad,” she sighed.
Picking up the keys, she stepped lightly out of the front door and her smile widened as she was greeted by the fluorescent camper. Emblazoned across its derrière was her father’s favourite saying:
It doesn’t matter if the glass is half empty or half full. There is clearly room for more alcohol!
Squealing with excitement, she headed towards the van and wrestled with the stiff lock. Clambering aboard, she was greeted with the familiar smell of stale whisky and cigarettes which she closely associated with her father. Stepping over the boxes of clothing and the travel magazines, Lottie caught her breath as she saw the dent in the bed where her father had probably spent his final hours.
Sinking onto the small seating area, Lottie silently surveyed the van.
She picked up a stack of unopened letters which had been re-routed several times around the country.
Amongst the unopened mail, she noticed an envelope addressed to herself and Alice.
Carefully tearing open the thin envelope, she pulled out a single sheet of paper. The handwriting, she noticed, was shaky and she silently cringed, sure that this was indicative of the pain that her father must have experienced before he died.
Sweetie,
Only your old Pops again. Hopefully Captain Tom delivered the van for you. She’s called One For the Road, look after her! A parting gift for you and Alice, call it an early wedding present. Sorry I couldn’t be there to give you away at your wedding, but you know, my girl, it would only have been a boozier affair with me there. I loved this van, it took me to places I’d never have seen otherwise, and I met such a colourful bunch along the way. By the way, if Captain Tom is still around, give him a whisky and send him on his way. He’s a lovely fella but tends to outstay his welcome. I know the van will need a good clean, but I’m hoping you’ll keep the old girl going and have some adventures of your own. Marriage is an adventure, full of ups and downs, but enjoy the quiet times, too. I messed it up big time with your mum, it’s my only regret. Your time is here now, and Alice will be by your side. Raise a glass to me, would you? Oh, and I think there’s a mouse somewhere in the top bunk, best to get rid of that before the boys take a ride with you!
Lots and lots of love, Pops xx
Lottie chuckled as she recalled her father’s tall tales about Captain Tom, named as such because of his successful career as a bank robber. She remembered her father proudly recounting his reign of terror in the southern counties, halted only by having to confess to a robbery in order to avoid being done for a murder which he hadn’t committ
ed. After a ten year stretch in prison in Aberdeen, he had retired from the business, but still continued to provide much entertainment to her dad and his drinking cronies. Lottie smiled as she pulled the worn duvet around her and inhaled its musty smell. She surveyed the crowded interior of the van, memories of her father flooding her mind.
She remembered trips they had taken in happier times when, as a young girl, her parents had been contented and family holidays had been a time for laughter and fun. Usually they had involved a tent. A large family, their best memories all consisted of camp fires and long games of Monopoly. She smiled ruefully. With hindsight, she realised that the trips had probably been hard work for her mum, as she had struggled to cater for the family with primitive cooking equipment and the incessant rain and mosquitos which were familiar visitors to most Scottish campsites. Not to mention her father’s frequent disappearing acts to local drinking holes.
Gently pulling the duvet over the conspicuous dip in the old mattress, she swallowed her pain and vowed to make the most of this posthumous gift from her father. She was determined that with Alice and the boys, she would rise to the challenge of a camping adventure next spring as soon as the weather got warmer, and she revelled in the unexpected opportunity that her father had gifted to her.