by Lana Newton
And then he remembered. None of it was possible because his mother had left them months ago. He felt something deflate inside him, like a punctured tyre of a bicycle, leaving him feeling flat and empty. The last time he’d seen his mother, she had hugged him and said, ‘Now be a good boy for your father.’ Nothing had alerted him to the fact something wasn’t right. Only her kiss goodbye lasted a few seconds too long. Only her eyes were moist with tears. But that was hardly unusual.
As he lay in his hospital bed, surrounded by machines, he wanted to curl into a ball and bawl his eyes out. But he couldn’t do that. If his father came in and saw him like that, he’d call him names and laugh. He’d lean over with an intimidating sneer on his face and tell him real men didn’t cry. Tony could almost smell his putrid, booze-laden breath. For his good-for-nothing alcoholic dad, he had to be strong.
On the day he returned home from the hospital, he took what money he could find and snuck out of his bedroom window, never looking back. He hadn’t heard from his father since. Didn’t know if he was dead or alive. Didn’t give a damn. Living on the streets at 15 wasn’t a walk in the park but it was paradise compared to the daily dose of fatherly love that manifested itself in bruises and broken bones.
The day he turned 18, he finally tracked his mother down. It had taken him a while to find her. It was clear she didn’t want to be found. But it wasn’t him she was hiding from, he knew. It was his dad.
She lived on a council estate, in a foul and filthy building with paint peeling and tattered underwear on the clotheslines outside. Tony couldn’t imagine his mother in a place like this. Their house had always been immaculate and she had always been beautifully dressed. His heart threatened to jump out of his chest as he knocked on her door. He was about to see the only person in the world who had ever loved him.
A dishevelled man appeared from the flat next door. ‘What’s all this racket? People are trying to sleep.’ It was eight in the morning and the man was already drunk. Or was he still drunk from the night before?
‘I’m looking for my mother. Kate Wright.’
‘She’s not here.’
‘Is she away?’
‘She’s dead.’ The man slammed the door in Tony’s face.
Tony knocked again, begging for details. What he found out was devastating. He was two weeks late. The cancer had got to her first. He wanted to ask her why she hadn’t taken him with her, why she’d left him with that monster. After all, she had known what his dad was capable of. Was she afraid his father would never let her go if she took his only son away? Was 15-year-old Tony the sacrifice she was prepared to make for her freedom, for life without fear? And what a life it evidently had been from what he could see, three years in this hellhole. He hoped it had been worth it.
He had never blamed his mother, of course. He blamed his father. In his fantasies, his father was an old man broken by regret, who had lost everyone he loved and had nothing to live for. But in his heart Tony knew the bastard didn’t give a damn. He had never loved a living thing in his life.
To this day, whenever he saw a police uniform, it reminded him of his father and he felt a nervous tremor in the tips of his fingers. Some things never changed, not even after forty years. His father had often told him the men of their family were no good. Criminals most of them, a few cops, all cut from the same cloth. Tony spent his life trying to break the mould. All he wanted was to be a good person, and so he went to church, St Andrew’s every Sunday, in his best suit and with the most pious expression on his face. He was on the first name basis with the priest. He liked to think he was on the first name basis with God. Tony had always thought his greatest fear was his father’s temper. But now he knew better. His greatest fear had always been growing up to be just like his old man.
* * *
Claire was crying, her heart breaking for him and for herself. Shaking, she jumped to her feet, not sure if she wanted to approach him or run out of the room screaming. She did neither and remained motionless in the corner, watching him. ‘But you are just like him, aren’t you? Worse than him.’ Her father didn’t reply but looked at her with surprise. ‘Can I see your wallet, Dad?’
‘What for, honey?’
‘Don’t ask questions. Just give it to me.’
Silently he handed it to her. She peered inside but couldn’t see anything, so she felt with her fingers, searching for the silver chain. Her hands trembled too much and she dropped the wallet. Just like that first time in the hospital, the contents spilled out all over the floor and the bed. The bracelet fell on Tony’s chest. In the eerie light of his night lamp she could see that it was a charm bracelet with three doves carrying an olive branch – identical to the one she and Paul had found in her parents’ house. She didn’t pick up the bracelet but reached inside her pocket. ‘Here is the missing charm. Now you have them all. But this one has blood on it.’
Tony stared at her mutely. She whispered, ‘I know, Dad. I know what you did.’ It was like jumping in the water with your eyes closed, not knowing how deep it was. Not knowing whether there were rocks at the bottom. If you would drown or swim up.
He smiled. It was the smile she had grown to adore. It made her feel like she was the love of his life. He tried to take her hand but she moved away, jerked her body away from him. He wouldn’t sweet-talk her, not this time. ‘I know,’ she repeated. She didn’t think he heard her. She barely heard herself. ‘I know everything,’ she said, her voice breaking. What an effort, what torture it was to speak out loud of the one thing she couldn’t bear thinking about. To acknowledge the nightmare was to make it real. And she didn’t want it to be real. More than anything she wanted it to be a dream.
‘What are you talking about?’ But by the tense expression on his face, by the way his jaw tightened, by the flash of fear in his eyes, she knew that he knew. There was guilt and remorse and sorrow. It wasn’t what she wanted to see.
‘Don’t try to deny it. I found the missing charm—’ Her voice broke. She couldn’t speak of the unspeakable, couldn’t speak her mother’s name without breaking. ‘And I saw the messages in your phone,’ she croaked. ‘I was looking …’ She fell quiet. Given what she had found, did it really matter what she had been looking for? ‘Did you pay someone to pretend to be my mother?’
In the dim light Claire could see his face lose colour. He didn’t deny it, nor did he confirm it. He didn’t say anything at all. But his skin had gone white, as if there was no life left. As if her words had drained him of everything that made him human.
‘What have you done, Dad?’
He looked like a trapped animal wishing to escape. For a long time he didn’t speak, as if weighing his options, thinking of the right thing to say. Was there a right thing to say? She didn’t think so.
‘It was an accident,’ he muttered finally. He didn’t dare raise his eyes to her but looked down at the silver bracelet that was still resting on his chest.
‘An accident? You accidentally picked up a knife and stabbed …?’ Claire was suffocating and couldn’t get the words out.
‘We had an argument. You don’t know what it’s been like. Your mother hated me so much. Resented me for every time I got angry and … there was no forgive and forget with your mother.’
‘So you killed her?’
‘I didn’t mean to.’ His voice trembled. He sounded like a child. ‘For a moment I went mad and lost my temper. Only for a moment, you see. I was in darkness, falling and unable to stop. It all happened so quickly. It was as if something possessed me, I don’t even remember any of it. And when I saw the light, it was too late.’
Claire watched him, waiting for more. Was there more? Her legs trembled so much, she didn’t think they could support her. Silently she sank back into her favourite chair. The same chair where she’d sat while they watched films together, played Scrabble, laughed and read books. They did all that, even though Angela was gone. She was gone, and Claire didn’t even know it. But Tony had known it, and not a tremo
r in his body had betrayed his guilt. That was the thing about monsters. They were good at concealing what was inside their black souls. They hid in plain sight and behaved like nothing was wrong. And maybe to him, nothing was. Maybe to him, the unthinkable had become the acceptable. Who was this man in front of her? She didn’t recognise him.
He had told her he loved her mother, loved them both more than anything in the world. Told her Angela was the most wonderful woman he’d ever met. How blessed he was to have her in his life, how she’d healed him and saved him from himself. But Angela couldn’t save herself from him. If he was blessed the day he’d met her, she was cursed. Had she happened to be walking somewhere else on that bright summer’s day when young Tony was reversing in his truck, would she still be alive? Where would she be had their paths not crossed?
Where would Claire be? Would she prefer to not have been born so her mother could live, so her father wouldn’t be a murderer?
But if he was guilty of a crime, he had to pay. Why did that thought hurt so much? Because she still loved him, she realised. His crime was an aberration that didn’t affect the way she felt about him. The two were unrelated. They had nothing to do with one another, like dance and silence.
Tony was still talking. ‘She said she couldn’t take it anymore.’
‘Couldn’t take what?’ When he didn’t rely, she whispered, ‘The diary entries were about you, weren’t they? You are the angry man from my nightmares. You were the one hurting us.’
‘Not you. Never you. I could never hurt you in my life.’ He was trembling now, just like she was trembling. ‘Your mother was going through Nate’s things, finally, after all these years. She found some photographs of me with another woman.’ He looked away, wouldn’t face her. ‘I had an affair. A long time ago. It was over, it didn’t mean anything. It was nothing. But of course your mother didn’t see it that way. She got angry.’
‘I can’t say I blame her.’
‘I told her, “what are you doing? The thing you’re so upset about happened ten years ago. Is it worth crying over? It was a different time, a different life. It’s all in the past.” But she wouldn’t listen. She screamed about trust and loyalty and betrayal. She called me names, said I’ve been a bad husband. That she should have listened to her sister and left a long time ago. That she was sick of walking around on eggshells. That I was good for nothing. Told me she was leaving me, even though she knew I would never let her go because without her, I’m nothing.’
‘So you reached for a knife?’
‘I didn’t mean to. I just couldn’t let her leave.’
God had made him this way, Claire thought with horror. God had given venom to the snake and left it to bite. Was it the snake’s fault if it did what God had intended it to do? ‘You didn’t mean to? Can’t you see what you’ve done? You’ve deprived me of my mother. Not only that, but you’ve deprived me of all my memories of her. Now I’ll never know who she was.’ He was silent and only his lips were moving. Was he praying? Wasn’t it too late for that? ‘Wait,’ she exclaimed. ‘I was with you when you had your accident. I followed you to the car after …’ She shuddered. ‘I saw what happened, didn’t I?’
A sudden memory flashed through her mind, a memory so terrifying, she put her hands over her head and groaned. All she wanted was to chase the horrific vision away, back to the bottomless void where it had been hiding all these months. But it was too late.
She could see herself, happy and carefree and whistling a tune under her breath as she knocked on the door of her parents’ house. Excited at the prospect of taking her mother jogging in the park, she knocked once again but there was no answer, so she slid her key in the lock and let herself in. The house was filled with breakfast smells of burnt toast and pancakes, conjuring childhood memories of a lifetime ago. The birds were chirping and the spring sunshine was bright on Claire’s face. ‘Mum!’ she called out. ‘I’m here.’ Her voice was lost in a loud scream. Claire recognised her father’s voice, another – not so welcome – reminder of her childhood. Not again, she thought, rushing to the kitchen and stopping dead in her tracks. The first thing she saw was her mother’s body. Angela was lying on her back, her dress white like fresh snow, like a pure canvas, except for a rosebud of blood that was spreading fast until there was a small red pool on the floor. Her hair was wild, like she hadn’t had a chance to brush it yet. Her feet were bare. Claire forced herself not to cry out but her legs gave way and she collapsed on the floor. Thankfully, her father didn’t hear. He was sobbing like a man possessed, a bloody knife in his hand.
Claire shook violently now, trying to chase the horror away, watching her father, his face twisted in pain, just like it had been that day. ‘I saw what you did to Mum,’ she repeated. ‘I followed you and hid in the back of the car so you wouldn’t get away with it.’
‘I had no intention of getting away with it,’ he said grimly.
From the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice, she knew: what happened that day in the car was not an accident. A chill ran through her. Did he drive the car into the motorway divider on purpose? Was it an admission of guilt, a confession, a cry for help? In his own perverse way, was he trying to set things right?
‘I had no idea you were in the car,’ he continued. ‘Had I known that, I’d never have crashed it. I swear, Teddy Bear. I would never do anything to hurt you.’ He looked like he was about to cry. He was crying! Was he looking for sympathy? Did he want her to feel sorry for him?
‘You’ve done plenty to hurt me.’
‘Everything I did was to protect you.’
‘Protect me?’ she whispered in disbelief, fighting a wave of nausea and not looking at her father. ‘I remember now. I remember what Mum and I were arguing about. I wanted her to leave you. I told her she was foolish for not having done so years ago.’
A minute trickled by. A minute of him staring at the floor and not meeting her gaze. Finally, he said, ‘Your mother should have known better. She shouldn’t have provoked me. She knew how I could get.’
‘I can’t believe you can look me in the eye and blame her. What happened was not her fault.’
‘She knew I have rages I can’t control. They take over and I am not myself.’
‘Just like your father.’
He recoiled as if from a slap. His eyes filled with pain. ‘She should have been more careful. Instead, she humiliated me. I needed her to be forgiving and understanding. She owed me. Since the day we’ve met, I accepted her for what she was. Why couldn’t she accept me for what I was?’
‘What are you talking about? What did she owe you for?’ Claire couldn’t breathe. Her throat was so dry, she struggled to speak. ‘Poor Mum,’ she whispered.
‘I married her when she was pregnant with someone else’s child. I never blamed her. I loved her with all my heart. Everyone has a past. I accepted hers.’
Hearing him talk that way about her darling, sainted mother, dead before her time, murdered in cold blood, made Claire physically ill. Any moment now she would lose control of her body, break down and fall to her knees. She would become like him, unable to move, to run away. She would remain on the floor in a blubbering mess. What he was saying, the way he was saying it was almost sacrilegious. Blasphemous. ‘Never blamed her for what? She’s never lied to you, never betrayed you. And you did blame her. You spent your whole marriage punishing her. In return she loved you. She believed in you. She saw the best in you, despite everything. She took your side against her sister. And you isolated her from her family. You made her life living hell.’
Something resembling anger flashed through Tony’s eyes. ‘It was all Nate’s fault. He was determined to destroy our family. He took those photos of me with someone else because he wanted Angela to leave me. I thought I had dealt with him. But no, ten years later, he was back to haunt me.’
Everything went dark as a terrible realisation blinded Claire. Nate should have minded his own business, was what Claire had said to Gaby many years ago
. Suddenly it all made sense but she didn’t want to believe it. Is that why she had written in her diary that she hated her father? Had she suspected what he’d done? Or had she known for a fact? ‘The fire was not an accident.’
‘Nate was the devil’s spawn. He was conceived in sin and wicked through and through.’
‘No one is wicked through and through.’ Except you, she wanted to say but couldn’t.
‘He was horrible to everyone, petty and resentful. He despised me and hated you.’
‘You are lying.’ She knew that for a fact. She had read her diary. She had seen Nate’s photographs. Her brother had the kindest smile.
‘He resented you because your mother and I adored you.’
‘Maybe if you’d showed him a little warmth and affection, he wouldn’t have resented me quite so much.’
‘It’s hard to show warmth to someone whose sole mission in life is to defy you every step of the way. I couldn’t say a word without him screaming that I wasn’t his father and to leave him alone. Can’t you see? I spent a lifetime trying to love him. I wanted to do the right thing, if not for Nate, then for your mother. But it was impossible. You can’t love a serpent that bites you or a dog that takes a chunk out of your flesh every time you extend your hand to pat it. Nate was that serpent. He was that dog. He had never let me close.’
‘Aunt Tegan was right about you.’
‘I did what I had to do to protect our family. That’s all I’ve ever cared about. Protecting our family.’
‘Protecting us from Nate?’
‘He wanted to take you and your mother away from me.’ Tony’s voice was impassive, his face indifferent. He actually believes what he’s saying, thought Claire. He believes what he did was for the best.
‘Who are you?’ she whispered. ‘I don’t even know you anymore.’
‘Nate tried to break us apart. He threatened us.’
‘Nate didn’t threaten our family. You did. Nate didn’t betray us. You did.’