A Suitable Lie by Michael J. Malone Page B

our shoulder, was often enough for us to know of his comforting presence. Once we were more used to him, he began to call round at the house andtake us swimming, fishing or would even just kick around a football in our back garden.
    For the first time I felt able to talk to an adult on equal terms and this I believe to have been his great strength. He used to assure us that there were no stupid questions, only stupid answers, and he would let us prattle on for hours, never correcting, never judging.
    On one occasion, he had just dropped us at the house after a trip to the beach. Jim was delighted with the number of whelks he had collected and charged into the house to show them off to Mum. Father David sensed that I wanted to talk.
    ‘Did you have a nice day, Andrew?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, Father, thanks.’
    We sat in silence for a few minutes.
    ‘Father?’ I asked at last.
    ‘Yes, son.’
    ‘Is it a sin to hate someone for dying?’ I blurted out, staring at my fingers.
    ‘Do you hate your Dad?’ It was amazing, I remember thinking at the time – he knew who I was talking about.
    ‘Yes.’ I said with as much energy as my small frame could muster.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because he left us.’
    ‘Did you cry when he died?’
    ‘No,’ my voice was barely audible.
    He paused before speaking. ‘In answer to your question, no, it’s not a sin. Do you think your Dad wanted to die?’
    ‘No.’ That was a stupid question.
    ‘Do you think that he would really rather be here with his wife and two bonny boys?’
    ‘Probably.’ That made sense.
    ‘Why do you think you didn’t cry?’
    ‘Because I was angry?’ I asked.
    ‘You know, it is all right to cry. Big boys do cry. I cried when my Dad died.’
    ‘You did?’ I looked up at him, I couldn’t have been more amazed if he had said ‘fuck’.
    ‘Yes, of course. I was terribly sad. I loved my father … You know when I cried it was not for my father, it was for me. He was a good man and so would have gone to heaven. I cried for me because I knew I would miss him every day for the rest of my life.’
    These words spoken quietly but confidently by this compassionate man broke down the flood walls of my resentment. They collapsed under the storm of my grief. I have no recollection whatsoever of how long I sat in that car crying. I only remember Father David’s shoulder and noticing how wet it was from my tears.
     
    W hen we arrived home after the ten-minute drive from the airport, Mum and Anna made straight for the kitchen to put the kettle on, one to try and help and the other to assert her place as the new woman in my life. Pat, oblivious to the politics, made straight for the TV and put on a Disney movie. I carried in the suitcases, dumped them on the bedroom floor and went downstairs to drink my tea.
    Anna was standing proprietarily by the kettle holding a huge bouquet of flowers.
    ‘Look at these sweetheart, aren’t they gorgeous. Your mother bought them for us to welcome us home.’
    ‘Thanks, Mum. They’re lovely,’ I leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
    At that moment, Jim walked in the door, Pat following him like a puppy. ‘Did you guys have a nice time then? Or were you too busy to enjoy the sights?’
    ‘Jim,’ Mum scolded, ‘Not in front of the boy.’
    ‘I know, Mum. I’m far too young for this kind of talk,’ I jumped in.
    ‘Sorry, Mother.’ Jim dropped before her feet and pretended to kiss them. Pat, thinking that this was hilarious, jumped on his back. This resulted in the two of them running into the living room, round the couch, Pat saddled on Jim’s back. From there and backto the kitchen, to the dining room and back to the lounge, with Pat barely able to hold on for giggling. Jim hollered like a cowboy on ecstasy.
    I looked over at Anna to check if she was enjoying the show. She was modelling a smile the Mona Lisa would have done well to emulate. During our courtship it was only on rare occasions that we were all