No Going Back

by ALEX GUTTERIDGE

  “It’s funny,” I said, “but even though I’ve lived without Dad for years and years and he’s only been back in my life for a few weeks, I’ll miss him so much when he’s gone.”

  “My dad says that just because Mum’s gone doesn’t mean she isn’t still a part of our lives. We talk about her all the time. I think about her every day. I still love her even though I can’t hold her or see her. I’ll always love her just like you’ll always love your dad.”

  “Doorbell, Laura.” Dad stood up and pulled his shirt down at the sides, fiddled with the collar so it was straight. Downstairs I heard Gran fumbling with the catch on the front door.

  “This is it then,” I said.

  “Not quite,” he said. “There’s one more thing I need to do. Come here.”

  So I stepped forwards until we were almost touching and he folded his arms around me. It felt like being wrapped in the softest, warmest blanket. It was all the hugs I had missed over the years rolled into one. It was generous and open and completely unconditional. It felt like love in its purest form. Everyone should have a hug like that at some time in their life. As I felt all of Dad’s love envelop me I knew that this moment would be one I would remember for ever. This feeling of absolute safety would keep me going when life got hard. This was what I had been searching for ever since he died. We stood there in stillness, him resting his chin on the top of my head, me resting my face against his chest.

  “Promise me something, Laura,” Dad muttered into my hair.

  I didn’t reply, didn’t want to break the magic. He moved away slightly, blew the hair from my face, so so gently.

  “Promise me that you’ll keep in touch with Daisy. Promise me that you’ll be happy.”

  “I promise.”

  And he smiled the saddest of smiles and clasped me to him all over again. “My darling, darling Laura,” he whispered. “You will never know how much I love you.”

  “But I do,” I replied. “Because it’s just as much as I love you.”

  There was the lightest of taps on my door.

  “Laura, are you there?” Sam’s voice was barely above a whisper. “They’re waiting for you downstairs.”

  I opened the door.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked, his gaze shooting over my shoulder.

  “Everything’s fine. We’re both ready.”

  It was rubbish, of course. I wasn’t ready at all. How could I be? I straightened up, tried to loosen my shoulders a little, fixed a half smile to my face, partly for Dad’s benefit, partly for my own.

  “Let’s go,” I said, sounding a lot more controlled than I felt.

  “Wait!” Dad said.

  “What is it?” Suddenly I wasn’t so sure that he could go through with it. He glanced at Sam as if willing him away.

  “Can you give us a minute?” I asked but Sam was already sliding out of the door.

  Dad twirled a bit of my hair around his finger. “I just wanted to say, Laura, that he’s okay, your Sam. I was wrong about him.”

  Your Sam. Those words made my heart do a little leap.

  “I’m not sure that he’s mine,” I said.

  Dad lifted my chin with his fingers.

  “He’s yours, sweetheart. I’m convinced of it. Don’t you let him get away. You might regret it.”

  I smiled softly. “I’ll do my best to hang on to him then.”

  “Good,” Dad said. “And I know you’ll look after your mother for me and…” he hesitated, “… if she does find someone else, I won’t mind too much.”

  “We’ll all be fine, Dad,” I said. “You mustn’t worry.”

  And he took hold of my hand for the last time.

  Reverend Tim was in the sitting room talking to another man. They both wore casual trousers, short-sleeved shirts and dog collars. I’d expected them to be all dressed up in cassocks, as if they were conducting a church service, but I was glad they weren’t. It made the whole process seem a bit more normal, which is ridiculous because what can be less normal than getting a spirit to leave your house, especially when it’s someone you know and love?

  “There you are, dear,” Gran said, standing up and shuffling over to put her arm around my shoulders.

  Reverend Tim introduced the other vicar. We shook hands. He gave me a sort of pitying look.

  I half smiled at him, wondering why I felt the need to reassure everyone.

  “Now then, dear,” Gran said, giving me a little squeeze, “where exactly is the problem at the moment?”

  “He’s here, Gran,” I replied. “Right beside us.”

  Dad puffed out his cheeks and blew softly at the side of Gran’s head so that a tendril of hair came loose from one of her clips.

  “Oh,” she said, looking slightly alarmed, “so he is.”

  I looked up at everyone. Even the two vicars had shadows passing across their faces and they must have been used to this sort of thing.

  “It’s okay. He won’t cause any trouble.”

  “Laura,” Dad whispered in my ear, “just check that it won’t hurt. I’m not any good with pain.”

  I asked the question and Reverend Tim assured us that, if Dad cooperated, there shouldn’t be any difficulties. He placed a small black box upon the coffee table. Wedged under the handle was a beautiful wooden cross. Flowers and birds and butterflies were painted on it in bright, clear colours. Once opened, I could see that the box had a sapphire-blue lining and contained a miniature communion set. Reverend Tim spread the pieces out on a white linen cloth. There was a little glass decanter with a silver rim which contained communion wine, a small silver chalice, a round box for those bread wafers that Gran says always get stuck to the roof of your mouth, and a dish that Reverend Tim said was a paten. When everything was arranged, the other vicar asked if we were ready to begin, or if Dad and I needed a few more moments. Dad looked at me and his face was so sad that I could hardly bear to look back.

  “No,” I said. “We’ve said all there is to say.”

  We began by gathering around the front door, Dad close by my side.

  “Peace be to this house and all who dwell in it,” Reverend Tim said in a clear, authoritative voice. He blessed the front door and splashed it with some holy water which he had in a little blue pot. The splashing was done with what looked like an ordinary pastry brush from the supermarket. We moved through the house as Reverend Tim encouraged God’s presence and said prayers from a slim red leather-bound book. There was a different prayer for each room of the house but in one way or another they all asked for God’s blessing and peace. Dad was so close to me as we moved from room to room and Gran kept a slight distance, as if she knew that we needed our space, this last time together as father and daughter. We spent longer in my room while Reverend Tim splashed the chair where Dad had sat. I felt Dad shiver then, saw his molecules ripple like a churning stream. There was a pause as everyone seemed to sense his sudden distress.

  “Are you okay?” I murmured and he nodded, smiled but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Reverend Tim moved on to the wardrobe. He splashed my bed, the curtains, the dressing table, the carpet, all the time spreading his prayers into every available space. Finally, when everything had received a good soaking and Reverend Tim seemed satisfied, we went back downstairs to the sitting room and I knew that the time was getting near. Dad must have known too because he moved away from me and stood in a corner on the other side of the room. Alone. When I went to join him he shook his head and put up his hand to stop me. Already it felt as if he had left me. I could still see him but he looked unreachable, detached, desolate. I stood in the middle of the room with everyone watching me and I was acutely aware of everything and everyone. Yet I didn’t feel part of it. I was separate. I was empty. I wanted it all to be over but at the same time I wanted to hang on to the moment. Impossible. Why did I always want the impossible?

  I’m not sure who moved first but I became aware of Gran kneeling down at the coffee table, and the soft murmur of t
he other vicar’s voice as he gave her communion.

  “Laura.” Reverend Tim touched me on the shoulder. He gestured to the table, to the wine and to the bread. “Do you want to?” he asked.

  I looked up into his face. It was so kind, so full of concern.

  “I’m not confirmed.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  No, I thought, not much does matter really, does it? All of those silly rules and pressures we put ourselves under. At the end of the day there are very few things that really matter, that are really important. So I moved to the table, as if in a trance. I thought it might help, doing something, reminding my body that although Dad was disappearing I was still here.

  Gran’s right. The wafers do get stuck to the roof of your mouth. As I knelt in front of the coffee table, trying to curl my tongue around that wafer and free it, I kept one eye on Dad. He was becoming more translucent. I could barely see the edge of him against the flowery pattern of the curtains. Reverend Tim held the chalice to my lips and I took a sip of the earthy-tasting wine. I only averted my eyes for a second but when I looked up Dad was barely there. Despite all of my efforts the wafer was still stuck to the roof of my mouth and the wine felt rough against my throat. I could smell Gran’s perfume, a drift of lavender, and outside a bird, maybe a magpie, made a harsh cawing sound.

  No, I wanted to shout. Stop! Don’t do this. But I couldn’t speak. I stayed kneeling while Reverend Tim read a passage from the Bible. I was afraid that if I moved Dad would have gone and it would all be over. But I wanted it to be over, didn’t I? As if he knew what I was thinking, Sam knelt down beside me and linked his arm through mine and I let those beautiful, lyrical, comforting words wrap themselves around me like a hug.

  “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life and that life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness…”

  My eyes were full of tears now. I kept blinking them away, trying to keep Dad in my sight but he was leaving me. He didn’t have any feet now and I could see his legs disappearing like early morning mist when it meets sunlight. Sam squeezed my arm tighter and on the other side I reached behind me and gripped Gran’s hand, hard. Reverend Tim called out Dad’s name in full.

  “Gareth James Cooper,” he said, adding more prayers asking for forgiveness, repentance and resting in peace. When he finished speaking the room was like a calm pool. Even the frantic beating of my heart had slowed, the churning in my brain settled down and strangely the emptiness had gone.

  Suddenly everything seemed as if it would be all right. In the corner Dad lifted his hand and waved. I let go of Sam’s clasp and waved back.

  “I love you, Laura.”

  The words swished around the room like one of those ribbons gymnasts use, up and down, in and out. They were all the colours of the rainbow, their edges sparkling like glitter. Everyone heard them. I could tell. Maybe not with their ears but in their hearts.

  “I love you too, Dad,” I mouthed. “Don’t forget to take that message to Sam’s mum.”

  Just in time. The second I finished, my daddy had gone.

  UNDERSTANDING

  That night I lay in bed looking at the chair where Dad had sat. I half expected him to appear with a ‘ta-da, you can’t get rid of me that easily’ expression on his face but really I knew that he wouldn’t. As I listened to Gran’s longcase clock chime a quarter to three, I was sure that, only a few days short of the anniversary of his death, Dad had well and truly gone. The house felt different. Gran felt it too. Although she couldn’t see him, the second he disappeared she let out a long sigh. We had all stayed very still for a few moments, like those living statues you get in tourist towns, waiting, listening, watching. I’d expected to feel heavy with sadness but I didn’t. Of course I was upset but at the same time I felt lighter. By coming back, by blowing away the story I had built up over the years, Dad had given me a precious gift. For the first time in my life I knew who I was. I felt free to be me.

  After Dad had gone we’d had tea. The scones Gran had made earlier in the day were untouched. No one spoke much. Then Reverend Tim drove Gran and me to see Mum. Sam didn’t come. He said he’d got something to do at home. I was a bit disappointed not to have him sitting there beside me.

  Mum was sitting up in bed reading a magazine when we got there. The concussion seemed to have gone but the doctor wanted her to stay in hospital for one more night.

  “You look a bit peaky, Laura,” she fretted.

  “I’m fine, Mum. Don’t worry.”

  Gran leaned forward from the chair and patted my knee. “We make a good team, Laura and I,” she said.

  “Really?” Mum sounded surprised. She lay back against the pillow. “Maybe I’ll just stay here for a few more days then and get some rest,” she said with a grin. “Actually, on second thoughts, I don’t think I will. The food’s awful. I’ve not been sleeping properly either. I’ve had the strangest dreams. I dreamed that Gareth was here, sitting in that chair right next to my bed.” She shook her head as if trying to get rid of the image. “And when I woke up it all seemed so real, almost as if it hadn’t been a dream at all.”

  Gran pursed her lips together. “Bumps on the head can do funny things to you,” she said.

  “Obviously,” Mum replied. “In all the years since… since he left us, I’ve barely dreamed of him at all and never like that, never so clearly.”

  She shook out her fringe and winced, lifting her hand to her head.

  “It’s the most ridiculous thing but I almost wondered if he’d come back, you know, as a ghost.” She laughed. “Listen to me. That bang on the head has sent me around the bend. Talking of around the bend, what’s happened to the car?”

  “Written off I’m afraid,” Gran said.

  “I have no idea what happened,” Mum said. “I remember swerving to avoid a pheasant and just losing control.”

  “Maybe there was something wrong with the steering,” I said to Mum.

  “Good thing the car can’t be salvaged in that case,” Gran said.

  Mum turned to Gran and suddenly she looked like a little girl again. “I can’t bear to think what might have happened.”

  “Then don’t,” Gran said briskly. “Think about coming home instead. Tim’s offered to come and fetch you if you’re happy with that.”

  “Oh,” Mum said and I thought I spotted the slightest blush rising up from her jawline, “that’s kind of him. He’s been so good and he’s such a busy man, I really don’t want to take any more of his time.”

  “I don’t think he minds at all,” Gran said, a touch conspiratorially.

  “Mother,” Mum said, “what are you up to? I do hope you haven’t press-ganged him into this?”

  “Of course not. He offered, didn’t he, Laura?”

  I nodded.

  Mum looked from one to the other of us.

  “Well I don’t want you getting any ideas, either of you. The poor man only lost his wife a year or so ago. We’re just friends.”

  “Did I suggest anything else?” Gran asked, looking quite put out. Then she turned to me and winked.

  * * *

  Reverend Tim was due to pick Mum up from hospital sometime during the morning, after the doctors had done their rounds and discharged her. I decided not to go with him. Instead Gran and I made a fish pie for lunch as it’s one of Mum’s favourites. Gran sat at the table peeling mushrooms while I popped the mixed fish in the oven for a few minutes and began to make the white sauce. The butter was sizzling in the saucepan and Gran had the radio turned up quite loudly so neither of us heard the knock at the back door.

  I was miles away, thinking of Dad and wondering what he was doing, if he was looking down on us. There was a sharp tap on the window above the sink, which made me jump and scatter the wooden spoonful of cornflour all down my navy T-shirt. Sam pressed his fac
e to the glass and grinned. He looked really silly, all mouth and nose. I grinned and pulled the butter off the heat slightly before going to let him in. He had a large box under one arm. It said ‘Interflora’ on the side.

  “Ah, Samuel,” Gran said, “what a nice surprise and some flowers too.”

  He put the box down in a corner of the kitchen and I returned to my sauce.

  “Isn’t it a nice surprise to see Sam, Laura?”

  “Yes,” I replied, making a second attempt to stir in the cornflour, and wondering why she was suddenly behaving rather oddly. “Of course.”

  “Why don’t you come and sit down for a moment, dear?”

  I presumed that she was talking to Sam but when I turned around to see if he wanted something to drink, he was already sitting down and they were both staring at me expectantly.

  “Me?” I asked.

  “Yes, dear, you,” Gran said. “Let’s have a little break.”

  “I can’t leave this sauce now,” I said, tipping in the milk, “or it will go all lumpy.”

  “There are more important things than lumpy sauce, Laura,” Gran said, grinning from ear to ear, “but if you must carry on, we can wait.”

  Wait? Wait for what? For me to sit down? What was this weirdness?

  As soon as the sauce thickened to just the right consistency I took the pan off the heat and put it to one side, placing a piece of damp greaseproof paper across the top to stop a skin forming.

  “Do you want a drink?” I asked Sam.

  “In a minute.”

  As I sat down Sam stood up and moved towards the box. Flowers! Had he really bought me flowers? No one had ever done that before.

  “I thought they were for Mum,” I said.

  “Close your eyes, Laura,” he said, “and hold out your hands.”

  My heart began to beat faster as a memory came flooding back. He had used exactly the same words once before. I listened to the scrape of cardboard as he opened the box, waited for the rustle of cellophane. Don’t let there be any, I thought. Stop it, Laura. You know it’s flowers. It says so on the box. The only sound was the slight squeak of Sam’s trainers as he crossed the quarry-tiled floor. He was standing in front of me now. I wanted to open my eyes but instead I screwed them up tight.