One More Song

by Nicki Edwards

  ‘Maybe you should write him a letter. Even if you never give it to him, it’s a good place to start. Get your thoughts sorted.’

  She met his eyes and smiled, and for a brief second his pain disappeared, replaced by something comforting. He was glad he’d come to see her but he needed to change the subject. Talking about his father had always caused him grief, but it was worse now than ever before.

  ‘What about your parents?’ he asked after a while. He knew Eddie lived next door to her grandparents, but didn’t know why. ‘You never talk about them.’

  She let out a long, slow breath. ‘Mum died when I was young. That’s why I’m so close to Frank and Daisy. They raised me.’

  ‘Eddie, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘And your dad?’

  ‘I’ve never met him.’

  She crossed and uncrossed her legs and her mouth thinned. She clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but he was curious and couldn’t help but ask, ‘You’ve never met him?’

  She shook her head. ‘My mum fell pregnant when she was eighteen. My ‘father’ apparently left town straight after I was born and I didn’t find out about him until I was older.’

  ‘Who was he?’

  ‘Mum’s science teacher.’

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Twenty-four.’

  ‘And no one at the school knew they were in a relationship?’

  ‘It wasn’t a relationship. He took advantage of her.’

  He raised an eyebrow at her tone. ‘What happened when people found out about it?’

  ‘About her pregnancy or the fact her teacher seduced her?’

  ‘The teacher. Did he get fired? Isn’t it against the law for a teacher to have a relationship with a student?’

  ‘It wasn’t a relationship. And besides, no one knew. According to Nan, Mum went through the entire pregnancy refusing to tell anyone who the father was.’

  ‘Surely someone guessed.’

  She shrugged. ‘People probably had their suspicions. As you know, it’s a small town. But Nan said Mum kept his identity a secret until after I was born.’

  ‘Why?’ There had to be more to this story.

  ‘I have no idea. Embarrassment? Fear? Maybe he threatened her if she said anything.’

  ‘Or maybe they were in a relationship and she truly loved him and knew he’d lose his job if anyone found out,’ Harry suggested.

  ‘I’ll never know.’

  ‘She never told anyone the whole story? Not even your nan?’

  ‘No one as far as I know.’

  ‘What happened after you were born?’

  ‘According to Nan, he left town. That’s when Mum admitted he was my father.’

  ‘Have you ever tried to contact him?’

  ‘No. Once I knew he’d done a runner on Mum and me, I figured I didn’t need him in my life.’

  ‘But he could have raised you after your mum died.’

  Her eyes flashed and for a moment he felt guilty. Had he pushed her too far?

  ‘Why would I have wanted him to raise me, Harry? He wasn’t my father. He was a man who rejected me. Abandoned me. He left town and no one ever saw or heard from him again. Not even Mum.’

  He stayed quiet, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘Sorry, I know that must sound harsh and like I’m still cut up about it, but I’m not. It’s just that it was a difficult time when I found out. I was only thirteen. Honestly I generally try not to think about him anymore.’

  ‘I guess that’s totally understandable. But if you wanted to find him now, you could easily track him down.’

  She let out an irritated huff. ‘I don’t want to find him. It was never something I wanted to do then and I don’t want to now. I had Mum. And I didn’t need him. Don’t need him,’ she quickly corrected herself.

  Time to move on. She might deny it, but it was evidently still a sore spot. He smiled. ‘Psychologists would have a field day with us and our issues with our absentee fathers.’

  She frowned. ‘Your father wasn’t absent.’

  ‘Physically, no, but emotionally, yes’

  ‘Always?’

  Harry considered Eddie’s question for a moment as the past rushed up and threatened to choke him. This was his sore spot. ‘To be fair, when I was little he was okay.’ Memories flooded and washed over him as he recalled how as a little kid he’d always been in awe of the size of his father’s hands. ‘He used to push me on this swing he hung from the tree out the front. He taught me to ride a bike, and once he built me the most incredible go-cart, but I always felt like I disappointed him. I was never sporty, and I remember him getting frustrated that I couldn’t swing a cricket bat. Once he accused me of bowling like a girl, which upset Mum and Claire and he apologised. After that, once I’d tried unsuccessfully to play football, tennis and hockey, he stopped suggesting I play a sport. When I got interested in singing at school and tried out for the school musical, he couldn’t handle it. Then he realised I wasn’t planning to take over the farm, that’s where the problems really started and we drifted further apart.’

  ‘That’s sad, but at least you have the chance to do something about it now.’

  He sighed. ‘True.’

  The gnawing disquiet of the past week barged back in, painfully reminding Harry that he and his father needed to fix things between them before it was too late. He envied the easy father–daughter relationship Claire had with him, and on more than one occasion had lamented to her that the only thing he shared in common with his father was DNA. There was so much distance and complication between them that he had no idea how he was supposed to bridge the gap.

  ‘I’ve got all these thoughts running around inside my head,’ Harry said, ‘and no idea how to fix things with him.’

  Eddie smiled. ‘Relationships are always complicated.’

  That was an understatement.

  ‘How old were you when your mum died?’ he asked.

  Sorrow filled her eyes. ‘Nearly nine.’

  ‘Cancer?’ he guessed.

  ‘Yeah. Ovarian. The last two years of her life were full of pain and suffering. It was horrific.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you and your grandparents.’

  She took a drink before replying. ‘To be honest, I realise now that what I do remember is through a child’s eye. I went to school every day and came home. Some days Mum was awake, other days she was asleep. We moved in with Nan and Grandad when Mum was too sick to look after me, so even when she was bad, Nan was always there. In many ways Nan was more of a mother figure to me anyway. She came to all the school concerts, the swimming carnival and the parent-teacher interviews. Mum was too sick.’

  ‘I presume that’s why you became a nurse?’

  She nodded. ‘One of the reasons. My nan was a nurse too.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘Love it. It’s a privilege, especially palliative care. That’s my main area of expertise. The best part of my job is when I can encourage families to take their loved ones home to die. It makes me feel like justice has prevailed. The system might have failed my mum, but I’m not going to let it fail other families.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Mum spent her final weeks in hospital when all she wanted was to die in peace at home. But in those days they didn’t do as much palliative care in the home, so she died alone in hospital surrounded by sterile-coloured walls, instead of at home where she would have been surrounded by the people she loved. Including me. In my opinion, everyone should be allowed to die with dignity in their own home.’

  A lump lodged itself in Harry’s throat. This was the exact same discussion he’d been having with his mum and Claire. ‘I disagree,’ he said.

  Eddie turned to look at him, pushing the brim of her cap up.

  ‘Mum wants to set up a hospital bed in the lounge room when it’s time for Dad to go, but I don’t want
him dying at home.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because every time we walk into the lounge room we’ll remember him dying there.’

  ‘For some people that brings a sense of comfort.’

  ‘I don’t think it will bring comfort for me. I think I’d find it really hard.’

  Eddie nodded. ‘A lot of people say that. What does your dad want?’

  He shrugged. ‘I haven’t asked him.’

  ‘Has anyone had an end-of-life discussion with him?’

  ‘Not that I know of. Maybe someone at the hospital has, but it’s not something I want to talk about. Not with him, and definitely not with Mum. She still thinks he’s going to be miraculously cured.’

  ‘You need to talk about it.’

  ‘I guess. But it’s hard. We all know he’s going to die but no one wants to talk about it. You know, the old elephant in the room thing.’

  ‘You have to talk about it,’ Eddie repeated. ‘And you have to remember your father has the right to die wherever he chooses.’

  ‘I’m just not sure having him die in our lounge room is the right thing to do. I know it sounds selfish, but what if that’s not what I want?’

  ‘And I know this is difficult to hear, but what if that’s not your choice?’

  He exhaled heavily. She was right. He’d rarely come home over the last few years, yet as Claire had accused him, he was trying to make decisions on behalf of his family like he had a right. He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘It’s just so hard.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But everyone’s going to die, Harry. You know that. The single most defining act of our life is that it will end.’

  ‘How philosophical of you,’ he scoffed. ‘So you’re saying we should surrender to the morbid reality that we are mortal, accept the news from the doctors and simply wait for the inevitable?’ She stared at him in surprise and instant remorse hit him. ‘I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I guess what I’m asking is, what are we supposed to do while we’re waiting for the end to come? I know Dad’s condition is terminal, and I personally think it’s crazy Mum’s still praying for a miracle, but does that mean we should just put him in a bed in the lounge room and sit around watching him, waiting for him to die?’

  ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to sit around watching him. He’d want you to spend every moment making memories with him. When the time’s right –’

  He cut her off. ‘The time is never right for someone to die.’

  She jerked back as if she’d been slapped. ‘You don’t think I know that too? Even more reason why you need to empower your dad and offer him as much freedom of choice as possible in his final days. My mum wasn’t that lucky. She didn’t have that option. Think about it, Harry, this disease has already robbed your father of so much, why would you also want to take away his last chance at having a say in something as important as where he dies?’

  ‘So you’re telling me you happily let people die.’

  A dark flush spread up her neck. ‘No. Don’t put words in my mouth. I said my role is to heal, which also means to prevent pain and suffering however I can. My calling, my job, what I do as a nurse is all about supporting life. But sometimes, in my observation, people spend so long fighting death – fighting the inevitable – that they miss the opportunity to live the last part of their lives well. And on their own terms.’

  ‘Right now Dad’s already missed that opportunity because of this bloody disease.’

  ‘And I get that,’ she replied.

  A deafening silence dropped between them.

  ‘Why are we arguing about this?’ Eddie asked finally. Her voice cracked, and when he met her gaze and saw the tears in her eyes, he felt terrible.

  He reached for her hand and squeezed gently before letting go. ‘I am so sorry, Eddie. That was bloody insensitive of me. Of all people, you would understand.’

  ‘Yeah, I do. I understand what it’s like for someone to miss out on living life. My mum’s disease was different from your dad’s, but it still took her away from me too soon.’

  For a long time the only sound was wind in the trees and the twitter of birds. A chasm of hurt sat between them and it was all his fault.

  ‘I hear what you’re saying, Harry, but if we were to do it your way – continue to pump chemotherapy drugs into bruised veins and ventilated air into the lungs of dying patients – how is that helping them live? The issue is, lots of people think talking about death is worse than blaspheming God. They don’t want to talk about it, they only want to talk about cures and treatments and miracles, and raising funds for more research. Sometimes we have to accept some things are inevitable and seek peace instead. Please, Harry, don’t devalue the beauty of your dad’s life by focusing only on his death. Accept he’s going to die, then help him live every last moment the way he wants to. Even if that means choosing to let him be at home when he draws his final breath.’

  They sat, their drinks unfinished on the table in front of them, neither of them speaking for a long time. A heavy cloud covered the sun and a cool breeze whipped around them. Somewhere above their heads a plane droned, but Harry couldn’t see it. He thought about what Eddie had said. Was he really devaluing his father’s life by focusing on his death and not on the life he’d led? Perhaps, as Eddie suggested, it was time he pulled the walls down between them and really talked to his father – find out about his life and what made him the man he was today.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eddie,’ he blurted.

  ‘That’s okay.’

  He took her hand and this time didn’t let go. ‘No, it’s not okay. I’ve been an opinionated sod. I came around today to spend time with you and all I’ve done is complain and carry on.’

  She shrugged and dodged his stare. ‘It’s all right, honestly, I understand. You’ve got lots going on.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean I had to be rude.’ He turned to face her. ‘I really like you, Eddie.’ He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘Although you probably think I’ve got a funny way of showing it.’

  A blush crept over her cheeks. ‘I really like you, too.’

  He thought his heart would melt. ‘Can I make it up to you?’ He shuffled closer and fought the overwhelming desire to kiss her. ‘I know it’s late notice, but do you have plans for New Year’s?’

  Her head snapped up.

  ‘Would you like to come out with me? We could have dinner at the pub then hang around and listen to the band.’ He smiled. ‘I think it’ll be better than The Rams.’

  ‘On one condition.’

  He waited.

  ‘If they have karaoke you have to get up and sing for me. Aimee told me you’re really good and I’d love to hear you sing properly.’

  He groaned. ‘My pub-singing days are over and karaoke is not singing properly. Come to the concert next week and you can hear me sing then.’

  She rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘All right. If I have to.’

  He chuckled. ‘I know you’re not a fan of opera and musical theatre so I’ll clearly have to prove you wrong. Anyway, is that a yes for New Year’s?’ He stared into her eyes, willing her to say yes.

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘It’s a yes.’

  Chapter 17

  It was nearly nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve and Eddie decided to have one last drink before leaving. She was supposed to meet Harry for dinner at eight but there was no sign of him and he hadn’t answered any of her texts or calls. He’d either changed his mind and stood her up or something had happened to his dad again. Despite their differences in opinion the day before, Eddie figured it was the latter. He’d left her place on a better note and in a better frame of mind, wrapping her in a big hug, kissing her on the cheek and thanking her for her honesty. He said she’d given him a lot to think about.

  At the time their disagreement had rocked her, but she was glad they’d talked it through, and she was also glad she’d been bold enough to stand up to him and give her opinion. Jarrod would have changed the
subject mid argument and started talking about something else. He also would have stuck to his guns and refused to entertain the idea that someone had another suggestion or thought worth listening to. Harry might have disagreed with her, but at least he’d been willing to listen to her views.

  It had taken her ages to settle and fall asleep, and not just because of their argument. Unknowingly, Harry had sown a seed. Why hadn’t she ever searched for her father? Not so she could meet him and get to know him, but so she knew who he was. It would be good to know his medical history at least. If he was on Facebook, unless his profile was set to private, it wouldn’t be too difficult to see what he looked like. Curiosity had burned strongly and she’d nearly given in and opened her laptop before she talked herself out of the crazy notion. She had no need to know or meet the man who shared her DNA. It wouldn’t change who she was.

  She massaged her temples where a headache had formed. She usually enjoyed hanging out at the bottom pub but tonight it was almost oppressively stuffy; despite the air conditioner working overtime, it was doing nothing to cool the place down.

  Unlike Eddie, everyone else seemed to be having a fantastic time. The walls reverberated with their chatter and laughter. Over the top of the music blaring from the sound system came the frequent crack of billiard cue against balls. The place was literally packed to the rafters with revellers out for a good time. If the number of glasses piled up behind the bar was any indication, there would be a lot of people with headaches tomorrow. As long as they walked home, Eddie didn’t care how much they drank.

  She took a sip of her own drink and gazed around at the crowd. She recognised at least half of the people there. The local farmers were the ones wearing nothing fancier than khaki work shorts and T-shirts or tank tops, opting for a dress code two rungs down the ladder from ‘neat casual’. Those who were trying to impress the ladies had taken a razor to their usually scruffy beards. A handful of the men were slightly more dressed up than the rest – if chinos and untucked checked shirts or polo tops could be described as ‘dressed up’. They all nursed beers, either Vic Bitter Gold or Carlton Draught – the most popular beers on tap at the hotel.