by Daniel Hurst
‘I’m going to resign tonight. I don’t want to work at the bank anymore.’
With that, I head for the door, calling my father’s bluff and wondering if he will shout after me or let me go. If he really is confused, then he will let me leave. But if not, then I suspect he will put up a fight to prevent me from leaving the bank, where he has worked so hard to create a lasting legacy for himself and his family.
‘Wait!’
His command stops me in my tracks, my hand on the doorknob and my back to his bed. When I turn around, I see my father is now sitting up, and he doesn’t look quite so confused and distressed anymore.
‘Don’t be so pathetic! Why are you letting him win? Did I raise a loser? I think not!’
I remain standing by the doorway, stunned by my father’s outburst, but he doesn’t stop.
‘Coming in here moaning about Alastair and whoever else is giving you grief at work. What has gotten into you? Where is your backbone?’
‘Dad?’
‘You have no idea what it takes to be the boss! You couldn’t possibly know what it takes, yet you come in here and make out like I’m the one who has done wrong. You’re letting me and our family name down with your behaviour!’
I’m stung by the words, but more than that, I’m aghast at my father’s aggression. He looks consumed with rage as he sits there snarling at me and writhing in his bedsheets.
Right now, he doesn’t look like my father.
He looks just like the man Alastair told me he was.
‘It’s all true, isn’t it?’ I realise. ‘You made Alastair’s life hell. You made all their lives hell, didn’t you?’
‘So what if I did? That was how they learned. What good does it do to be kind? That was not how I chose to lead my employees, and I should hope it’s not how you choose to lead yours either.’
‘A young man killed himself because of you!’
‘A weak young man who couldn’t handle life!’
‘You don’t mean that!’
‘Yes, I do!’
It’s clear he isn’t lying, and that makes this so much worse. He genuinely doesn’t care that he caused somebody to end their life, and as I look at him now, I feel like I don’t even know this man. Perhaps that’s why I feel like saying the thing I know will hurt him the most.
‘I’m not the manager at the bank,’ I say, shattering the lie that I told him years ago to make him happy as his illness was taking hold. ‘I lied to you, and I’m not even sorry for it anymore. I hate you!’
It’s harsh, but in that moment, I mean it. My father is stunned, but I go on.
‘Have you any idea the pain you have caused me, never mind others?’ I go on. ‘Years of my life have been miserable all because somebody was punishing me for things you did to them! And now I find out somebody killed themselves because of you.’
‘Imogen, calm down.’
‘No, I’m not going to calm down! How do you think this feels to find out that you’re a monster!’
‘I’m hardly a monster.’
‘That’s exactly what you are, and I can’t be around you anymore.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘I can’t visit you. And I can’t work at that bank anymore. I don’t want any of it. The promotions. The pay rises. The power. Not if it corrupts. Not if it’s going to make me turn out like you!’
I’m almost as surprised at my outpouring as my father is, but before I can leave, he gives me his final parting shot as he leans out of his bed towards me, his arm raised in my direction and his face strained in frustration.
‘I knew you didn’t have what it takes to get to the top. Well, go ahead and quit and see how far you get without my help! Good luck with that!’
I’m incensed, but my swift exit is cut short when I see my father suddenly clutch his chest and start gasping for air.
‘Dad?’
He’s struggling to breathe, and he is grimacing in pain.
I think he’s having a heart attack.
‘Imogen!’ he gasps as he keeps a hand on his chest and leans forward in his bed, but he’s not getting any better, and I need to act quickly.
Or at least I should act quickly.
But after what he has just said to me and what I have learned about who my father really is today, I hesitate, and it’s only for a moment, but it’s long enough to make his situation even worse.
I should call for help. I should get somebody. I should do something.
Suddenly springing into action, I race towards my father’s bed and press the alarm that will send the nurses outside scurrying in here. But that will take time, and I’m not sure my father has enough of that right now.
I grab his hand, the one that isn’t clutching his chest in agony, and plead with him to keep fighting just long enough for somebody to come in here and save him. As I do, I see the fear in his eyes, and it’s almost as if he is aware of what is about to happen to him.
‘I’m sorry,’ he tells me, forcing out the words in between terrifying bursts of pain emanating from within him.
‘Just hold on, Dad!’ I cry, my eyes stinging with tears as I feel the man who helped bring me into this world now starting to depart it himself.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he repeats, and it seems important to him that he gets this off his chest before it’s too late. ‘It’s all true. I bullied Alastair, and I bullied Simon. It was wrong. But I’m not a bad man. It was just the job. It was the pressure of it all. You have to believe me.’
The door bursts open behind me, and I turn to see two nurses rushing in, their uniforms pristine but their faces a picture of concern.
I step away from the bed to give them both room to work, and if I was in any doubt of the seriousness of the situation, it’s removed as I watch them giving my father CPR.
But he isn’t responding.
I think they are too late.
Is that because I hesitated before calling for help?
Perhaps.
All I know now is that my father is dead, and I am left to think about his final words to me.
46
There are a lot of things that need to be done now that my father is dead, but I’ve neglected all of them for the time being and instead gone to the airport, where I hope to catch Alastair before he boards his flight back to the States. I found out what time his flight was leaving from Katherine, and I am hoping I have made it here before he can pass through security and disappear beyond the barriers. If not, I will have to have this conversation over the phone, and it would be much better in person.
Walking into the busy terminal, my eyes scan the electronic screens to give me some hint as to where Alastair could be in this crowded hall. I see the check-in for flight 270 to JFK has now opened at Desk F, so I make my way over there as quickly as possible, rushing through the throngs of holidaymakers and businesspeople who are all trying to get to where they need to be with almost equal gusto.
Spotting the giant F above the sea of passengers’ heads, I scan the crowd for any sign of the man I am looking for. But I can’t see him, and I fear I am too late. That is until a rather large gentleman in a Hawaiian shirt crouches down to unzip his suitcase, and I spot Alastair standing right behind him.
‘Alastair!’ I call out, and the CEO turns and spots me, quickly looking as confused about my appearance as I would expect him to be.
‘Can you come out of the queue?’ I ask when I reach him. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘We’ve done enough talking,’ he replies, and it’s obvious he would prefer to go back to the way things were between us before he flew over here. But things will never be the same now.
‘My father is dead,’ I say to make that clear, and that gets his attention. I nod to confirm it’s true, which makes him leave his place in the queue and follow me to a quieter part of the terminal, wheeling his small suitcase along behind him.
‘What happened?’ Alastair asks me when we’re out of the way of everybody, and I proceed
to tell him what went down, including the part about my father not denying Alastair’s version of events when I prodded him into confessing. The only part I leave out is about how I hesitated and stood by and watched him take his last few breaths when there was a possible chance I could have saved him. Alastair doesn’t need to know that, only that my father is no longer around.
‘I thought you should know,’ I say. ‘After everything he did to you and to Simon.’
Alastair isn’t quite sure what to say to me, and he is probably trying to figure out if this is me telling him that I forgive him for what he did to me now that I know the reasoning behind it. In that case, I’d better leave him in no doubt about what I am really here for.
‘What my father did was wrong, I know that. But what you have done is wrong too. What happened to you all those years ago doesn’t give you the right to put somebody else through that, especially when you know how it can turn out.’
I’m still shaken by Simon’s suicide but not because of how awful it is by itself. It’s also because there were also a few dark moments in my own life when I felt I wanted a quick way out from the suffering I was enduring at the hands of my bosses. Thank God I didn’t do anything stupid because these men were not worth it.
Nothing is worth a thing like that.
‘That’s not all,’ I tell Alastair as I take out my mobile phone and hold it up in front of him. ‘On here, I have a recording of our earlier conversation about how you have been treating me and the reasons why. I don’t need to tell you that this would be extremely damaging to you and most likely result in the end of your stellar career if I was to hand it over to HR.’
Alastair looks shocked at my revelation that I recorded the pair of us in private conversation, as well as no doubt fearing for his future.
‘But I’m not going to do that, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because there has been enough honest and hard work ruined by the actions of too many people in this company, and I’m not going to contribute to that. Instead, I’m going to delete the recording and let you get on with your life, just like you should have let me get on with mine when I made my mistake two years ago.’
‘Imogen, I don’t—’
‘Save your breath. I don’t want to hear any excuses or apologies or whatever else you are going to try to give me because I don’t care to hear any of them. I really don’t. I just want to never see you again, and after today, I know that I won’t.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I’m leaving the bank,’ I tell him as I put my phone back into my pocket and prepare to walk away. ‘I’m handing my notice in tomorrow, and I’m getting as far from that place as I can for the rest of my life.’
Alastair suddenly looks remorseful, almost like my father did in the last few moments of his life.
‘Look, I know what I did was wrong, but you shouldn’t throw your career away over this. It’s over now. Your father is gone, and I have no reason to keep punishing you. Not after today. It’s time this came to an end.’
‘You’re right about that, and my end is going to be particularly conclusive. I’m getting out of this environment before I end up like the rest of you. Old, bitter and very, very twisted. Have a safe flight.’
With that, I turn and walk away in the direction of the large exit doors at the other end of the terminal, satisfied that I got across what I needed to. I have let my foe know that I could have ruined him but have chosen to be the bigger person and step away before things get even worse for all involved.
As I leave the terminal and go to find a taxi that will take me back to town, where I am facing all sorts of tasks that need sorting in the face of my father’s passing, I pause for a second and take a deep breath. It feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders, and while I’m not sure I can put it down to just one thing, I am positive that leaving the bank is the right thing for me to do going forward. It’s time for a fresh start, away from the place where my father once ruled several unlucky individuals with an iron fist and where I spent so many years being ruled in a similar fashion. I have no idea what I am going to do, but I am going to figure it out, and I am almost certain that I will be a lot happier doing it.
After managing to find a vacant taxi, I relax in the back passenger seat as the driver takes me back to town, all the while trying to focus on the future instead of the tumultuous past. But that’s easier said than done, and I know I will have many testing times ahead of me in the coming days and weeks as I try to process everything that has happened today and everything that the man I loved and trusted once was.
Dad is gone now, but like all children, my parent’s spirit will live on within me, and I guess that accounts for both the good and the bad parts. That’s a slightly daunting thought, but it is what it is. I can’t change it. All I can change are my actions from this day forward.
Things are different now.
But one thing has changed.
I no longer have to worry about the boss.
Any boss.
Epilogue
The turnout for my father’s funeral reflects just how many people he touched when he was alive. From family to friends, there are plenty of mourners here at the church today to pay their respects at his passing, and it’s nice to see some familiar faces. It’s nice because despite what I learned about my father at the end of his life, this final chapter of it should be about the positive, and a strong attendance at his funeral is about as positive as it could get.
I grip Evan’s hand as we walk away from the church to where the final burial will take place among the rows of headstones that poke out of the ground and serve as monuments to the past, as well as reminders about what is coming for us all in the future. As we make our way through the graveyard, I reflect on the sombre ceremony that just took place in the crowded church as hymns were sung and readings were given. One of those readings was mine, and I took my chance to stand up in front of the group of mourners and say a few words about my father and the lasting legacy he has had on my life. There were all sorts of things I could have said with that audience hanging on my every word, and it was as perfect an opportunity as any to reveal that my dad was not quite the man people thought he was. But I played it safe and stuck to the script, which might have seemed like the easy way out for me, but for anyone who knows what I have been through, I think I deserved an easier way out now.
I spoke about my father’s drive and work ethic, how when I was a little girl he would rise early in the morning before I would wake and how he wouldn’t return home until I was being tucked into bed at the end of the day. I talked about how I never really understood what he did for a job when I was young, but I was always impressed by his smart suits and, most of all, his willingness to go out every day and keep doing whatever it was that he was doing. I discussed how he urged me to follow him into the banking industry when I was at an age where I was drifting in life and didn’t know what I wanted to be, but also encouraged me to chart my own path at the bank when I did take him up on the offer of an internship. I made sure that the audience in the church knew that there had been no handouts or free rides for me in my life just because of who my father was and that everything I had accomplished was all my own work, just like everything he accomplished was his and nobody else’s. I’m not sure if I was emphasising that point more for the people in attendance or for myself, but I emphasised it anyway, and it felt like something I needed to do.
And I had closed with my favourite memory of my father, the time when he came home late from work one evening when I was six years old, and despite knowing I was most likely asleep, had crept into my room and sat on the edge of my bed so that he could spend a few minutes with me. As a little girl, all I had wanted was more time with my busy dad, and it was a struggle to get it, but he always tried to find a small window of time in the day, and sometimes that meant right at the very end of it. It’s that memory of my father that I have done my best to hold on to in the time since his passing. I know now that h
e wasn’t a perfect man, and he certainly wasn’t somebody who acted responsibly with the significant power he had in his workplace over the years. But now he is gone, I will remember the good times.
I will remember him as a parent rather than as the boss.
Evan and I eventually reach the hole in the ground where my father will be laid to rest, and I see that the coffin has already been placed inside by the pallbearers as the rest of the mourners were making their way out of the church. Looking back across the graveyard towards where the men and women in their black outfits are walking away, I spot Helen and her husband, and I give her a wave before she departs. It was nice of her to come here today and offer her support, and I appreciate the gesture, especially since being here and seeing so many old colleagues from the bank would have reminded her of how she lost her job there. But just like I am trying to do, Helen has moved on too, and in fact, we are moving on together now. Having handed in my notice at the bank the day after my father died, I contacted Helen and asked her if she was interested in becoming a partner in the business that I was thinking of starting myself. She jumped at the chance, and while there is a lot of work to do for us to get something profitable off the ground, we are very much looking forward to it. It’s a fresh start, and as Helen said, who doesn’t want to be the boss? I had laughed at her comment, even though being the boss is not what attracted me to the idea of starting my own business. That’s because I know it is not as fun as people like to think it is, and it is also why I will be extremely careful going forward because I know now that being the boss doesn’t just mean reaching the top.
It can also mean hitting rock bottom too.
After a few words and a sombre moment of silence, the first spadefuls of dirt are tipped onto the coffin, and I watch as my father is buried, having joined my mother in the afterlife and leaving me now as a child with nothing but memories. Evan knows I need support, so he makes sure to keep a hold on my hand as we turn away and head down the path that leads back to where the hearses are parked, the black cars that will deliver us to the site for the wake, which I hope will be a little more uplifting. After today, I will return to my office and serve out the rest of my notice period, counting down the days until I get to walk away from the bank forever and the daily reminders of Michael, Alastair, and indeed my father’s image hanging on the wall.