Somebody to Love: Sigh With Contentment, Scream With Frustration. At Time You Will Weep. by Sheryl Browne Page B

me off again,’ he said quickly. ‘I understand. You don’t want to get too involved. Can’t we just talk though, over coffee maybe?’
    Donna agonised. ‘Mark, I can’t tonight, really. I have to meet my sister.’
    ‘Tomorrow?’
    Donna closed her eyes. ‘I… I’m not sure. I have something on,’ she said, part of her backsliding already. ‘Can I call you?’
    ‘Okay,’ Mark said, with an audible sigh. ‘I’ll wait to hear from you, then. Bye, Donna.’
    ****
    Would she call? Mark didn’t think so. Well, he’d tried. There was nothing else he could do, short of driving past her house with blue lights flashing and a banner flying behind saying, “Donna O’Connor will you please give me a bloody chance?’
    Not much point if she really wasn’t interested. He supposed he should just forget about her and move on. He’d got too much on his plate already anyway. Pulling in a breath, he started the engine, then switched off again as his mobile rang. Noting the number he didn’t hesitate to answer, though he was disappointed it wasn’t Donna.
    ‘Hi, Dad. What’s happening?’
    ‘Power’s gone off.’ His dad sighed. ‘Lights, TV, cooker, the lot. Just wondered if you knew of a decent electrician, rather than me sticking a needle in the old Yellow Pages?’
    ‘Not one who’s likely to come at short notice, no. You’re sure it’s not just a bulb blown, or something?’
    ‘Oh, that would do it, would it?’ his dad asked, sounding slightly embarrassed.
    Mark guessed why. Working away from home most his married life meant his dad didn’t have a clue about maintaining a house. It had been hard on his mum sometimes, harder when she’d realised it wasn’t all work that kept him away. It was hard on the old man now though. His guilt weighed heavy, Mark knew.
    ‘That, or a short in the supply somewhere,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll need to flip the switch on the fuse… No. No, leave it.’
    Mark pictured his dad struggling to climb the ladder to reach the fuse box. Uh-uh, not with his dodgy hip. ‘Stay where you are, Dad. I’m on my way.’
    ****
    Twenty minutes later, Mark headed through his father’s kitchen with the stepladder. ‘All done,’ he said to his dad, who was standing at the table, looking awkward and out of place in a room that was once solely his wife’s domain.
    ‘There’s a torch in the utility,’ Mark offered, noting his dad was scraping spilled candle-wax from the table. ‘Mum kept one in the cupboard for emergencies.’
    ‘Ah.’ His dad smiled. Stiffly, Mark noticed. His dad hadn’t smiled much since his mum died. That was the trouble with regrets, Mark supposed. Life had a habit of moving on before you could do anything about them.
    No point in his dad beating himself up about it now though, or for Mark to be laying blame. His dad was getting older, confused sometimes, and, God knew, Mark had a few regrets of his own. The past was the past, best left where it was, he reckoned. Life was just too short to be agonising over stuff you couldn’t change.
    ‘Do you fancy some tea?’ he asked, trying to ease the awkwardness between them.
    ‘I’ll get it.’ His father insisted, turning to stride to the cooker, still the proud man with a razor sharp memory Mark had always known his father to be, so long as he wasn’t trying to recall what happened yesterday.
    Years ago, no problem. That was his dad’s yesterday nowadays. ‘Brought Emma with you, have you?’ His father asked as he filled kettle, confirming Mark’s fear that he was getting more confused.
    ‘No, Dad.’ Mark dragged a hand through his hair. ‘We, er… We split, Dad, remember?’
    His dad furrowed his brow. ‘Oh. Yes. Sorry, lad. I get a bit forgetful sometimes.’
    ‘Don’t we all?’ Mark made light of it, because he knew his dad hated being reminded about his incompetent memory. He’d have to organise some home help for him at some point. ‘I’ll just go and…’ He nodded towards the stairs,