Rachel Dann - Pieces of My Life

‘When you phoned, I would have said to come over at the weekend, for dinner, but…’ Dad perches on the armchair opposite me and trails off, obviously realising he doesn’t have a suitable excuse ready before beginning to speak.

‘It’s fine, Dad.’

Coffee can be agonising enough, without dinner as well .

‘So, the reason we’re here…’ Harry says, shifting forward and thankfully taking charge. ‘We’ve actually got something big to tell you.’

‘You’re getting engaged,’ my father says flatly, his eyes trained on the coffee mug in Harry’s hands.

‘What! No! ’ I actually jump a little, causing hot coffee to splash on to my hands. ‘We don’t… we’re not getting engaged. I mean, we don’t need to, we’ve got a house and a car and…’ I flail around for something to say, then turn imploringly to Harry, who, to my irritation, is grinning. ‘We’re going travelling for three months to South America,’ I blurt finally. ‘We’ve taken sabbaticals from work, it’s all organised and planned out, we’re going to start in Ecuador then go on to Peru and…’ I stop, realising my father is not even looking at me anymore, his gaze having drifted off to somewhere just above the granite mock-flame fireplace.

‘Dad?’

‘South America ?’ He addresses the fireplace. ‘That’s really interesting. Very interesting indeed .’

Harry and I exchange baffled glances.

‘Yes, Dee has been talking about South America a lot – only the other night, in fact, she was looking up tours of the Amazon rainforest – although that was Brazil, if I remember rightly. Fantastic wildlife, unique photographic opportunities, perfect for her career. What a coincidence, eh, Kirsty?’

I haven’t heard anything past ‘Dee’.

‘Who’s Dee, Dad?’

Dad finally seems to snap out of his reverie and see me properly again. ‘You haven’t met her? Oh no… I suppose you haven’t.’ He stops and rubs his hand over the back of his head, looking suddenly a bit embarrassed. ‘I really will make that dinner invitation. Introduce you properly. How about that?’ Then he adds, somewhat randomly, ‘She’s a wildlife photographer.’

It takes me several seconds to force my voice into some sort of coherent reply. ‘Thanks, Dad, that would be nice, but—’

‘But we’re going to be travelling ,’ Harry interjects, a noticeable edge in his voice. ‘Which was the reason we came here. To tell you about it before we leave. In two weeks.’

Harry’s tone being impossible to miss, even for Dad, he starts nodding enthusiastically, visibly wrenching his consciousness back to the topic at hand.

‘Ah, yes, of course, well – that’s fantastic. Really good for you. Do it while you’re young, I say…’ He casts his eyes uncomfortably around the room, until they finally come to land on his watch.

Dad was the assistant manager of a big, London-based advertising agency until he retired a couple of years ago, and sometimes I think he needs reminding that an afternoon with his daughter cannot be handled in the same way as a time-critical business meeting.

‘Well, we’ll get going then,’ I say with forced cheerfulness, unable to bear leaving it any longer until Dad actually asks us to leave.

‘Oh! Are you sure?’ Dad pretends to half get up from the armchair. ‘You wouldn’t like another—’

‘No, we’re fine,’ I say firmly, standing up and handing him my half-finished, still-warm mug of coffee, and wiggling my eyebrows at Harry to get up, too. ‘Best to leave early and avoid the traffic. Plus, you’ve got the theatre.’

‘Yes, you’re right. I…’ Dad trails off and follows us out into the hall. ‘Well, good luck with your trip,’ he offers, helping me back into my coat.

‘Thanks, I’ll phone you before we go.’ I smile politely.

We both know I won’t.

‘Yes, and you never know – maybe we’ll come out there and visit you!’ Dad calls after us.

Again, we both know he won’t.

I’ve got one foot out of the front door when Dad’s voice behind me makes me stop.

‘Kirsty?’

I turn back and see him in the hallway, frowning at the floor somewhere near my feet.

‘What, Dad?’

With a visible effort he drags his gaze up to meet mine head-on.

‘I can tell you really want to do this,’ he mutters, looking briefly over my shoulder, presumably to check Harry is not within earshot. He needn’t have worried – Harry’s already got the engine running again, just like at Mum’s. I raise my eyebrows at him, wondering where on earth this is going.

‘But, going abroad isn’t going to solve anything, you know?’

He says it mildly enough, but irritation pulses through me. What does he know about me? How dare he even imply there is anything that needs solving?

‘I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, Dad,’ I reply icily, then jump as Harry impatiently hoots the car horn behind me, ‘but I’ve got to go now.’

***

‘God knows how your Dad has so much luck with the ladies,’ Harry chuckles as we arrive home. ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

I go into the living room and flop exhaustedly on to the sofa. Harry knows I don’t like him joking about my Dad’s love life. Ever since my parents split up – so as far back as I can remember – my father has had a succession of ‘lady companions’ with whom he can go to the cinema, dine at nice restaurants, and even, if last year is anything to go by, take off on a mini-cruise of the Canary Islands without telling anyone. I only found out because Harry saw his photos on Facebook.

I suppose to anyone else my father would seem quite a catch – tall, athletic, still handsome in a gruff sort of way. Good company in any social situation, always the first to get a round of drinks in or tell a joke. I know this because I’ve met the mutual friends of my parents, old neighbours or friends asking after ‘good ol’ David’; I’ve seen the photos of a younger Mum and Dad, laughing together with drinks in hand at some party. I know he actually has a personality. It’s only around me, apparently, that it checks out and goes into hibernation.

You’d think getting a first-class law degree would go some way towards rustling up a little paternal pride – or even interest. When I first graduated, I went through a naïve, optimistic phase of trying to get him to take an interest in my new job at Home from Home.

‘It isn’t just any old admin role,’ I would insist to him, when I first got the job. ‘They were looking for someone with legal knowledge and experience, preferably a graduate. I’m actually lucky to have found a job where my university degree is relevant at all.’

Dad didn’t seem convinced, but I did have a point. The team of solicitors we supported might be the ones actually working face-to-face with our clients – vulnerable people who were often homeless or about to become so, needing legal representation to protect them. But the solicitors couldn’t do that job without us. It might be a legal support job, but in order to do the work you needed a good understanding of legal practice. And even though I rarely got the chance to actually meet our clients in person, it gave me a feeling of fulfilment to know my work was helping people who really needed it. Indirectly, maybe, but it still helped.

‘My point is there are no rules – you don’t have to follow the fixed career path you imagined when you were eighteen and chose a university course,’ I had insisted to my father, the last time we had spoken about the subject properly. That was early last year, and I’d just been promoted to Senior Legal Support. It wasn’t exactly a promotion, partly because I didn’t even have to apply for it, but it did mean a better job title and a slight pay rise. Dad had got my hopes up by actually phoning and inviting me out for a meal that night, after months of silence. But instead of being happy for me he’d spent the evening asking me all sorts of strange, searching questions about my future career plans and goals.