tell me that you’d found your father?’
Gareth stilled.
She allowed the silence to stretch.
His head sank back onto the pillow. ‘Can we leave this for a bit, Diane?’ Suddenly his voice was weak and fatigued and the clarity of his diction took a giant stride backwards: ‘Han ee eave iss ver a bi, Dia?’ And a peevish note, as if Diane should have been more considerate than to bother him with trivialities.
She rocked a little in her chair. ‘It’s been left long enough, Gareth.’
He closed his thick eyelids, slowly, as if in pain.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’d found your father?’
The eyes remained closed. But it seemed as if he’d accepted that the inevitable moment of confession had come when he asked, ‘Do you know how Valerie is?’ his diction clear again.
‘I don’t even know who Valerie is.’ Diane paused at the quiet knock that heralded the appearance of refreshments. She supposed such service was one of the things that Harold was paying for. Or it might be Gareth footing the bill, of course, with his newfound wealth. She hadn’t bothered to enquire.
Her coffee was fragrant and freshly poured into a white china cup from a filter jug. Gareth’s was provided in a blue plastic cup with a ‘chimney’, reminiscent of Bryony’s toddler days. Diane stirred in sugar with a clinking spoon. The door hushed shut behind the auxiliary.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she repeated, lodging the spoon in the saucer.
Gareth sipped in silence.
She fixed her gaze on his eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ The same quiet, reasonable tone.
His eyes closed, firmly, blocking her out.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The eyelids flipped open to display blazing eyes. ‘Because he’s my father. OK?’ His voice dripped sarcasm.
Diane felt the blood boil into her cheeks at the echo of her own words. They were my parents! Remembering herself shaking with determination as she confronted Gareth about the will.
She moistened her lips. ‘It’s because of the money.’
Irritably, he closed his eyes again. ‘What?’
‘The reason you didn’t tell me. It’s not because Harold’s your father, it’s because he gave you money and you didn’t want me to share it. You didn’t want my life made easier, for me to have a car, or a new TV, or clothes that I hadn’t made myself. Not even a new pair of winter boots! You gave yourself an extra two days off a week to enjoy with Valerie and Harold and told them I was mentally ill.’
She waited. Then began again. ‘The reason you didn’t –’
‘Yes!’ Gareth turned his head sharply, making himself wince. ‘The money. Obviously the money. Because we don’t share decisions about money that comes to us from our parents – do we ?’
The palms of her hands prickled with fury.
His eyes burned balefully as he massaged his fattened jaw with his fingertips. Probably it was aching now with this unaccustomed talking. Or through gritting his loosened teeth in his swollen gums.
‘Gareth, I had my pride.’ The familiar cry that epitomised all her confused and hurt feelings towards the parents who’d tried so hard to control her, even from the grave.
He rolled his head on the pillow. ‘We couldn’t afford pride.’ Again, the hand, to soothe the jaw he was meant to be using only gently.
‘And before Bryony went to Brasilia, when I wanted to see if we were eligible for various low-income benefits and you went ballistic, it was nothing to do with not taking handouts or not being a charity case or not wanting anyone to think you couldn’t look after your family . It was because you knew your horde, your stash, the treasure that your long-lost father had given you, would come to light?’
Silence.
Outside the window the blue sky was ragged with piebald clouds racing before a stiff breeze. The double-glazing hushed the thunder of traffic to a whisper. Amongst the trees, birds could be seen but not heard. Diane leaned her elbows on the bed. Her
Gareth stilled.
She allowed the silence to stretch.
His head sank back onto the pillow. ‘Can we leave this for a bit, Diane?’ Suddenly his voice was weak and fatigued and the clarity of his diction took a giant stride backwards: ‘Han ee eave iss ver a bi, Dia?’ And a peevish note, as if Diane should have been more considerate than to bother him with trivialities.
She rocked a little in her chair. ‘It’s been left long enough, Gareth.’
He closed his thick eyelids, slowly, as if in pain.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that you’d found your father?’
The eyes remained closed. But it seemed as if he’d accepted that the inevitable moment of confession had come when he asked, ‘Do you know how Valerie is?’ his diction clear again.
‘I don’t even know who Valerie is.’ Diane paused at the quiet knock that heralded the appearance of refreshments. She supposed such service was one of the things that Harold was paying for. Or it might be Gareth footing the bill, of course, with his newfound wealth. She hadn’t bothered to enquire.
Her coffee was fragrant and freshly poured into a white china cup from a filter jug. Gareth’s was provided in a blue plastic cup with a ‘chimney’, reminiscent of Bryony’s toddler days. Diane stirred in sugar with a clinking spoon. The door hushed shut behind the auxiliary.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she repeated, lodging the spoon in the saucer.
Gareth sipped in silence.
She fixed her gaze on his eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ The same quiet, reasonable tone.
His eyes closed, firmly, blocking her out.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The eyelids flipped open to display blazing eyes. ‘Because he’s my father. OK?’ His voice dripped sarcasm.
Diane felt the blood boil into her cheeks at the echo of her own words. They were my parents! Remembering herself shaking with determination as she confronted Gareth about the will.
She moistened her lips. ‘It’s because of the money.’
Irritably, he closed his eyes again. ‘What?’
‘The reason you didn’t tell me. It’s not because Harold’s your father, it’s because he gave you money and you didn’t want me to share it. You didn’t want my life made easier, for me to have a car, or a new TV, or clothes that I hadn’t made myself. Not even a new pair of winter boots! You gave yourself an extra two days off a week to enjoy with Valerie and Harold and told them I was mentally ill.’
She waited. Then began again. ‘The reason you didn’t –’
‘Yes!’ Gareth turned his head sharply, making himself wince. ‘The money. Obviously the money. Because we don’t share decisions about money that comes to us from our parents – do we ?’
The palms of her hands prickled with fury.
His eyes burned balefully as he massaged his fattened jaw with his fingertips. Probably it was aching now with this unaccustomed talking. Or through gritting his loosened teeth in his swollen gums.
‘Gareth, I had my pride.’ The familiar cry that epitomised all her confused and hurt feelings towards the parents who’d tried so hard to control her, even from the grave.
He rolled his head on the pillow. ‘We couldn’t afford pride.’ Again, the hand, to soothe the jaw he was meant to be using only gently.
‘And before Bryony went to Brasilia, when I wanted to see if we were eligible for various low-income benefits and you went ballistic, it was nothing to do with not taking handouts or not being a charity case or not wanting anyone to think you couldn’t look after your family . It was because you knew your horde, your stash, the treasure that your long-lost father had given you, would come to light?’
Silence.
Outside the window the blue sky was ragged with piebald clouds racing before a stiff breeze. The double-glazing hushed the thunder of traffic to a whisper. Amongst the trees, birds could be seen but not heard. Diane leaned her elbows on the bed. Her
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