The Things I Should Have Told You

by Carmel Harrington

  I’m at peace with my fate and that’s a good job because there’s not a blind thing I can do to stop it anyhow. When death has you in its gnarly vice-like grip, you’re buggered. Beth knew that at the end and I know it now.

  ‘Beth,’ I whisper her name, savouring how it sounds. I miss saying her name out loud. I miss her.

  The sicker I get, the closer I feel to my wife. And that, right there, gives me comfort. As sure as I know that the sun will rise every morning, I know that she’s waiting for me, with great patience. I can feel her. And I don’t intend to keep her waiting much longer. She’s been on her own long enough.

  ‘Hold on, my love, I’m on my way. I’ve to sort out one or two things here first with our Olly, then I’ll be right with you.’

  Olly strides into my bedroom, as if he can hear me taking his name in vain. ‘Who you talking to?’ Concern etched on his tired face, looking around the room for signs of my non-existent company.

  ‘Your mam,’ I answer, more flippantly than I should. Olly now looks more worried than usual. He’s enough on his plate without thinking I’m losing my marbles too.

  I throw in a feeble joke to lighten the moment and change the subject. ‘She says to say hello and don’t forget that the bins go out tonight.’ It works, a smile breaks out on his face.

  ‘You don’t smile enough any more.’ I worry about that. A life without laughter isn’t worth living at all.

  Olly just shrugs in response. He doesn’t answer me, but I’ve a fair idea I know what he’s thinking right now.

  What have I got to smile about?

  ‘You’ve more than most,’ I reply to his thought and he looks startled.

  ‘How do you do that?’ he asks me, starting to laugh. And as it is with laughter, it’s contagious, so I join in.

  ‘I always know what you’re thinking, lad,’ I tell him when we calm down. And it’s true. It doesn’t hurt that his face has always been like an open book. He wears his heart on his sleeve, always has done, just like his mother. Mae, now she’s a different kettle of fish. She’s harder to read. She keeps it all bottled up inside. But it’s obvious that she’s as unhappy as Olly is right now, and that worries me.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks.

  I think about lying, but he’s not a boy any more, he’s a grown man with a family of his own, so I do a thumbs-down sign. A pain shoots up from my left thumb all the way to my neck, making me regret my gesture.

  But the pain was worth it, because Olly smiles in recognition, as I knew he would. When he was a boy he used his thumbs to depict how he was feeling all the time.

  ‘That bad?’ he says, the creases of worry on his face deepening.

  ‘It’s near time for painkillers and then I’ll be all …’ I hold up two thumbs and smile, encouraging Olly to do the same.

  ‘I wonder what your mam will make of me when she sees me,’ I say, as I look down at the paper-thin skin on my arms, blotched with age spots and wrinkles.

  I’ve never been a vain man, but I’ve always taken care of my appearance. I shave every morning as soon as I get up and while I don’t have the energy for a shower every day, I’ll always wash my hair. But even so, I know I look a bit … unkempt. My skin sags wearily on pointy bones and there’s a greyness to my complexion that wasn’t there a few weeks ago. Last time I saw Beth I was young, vibrant, full of vigour. Would she even recognise me now?

  ‘How can you be so sure that you’ll see her when you die?’

  ‘I’ve faith, lad.’

  Scepticism fills Olly’s face. That, right there, is part of his problem. ‘What makes you not believe?’ I’m curious.

  Olly shrugs, but he has no answer for me. I’ve had time to think about my own faith. Goodness knows, it’s been tested many times, not least of all when Beth died. But it was faith that I’d see her again one day that has got me through the past thirty-odd years. Had I not believed that, I don’t think I would have managed to smile and laugh and enjoy my family and life as much as I have. And that would have been a crying shame, because I’ve had a good life with Olly, Mae and the children.

  I look at him and wish that I could find words that might explain to him how I feel. I scan my bedroom and my eyes rest on the battered brown briefcase propped against my dresser. I carried that to work every day for nigh-on thirty-eight years, right up until I retired. Now it contains a shiny silver laptop that Olly and Mae bought me a few years back. I thought I’d never get the hang of it. Googling seemed like a ridiculous word, that made me giggle like a silly teenager whenever I thought of it. But now, well, I love it. I think it’s the fact that I can travel anywhere in the world courtesy of that silver box. It’s amazing what you can find on the internet.

  Then I have one of those light-bulb moments.

  ‘Think of Wi-Fi, lad. You can’t see that, right? Faith is just like Wi-Fi, with the power to connect you to so much, to places all over the world.’

  Olly seems amused at the direction my train of thought has gone. I dive in with my analogy.

  ‘Think about it. I have faith that your mother is waiting for me. I can feel that more and more every day. I’m sure of it, lad, in the same way I know that I’ll be waiting for you, when it’s your turn to go too.’

  ‘Not for a few more decades though, please, Pops!’ and we both laugh together at that. ‘You’ve a great way of looking at things. It’s a nice thought, either ways.’

  ‘Well, you remember what I said about the Wi-Fi when I’m gone. I’ll connect with you again one day, lad. Somehow or other, we’ll find each other. You mark my words.’

  Olly squeezes my hand, pain etched all over his face. I feel his love for me and know that he is already mourning my inevitable absence in his life. I hate that I’m adding to his worry right now.

  ‘Are you honest to God worried about how you look?’

  When I nod in response, he looks at me with a critical eye, ‘I suppose you could do with a hair-cut. You’re looking a bit Spandau Ballet-like there, Pops.’

  Ha! He’s funny, my son. How many times did I nag him when he was a teenager and into all that New Romantic nonsense? He grew his hair long and started to wear white floppy shirts. Eejit.

  ‘I’ll book the hairdresser,’ Olly assures me. He bends in towards me, so close we’re almost nose to nose. ‘Mam loved you. She won’t care what you look like. She wasn’t like that, worried about stupid superficial stuff.’

  I daresay he’s right.

  ‘Sure, maybe you’ll become young again when you die,’ he adds.

  ‘Aye, maybe I will that.’ I like that thought. This body of mine is gone all worn out, like a set of brake pads past their sell-by date. I’d happily swap it for a younger version. ‘Would you get my good suit dry-cleaned for me, the one I got last year in Neon’s?’ I’ve gotten my suits in that shop in Talbot Street for over thirty years now. Mind you, when I bought it, I had no idea that it would be the last time I’d ever buy a suit. Had I known, I might have splurged and bought two!

  I watch Olly’s face go through several emotions. From shock, to anger, to sadness and then finally it settles on acceptance of a kind. While I know that it’s time that I start working through all the finer details of what I want, I hate seeing the effect that it has on him.

  ‘That’s what you want to wear … when … you know?’ He stammers out and his face has gone a funny grey colour.

  ‘I do,’ I reply. ‘But make sure you put me in my shiny shoes. The ones I usually wear for a black-tie do. And I want my white dress shirt too with the cufflinks that I wore for your wedding. I always feel dapper when I wear those. Oh, and I want the blue tie that Evie bought me last Christmas to finish the look off. She’ll like that.’

  Olly blinks, then nods, leaning in to grasp my hand and squeeze it tight.

  ‘I want to look smart,’ I tell him, but damn it, my voice catches. I blink fast. I need him to understand that this is important for me.

  ‘I won’t forget, Pops. I’ll make sur
e you look perfect,’ Olly promises, and I know I’m in safe hands. When Olly promises to do something, he never lets you down. He’s solid. A good man. But with the weight of the world on his shoulders these days.

  Since he was made redundant, it’s like he’s lost his spark. At first he was all bluster, full of anger, I suppose. That kept him buoyant as he started looking for a new job. But each ‘Dear John’ chipped away at his confidence. He’s given up even trying to find work now. I’ve got to find a way to bring back the old Olly. Reignite that spark of his.

  ‘Will you tell Mam that I’m sorry,’ Olly whispers. His voice is so quiet that I almost miss it.

  ‘Not that nonsense again. Aarra! You’ve nothing to be sorry about, lad.’ He always blames himself for her accident and he is no more to blame than I am.

  ‘Even so, will you tell her?’ he says and I nod as I can see how important it is for him.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, each lost in our own thoughts. I close my eyes to rest for a moment. It feels peaceful and I think, this wouldn’t be a bad time to go.

  After a while, something changes and a tension seems to hover in the air like large ice particles, ready to drop and pierce our heads any minute.

  I open my eyes half expecting to see the grim reaper standing over me. But the room is empty except for Olly. His whole demeanour has changed, his shoulders hunched and his fists are clenched by his side.

  ‘Lad? What is it?’ I ask.

  ‘Life just seems too fucking complicated right now,’ he says.

  I look at my son and think for the first time that I can remember, he looks every bit of his forty years. I hear the clock tick tocking in the background, reminding me of my limited time left. Not now. I need more time, damn it.

  I want to say something that will proffer some change, melt those blasted ice particles before they do any damage.

  This is my big opportunity to dispense some father-like advice and make a difference. Here goes. ‘Life can be as complicated or as simple as you want it to be.’

  Olly snorts. That went well.

  ‘You need to take control of your life.’ I wince inwardly as I realise that I sound a bit like one of those cagey inspirational speakers.

  ‘How am I supposed to do that?’ Olly says with irritation and I don’t blame him. My advice is falling short. I need to come up with something better than soundbites, no matter how true they are. How can he take control back? That is the million-dollar question, lad, no doubt about it.

  ‘What do you want from life? That’s as good a place as any to start with,’ I say.

  ‘I’m losing my family. I want them back. I want my family back.’ His sincerity strikes me dumb.

  I wait for him to continue. I can see him grappling with whether he should talk, whether it is fair to burden me or not. He knows I’m in pain.

  And as soon as I think the word ‘pain’, the dull ache that has been nagging me for the past hour begins ramping up and demands more of my attention. I sit up straighter, try to find a more comfortable position, so I can continue. I smile at Olly as I do so, to urge him to keep talking.

  ‘Look at me, Pops. Washed up at forty years old with no job. Evie is lucky to be alive and we’ve not even scratched the surface on that problem. She’s still not telling us what really happened. I don’t buy that bullshit, that she was experimenting with alcohol to celebrate the start of her school holidays. It’s too out of character. Jamie is back to pissing in his bed. He’s not done that since he was three years old. Don’t tell me that’s not related to the trauma of finding his sister half dead in her bedroom. And then there’s Mae. Pops, she can barely look at me any more. Who can blame her? She can do far better than me. And that’s not even the worst of it. What about … what about you? I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet, Pops.’

  ‘Yes, lad. Your life is, without doubt, complicated right now. No one could disagree with that.’

  I know that I’ve got to somehow find a way to make a difference, before I’m gone and it’s too late. I grapple to find the right words, feeling ill equipped to give my son something to help assuage his obvious pain. Unlike the cancerous pain I’m enduring, there’s not a pill he can take to ease away his aches. He has to work through them, sort them out as best he can himself, without any numbing narcotics.

  I’m not sure that there are any words that will help prepare him for my soon-to-be fate. Are we ever ready for a loved one to die? No. And even though there will be no surprise when it’s my time to go, I know that he’s not ready for me to leave.

  I need more time, but I know that’s one thing I don’t have any more. Tick tock.

  ‘I can’t sleep at night worrying about the what-ifs. How did I not see that something was going on with Evie? I’m supposed to take care of her. I’m supposed to be her hero, to save her,’ Olly says. ‘I let her down.’

  ‘Sure, that’s the greatest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. You’re good parents, good people. But even the best can’t get it all right all the time.’ I point my finger at him to illustrate how emphatic I am about this point.

  There it is in all its glory – self-doubt – one of the ugliest of our inner turmoils, glaring out of my son’s eyes.

  ‘I. Should. Have. Seen. It. Coming,’ Olly spits out, his voice rising with every word he says.

  ‘You can raise your voice all you like, but that doesn’t make your bullshit any truer,’ I say.

  He stops at my words and half-laughs, saluting me with the tip of his hand. ‘It’s a while since you’ve used that line on me.’

  ‘It’s a statement I’ve used to good effect in many a battle of wills. You were a stubborn little fecker as a kid.’

  ‘You used to say it to me all the time. Must remember it for the next time Mae shouts at me,’ Olly laughs.

  ‘Don’t you be using my good lines to score points with your wife,’ I say. But I’m smiling too. Olly starts to fidget and I think that he’s about to leave. But I don’t want this conversation to end. What if it’s one of our last ones? I haven’t said everything that I need to.

  ‘Was I a good father to you?’ I ask him. ‘Don’t lie, lad. Speak the truth, now.’

  I hold my breath, waiting for his answer. I want the truth, of course I do, but in the name of God, please don’t let him tell me I was a crap father.

  ‘The best,’ I exhale in relief.

  ‘But did I make mistakes?’ I say again. ‘Were there times that you thought, fuck you, Pops, and the horse you rode into town on!’

  Olly looks shocked at this and begins to shake his head in denial of the statement.

  ‘Liar! You know there were times when I got it wrong. But that’s okay, because in the main I got it right and you always knew I loved you, even when I messed up. Right?’ I demand.

  Olly smiles at me and says, ‘I always knew that you loved me. And you didn’t get it wrong often, Pops.’

  I’m grateful for his words.

  ‘Thanks, lad. But I’m not fishing for compliments from you, although I’m not sorry to hear them. I just want to illustrate that it’s okay to have the odd bad day, as long as in the main you get it right. You can’t be Evie’s hero every day of the week, can you? Even Spiderman gets the odd day off. The girl needs to live her own life, make her own mistakes, learn from them and she can’t do that if she’s under her parents’ coat tails.’

  ‘But every time she goes into her bedroom, I’m worried sick about what she could be doing in there. I tell you, Pops, it’s crossed my mind to put in cameras so I can be sure she’s not downing another bottle of fecking vodka!’

  ‘Would you whist, lad. Let the girl have her privacy. Sure, God knows, when you were that age you spent half your life in your bedroom and you’re still alive. Don’t tell me you didn’t have a sneaky drink back then.’

  ‘I never ended up in hospital with alcoholic poisoning, though, Pops,’ Olly states.

  ‘No, you didn’t. But you had my heart broken more than once.
Evie messed up. What you need to do is find out why. She’s been withdrawn for months now. I know she’s not talking yet, but she’ll tell you in her own good time what’s going on. She’s a strong girl, she just needs to remember that.’

  I think I’m beginning to get through to Olly because he’s stopped stooping and is now sitting up straighter in the chair. He has a look on his face that I’ve not seen in a long time – determination.

  We sit without speaking for a while and I think about Mae and wonder if I dare bring up their marriage. It’s a dangerous thing talking about the inner sanctum of a couple’s life. In fact, it’s true that I have no business snooping around there. But I realise that I have to speak up. Someone has to, because they seem hell-bent on destroying themselves.

  ‘You and Mae. You need to watch that,’ I decide to take the bull by the horns and get straight to it. No time to dilly-dally around the issue.

  ‘You don’t think I don’t know that?’ Olly responds. ‘I can feel her slipping away from me, every day one little bit further. But I’m powerless to stop her. I don’t know who she is any more. She’s changed, Pops.’

  ‘Arra, nobody stays the same, lad. We all change as we go through life and that’s good, ’cos it would be pretty boring otherwise. You’re not the same man you used to be, either. Did you ever think of that?’

  Olly looks startled at this piece of information.

  ‘I’ve seen a change in you these past months, since you stopped working. I daresay that Mae has noticed it too.’

  ‘I’m still the same person,’ Olly’s petulant and irritated, reminding me of his teenage self. I hope he listens more to me now than he did back then.

  ‘No you’re not, son. You’re different. I know losing your job has been tough. But maybe it’s time to look at your redundancy with different eyes.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asks.

  ‘Well, you didn’t even like that job. Don’t lie. You were just punching the clock every day.’

  ‘I hated it,’ he admits. ‘How did I even end up as an accountant?’