Oskar Blows a Gasket

by Claire Davis

  “He’s not going to die?”

  “No, not as far as I know. You just have to be gentle, and let him go slowly. All he does is talk about you.”

  “Are you sure he’s not going to die?”

  ****

  Gareth remembered watching Dad’s face when he was small, looking for clues. If he’d seemed cross, it was time to retreat to his room, or if there was no room to simply sit quietly without looking up. It wasn’t that Dad was ever angry with him—he’d given no reason—more he didn’t dare risk it. If Dad was happy, Gareth had still watched, waiting, making sure.

  He jumped at the hand on his shoulder. “You OK, son?” It was Jim, who constantly hovered, checking temperature and pulse. “He might not wake for a while. Why don’t you put the telly on? You’ve been sitting here ages, doing nothing. Can’t have you bored, now.”

  “No. I don’t want to disturb him.” And that was the truth. Throughout all the years of his childhood, he’d had to make sure he gave Dad no trouble, in case he got bored. Dad always got bored of things—women, jobs, houses, countries… He flitted like a dragonfly across trees, bestowing his attentions and then moving on.

  Jim perched on the arm of the chair. Gareth didn’t respond in any way, but he watched from the corner of his eye. There were always helpers and hangers-on, as desperate for Dad’s time as Gareth. He’d learned to be polite and distant—the perfect combination.

  “You might find him a bit different to how he used to be. Not that I knew him before the accident. Everyone is different after that type of injury.”

  Gareth sensed the hesitation in Jim’s voice. He was building up to something. Sometimes the other people in Dad’s life had been jealous of Gareth in ways no kid could have understood. At least, he thought it was jealousy. At first, they’d be ultra-friendly and frightening, then dismissive, and occasionally cruel.

  “He might never recover. Not completely. Not enough to make films again.” The thought hung in the air, not solid enough to grab but enough to imagine; a dad who wouldn’t be a film star. “But he’s going to live.”

  Gareth turned to face Jim. “You’re Welsh?”

  “No, I’m from Chester originally. I was working in a very specialised home for retired theatrical types—actors and actresses, you know? In London. Always worked around clients like that. I was looking for something different, though. Then my agent called me about this client looking for someone wanting knowledge of Wales.” He nodded, as if Gareth would understand. The pain of a stranger knowing far more than he did about Dad’s life was not new. He started to ask more, then stopped. Jim nodded. “Go on, son. Ask away. If I was you, I’d have a million questions.”

  “When was the accident?”

  Jim narrowed his eyes and put his head on one side. “Let’s see—I started in August this year. Your dad was speaking but only just. He’d been out cold.” He tapped his leg with one finger. “So that takes it back to about Easter time, I’d say.”

  Gareth did frantic inner calculations. Dad had dropped him off at school in July, eight months before the accident. Eight months when Dad hadn’t read his letters or bothered to call him, or school. Eight months.

  “Oh, now. Have I said the wrong thing?”

  It wasn’t the longest time he’d been forgotten—four years ago, Gareth had been left with a tutor and a nanny for nine months with no contact, not even a postcard. “How did he find me? And how come my school didn’t know about the accident?” He knew better than to ask, and demand. Doing so was a slippery slope. “They didn’t know about the accident. I’m sure they didn’t know.”

  Jim shifted and took Gareth’s hand. The shock made his lip begin to tremble. He would never have let that happen before, but now, time and lack of practice had left him weak. “They told me they couldn’t reach him.”

  “I’ll let him tell you the details because it’s not my place.”

  “And why wasn’t it on the news? Dad’s always on the news. For being arrested or collapsed. They follow him everywhere.” Gareth’s voice was getting louder. He clamped it shut before it could do any more damage. Jim sighed. “There was nothing. He just vanished!” And then he thought of Oskar, who would never put up with being ignored and forgotten. Jim’s arm slid around his shoulders, and squeezed.

  “Well. I don’t want to be saying anything I shouldn’t. But what I do know is he changed agent and fired all his team. I think it was the very week of the accident! So his new staff hadn’t ever met you, see? Nobody had any instructions about you or the school.” Jim squeezed harder. “I can’t remember exactly the details—but there was some sort of media shutdown. I don’t know. It was all hush-hush.”

  “They didn’t know he had a son,” Gareth said flatly, like it didn’t matter. “Nobody knows. He forgot to tell his new agent about me. If he’d been killed, I would have learned about it on TV.” He pulled away from Jim. All those people had been by Dad’s side when he almost died, but not his own son. As he shuffled, he looked towards Dad. He was awake and so he saw Gareth’s face and tears before he could change it fast—the way he always did—to happy-happy. For a second, their eyes met and a lifetime of truths collided.

  “Gareth?”

  It wasn’t like in the movies when Dad acted. He was famous for the ability to show real emotion while somehow always looking handsome. There was not one movie when he’d looked ill, and weak or wincing with pain. He beckoned with his hand. Gareth couldn’t look, so instead he knelt in front of the sofa with eyes down.

  “You’re right. I forgot to tell them about my own son. About the person who matters more to me than anyone or anything.” He leaned his head on Dad’s chest. “Sorry is not going to cover it. I don’t know how I’m going to talk to you or get to know you, but I’d love to be given a chance.”

  Gareth sat up on heels and wiped his face. “If I was Oskar, I’d shout. I might even push you.” He laughed shakily. “If I’d been him, you wouldn’t have forgotten me.” He rushed to help as Dad tried to move his legs, groaning. “What can I do?”

  “Help me sit up?”

  Gareth cautiously moved the cushions and Dad’s feet. “I don’t want to touch you wrong. Should I get Jim?” Slowly he inched Dad’s legs back to the ground.

  “In a while. I guess he’s disappeared so we can talk.” Dad patted the sofa. “Sit next to me so I can see you. My eyes can’t focus so good. There’s so much I want to say but mostly I want to listen.”

  “Oh god,” Gareth leaned close, so they were touching. “I’m no good at talking. That’s what went wrong in school. It’s what always goes wrong.”

  “I don’t agree. All those years you were trying to talk, but I didn’t see. It’s funny, really—now I have appalling vision but I see better than I did then. I read all your letters, honey. I didn’t get them until after I came out of the coma. I read them every day. I’m going to go through every little thing you said. If you want me to?” He groaned again and rubbed his legs. “Hope it’s time for the meds.” He checked his watch. “Yeah, any minute.”

  Gareth watched him, wincing. “Does it hurt a lot?”

  “Yeah, but don’t worry. I’m on the mend.” He kissed Gareth’s head. “I mean it—about wanting to get to know you—the real you who wrote those letters. No more dancing around me, OK? Say what you feel.”

  Gareth shrugged. “I don’t know what I feel. Wrecked?” He instinctively moved away as Jim came into the room carrying a glass and something in his hand.

  “Here you go, Mike. These should help.” Jim looked from Gareth to Dad. “If you don’t mind me saying so…” he began.

  Dad laughed. “He’s always saying so. It’s why I hired him. No more ass-kissing for me. First time he followed you at the hostel, he called and told me I was a stupid wanker for letting you go.” Gareth drew breath. He smiled uncertainly. Dad’s staff never interrupted or corrected him. “And that I deserved a good slap.”

  “And so you do!” Jim winked at Gareth. “These famous types
need telling. But I was going to say—you two should go slowly. Start at the beginning. No need saying it all in one sitting! Tell him about your boyfriend, for starters.” He chuckled. “Little shit.”

  After he left, quiet hung in the air. Gareth thought frantically of what he could say to make it easier on Dad, but all that came up was Oskar, who was good at moody silences and atmospheric pauses, interspersed with eye-rolling. “He’s called Oskar.” Saying his name felt good.

  “You’re thinking about him?” Dad nudged his side. “I can tell because you get this little smile I’ve never seen before.”

  “I do? What’s it like?” Gareth asked, intrigued. He was once again plastered to Dad’s side. By now, he knew Dad would be itching to get up and away. He could only stand so long being near, and though he’d been great at cuddling when Gareth was small, there had always been a sense of the cuddling being over.

  “Well, it’s kind of secret, and you look down like you don’t want the world to see or know about it. But then your face lights up,” Dad said. “And now, your eyes are shining too.” He nudged Gareth again. “See? Already we’re breaking into new territory. We never talked about boys before.”

  “No.”

  “Or girls. We didn’t talk about anything that mattered. Only my schedules and who was the latest tutor, and when I was going away. I was spectacularly awful.”

  “Not always,” Gareth said quickly. “I don’t think there’s too much point us beating you up over it now, Dad. I probably didn’t mean half the stuff I wrote in those letters.” He didn’t know if that was true, exactly. Nothing felt as bad as it had then. He turned to look up at the brown eyes studying him. “I’m just so relieved to see you. I don’t think I knew how fucked up I was about it until I saw you. It broke me all up—but it’s all OK now. OK? Everything is good.”

  “Yes, you did mean those letters! And stop trying to make it easy on me. I’m on your case now. I want the truth, and we can build a relationship. It’s all I want. You know what that school said? That you were happy! You seemed happy. They kept asking how you are because you were so quiet but you just wouldn’t say anything except everything is good!” He gripped Gareth’s shoulders. “What you wrote in the letters—about shouting and getting upset there—it didn’t happen, did it? You didn’t tell anyone how miserable you were.”

  Tears ran down Gareth’s cheeks. “Only once. That time in the woods.”

  “Because you didn’t want anyone to think you couldn’t cope?”

  Gareth thought back to school—waking to the jerks, noisy corridors, the deserted library. “School made me think things, and then I couldn’t see a way out. Now, I wonder why I didn’t just go to the head and make them find you. I don’t know. I kind of got…lost in my own head with worry. Going there was too much for me, Dad. The other kids, lessons—everything.” Gareth shrugged. “I don’t know. It all got inside my head. I guess I’ve grown up since I last saw you. I’m not that kid anymore.” He squeezed Dad harder, in case he’d given the impression he no longer needed him. “I’m still your kid, though.”

  “We have to learn, honey. How to say what we feel and how to talk. You know? I want to know. OK?”

  “I’m trying. It’s not all covering up, though. Mostly I really don’t mind too much about things that other people go mad about.”

  “Does Oskar talk about stuff?”

  Gareth tried, and failed, to stop the smile as he thought. “No, but he shows you how he’s feeling in other ways. Like, he might play certain songs, or have a hissy fit, or shout. He’s not full of bullshit like the boys at school. He’s not polite or sweet. Not at all! But he’s—he’s real like water or—or your own body. I’m not explaining him very well! He’s just Oskar. And…and he’s very hot!” He stopped and tried to hide his face.

  “Jeez,” Dad whispered. “We’ll be onto talking sex next!”

  “We haven’t—you know. Not yet. But we’ve touched and…got naked.” He giggled. It was funny, but somehow OK. “He’s not like me, but he is. I see him, and I think he sees me. Did I tell you I met him at the train station right after I posted that letter to you? I was sitting there holding my lucky compass, and there he was—talking to the mirror. I guess that compass really was lucky in the end.” He stopped to laugh. “And he’s very, very, smart. Much more than I am. That’s sexy too. Sometimes I go in his room and he’s got his glasses on studying, and oh-my-god it makes me want to combust.” He laughed helplessly, feeling something unwind and relax. “I better call him soon or he might come here and shout at you. He’s pretty volatile.”

  “Oh, he already did that! When I opened the door, he shouted and called me a dirty pervert and I don’t think I can repeat what he called Jim. Yeah, you better call him. Gareth? Will you stay here tonight? I don’t think Bubble and I can let you go just yet. We can talk, and it will get easier. I promise. I hope so. I know it’s going to take us a long time to get going. I would love to know him, and your friends. To be part of your life. If you let me? I mean, if you want me to? I can live here and see you every day. And then tomorrow, ask Oskar if he wants to come here for lunch? Please?”

  Through the head spin, Gareth nodded. “Of course I want you to! I’ll ask him. But what if he figures out who you are? He knows all the stars.”

  “Well, good. Let’s get it all out in the open. I’m through with that life.”

  “You can’t be through with filming, Dad. You love it too much to stop.”

  “No. I thought I did, but it only made me miserable and desperate. You know where I went after I dropped you at school?” Gareth shook his head, sure that he didn’t want to know. “It’s a horrible shitty story, but I want to tell you everything. I went to score drugs. A lot of drugs. We had that fight, and I guess I saw you weren’t a kid anymore. The things you said about drugs, and me, I couldn’t handle it. Because I knew you were right.

  “I was utterly selfish, Gareth, on the road to serious addiction. I’m not going to lie. I wasn’t seeing straight and I wasn’t thinking like a father should. I kept telling myself school would be good for you, but I guess, deep down, I knew leaving you there was a terrible thing to do. The worst thing I’ve ever done. I swore I’d be a better dad. But the look on your face when you wouldn’t hug me! Jeez. I saw exactly what I was reflected in your eyes.” He pulled Gareth into his arms. “I dropped Bubble at Kip’s place and went on a drug binge that lasted eight months. I was gone—gone. I don’t know what I did or where I went.”

  There was no anger and no surprise. “You didn’t think about me that whole time?” But still, he had to hear it. “Was it my fault you went? Was it because of what I said when we had the fight?”

  “No! None of it was your fault. Now, when I look back, I see I’d been building up to that binge for years. I don’t know how to explain, but the longer it went on the less chance there was I could stop. I thought I’d lost everything. I thought there was no going back. I was just immersed in drugs. I wasn’t thinking properly.”

  “You mean you wanted to die?”

  Dad hesitated.

  “Tell me the truth.” There had been episodes disguised under the murky names of ‘breakdown’, or ‘fatigue’. Gareth realised he already knew they were suicide attempts. “You can tell me, Dad. I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “Yes,” he whispered. “I wanted to kill myself. Or something like that. I’m not sure I wanted to die, more that I couldn’t see any alternative. It was a terrible way to be.”

  “Dad!” Gareth hugged hard enough to hurt. “I knew you were going crazy! That’s why I started hiding the drugs. But you wouldn’t listen.” During the last year before school, Gareth had gone through the house each morning before anyone else woke up, looking for drugs and drink. “There is an alternative, and that’s me. And a life! A normal life. I never gave up on you and I never will.”

  “Every minute I thought about you. The more I got wasted, the worse father I was. I took more drugs every time I sobered up because I co
uldn’t deal with what I’d done to you. I think I convinced myself you were better off without me. I…I realise that’s messed up. I saw from your letters how much you wanted me around.”

  “You read my letters?”

  “I didn’t get them until July. Kip…Kip looked after me after the accident. He sorted out my things, and found all the mail sent to a postal box.”

  “Dad. Was—was it really an accident?” Gareth watched Dad crumble into his hands.

  “No. I don’t think so.” He tried to look up. “I’ll be honest. I can’t remember the accident, only that the week before it happened, I was—as low as I’ve ever been. I…I just don’t know. I know it’s terrible! How could I have tried to do that to you and everyone else?”

  For as long as Gareth remembered, there was a fear at the back of his mind, a constant shadow that lurked. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them again, he saw Dad’s tears. The shadow was gone. “I always worried you’d kill yourself one day,” he whispered. The relief of giving words to the darkness was immense, but instead of misery he acknowledged a calm acceptance. “I didn’t know that’s what I was worried about, but now I do.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Gareth stroked Dad’s hair—greying now—and soothed his shaking shoulders. “Daddy, it’s OK! It’s not your fault—not all your fault. No-one can help getting depressed. Now we know that’s what it is, we have to take help and never get to that state again.”

  “Yeah. Agreed. I have a therapist now, honey, and medication. I’m so ashamed of what I am—what I was—but I want to put it right.”

  “How did the binge stop?”

  “Just before the filming, Kip dragged me to a rehab. I was a total bastard! I fired him because he kept trying to make me see sense. Then I got a new team and started filming. After the crash, they shut down the media because…I guess they knew it was my fault. But also theirs because everyone knew I wasn’t in my right mind.”