Read Online Monday to Friday Man by Alice Peterson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Alice Peterson
Ads: Link
night.
I look at him now. His hair is grey, his pale skin as fragile as tracing paper, but there is and always has been a distinction in the way he holds himself, dresses and talks. He is a proud man. At home, rarely do I see Dad without a tie on; I’ve never seen him in a pair of shorts. I remember him only once dressed in a pair of blue swimming trunks, paddling in the sea with Megan on his shoulders. Mum, Nick and I poked fun at his white legs, but he was still one of the most handsome men on the beach. Mum said the first time she met our father a thousand lights went on in her head.
Dad has been a wonderful father to Nick and me, but he’s always found it hard to express how he feels. When Mum left, something died in our family. Nick and I were eleven and scared, but Dad seemed almost clinical in his ability to carry on.
We had to ‘brace up’ because we had no choice. But behind closed doors I’m sure he wondered how he was going to cope. Would she ever come back? After losing Megan I think he grieved in private and wished Mum was by his side.
Over our scrambled eggs I tell Dad about Edward getting married.
He takes my hand. In the past few years he has shown more affection, as if he understands now there is no weakness in being vulnerable.
‘Oh Dad,’ I sigh, when he keeps his hand clutched around mine. ‘I just want to be happy again.’
‘You will be. I know it’s little consolation right now,’ he begins, ‘but in time you will meet someone else, Gilly.’
I tell him about my date with Harvey.
‘You will meet someone else,’ he repeats, ‘maybe not Harvey,’ he adds with a dry smile, ‘but someone clever enough not to let you go.’
11
Summer 1985
Dad, Nick and I are sitting round the kitchen table when Mum tells us the news.
It turns out Mum wasn’t being silly.
She had just taken Megan to see a paediatrician, praying she was an over-anxious parent, but he told her that Megan had ‘spinal muscular atrophy’.
Megan has no strength in her muscles, which is why she can’t sit up. She’s not going to be able to lead a normal life, run around like Nick and me. She is nothing more than a ragdoll.
I burst into tears.
‘What can she do?’ Nick says, a question I’m not brave enough to ask.
I can’t imagine not being able to toboggan in the snow, collect conkers, bicycle into town and ice-skate with friends. It isn’t fair that Megan will never be able to do all these things that Nick and I do.
‘Well, she can enjoy being with us,’ Mum replies. ‘She can understand every word we say, so we mustn’t treat her any differently and . . .’
‘Beth,’ Dad interrupts.
‘She’ll go to a special school when she’s older,’ Mum continues. ‘She’ll need lots of love and attention and we . . .’
‘Beth, this is no use. Tell them,’ Dad insists. The colour in Mum’s cheeks vanishes. She shakes her head. ‘Not now,’ she says.
‘Tell them,’ he repeats, this time more softly. ‘Or I will.’
A silence descends across the room. I clutch Nick’s hand.
‘Well . . . The doctor, he said, he told us . . .’ But Mum can’t go on. She rushes out of the room and upstairs.
Nick and I turn to Dad.
What can be worse than what Mum has already told us?
12
Just enquiring if your spare room is still available? Your place has probably been snapped up by now but if it hasn’t, give me a call. I urgently need a place by the beginning of September. All the best, Jack Baker .
‘When I had a lodger I used to spend all the rent money eating out,’ Guy says, as we are on our fifth circuit of the park.
It’s late August and over the past month meeting Guy has become as regular as drinking coffee each morning. Unobtrusively he has entered my life. We don’t call each other because we haven’t exchanged telephone numbers. I don’t know where he lives; just that at the end of our walk he turns left at the zebra crossing and I turn right. I don’t even know his
I look at him now. His hair is grey, his pale skin as fragile as tracing paper, but there is and always has been a distinction in the way he holds himself, dresses and talks. He is a proud man. At home, rarely do I see Dad without a tie on; I’ve never seen him in a pair of shorts. I remember him only once dressed in a pair of blue swimming trunks, paddling in the sea with Megan on his shoulders. Mum, Nick and I poked fun at his white legs, but he was still one of the most handsome men on the beach. Mum said the first time she met our father a thousand lights went on in her head.
Dad has been a wonderful father to Nick and me, but he’s always found it hard to express how he feels. When Mum left, something died in our family. Nick and I were eleven and scared, but Dad seemed almost clinical in his ability to carry on.
We had to ‘brace up’ because we had no choice. But behind closed doors I’m sure he wondered how he was going to cope. Would she ever come back? After losing Megan I think he grieved in private and wished Mum was by his side.
Over our scrambled eggs I tell Dad about Edward getting married.
He takes my hand. In the past few years he has shown more affection, as if he understands now there is no weakness in being vulnerable.
‘Oh Dad,’ I sigh, when he keeps his hand clutched around mine. ‘I just want to be happy again.’
‘You will be. I know it’s little consolation right now,’ he begins, ‘but in time you will meet someone else, Gilly.’
I tell him about my date with Harvey.
‘You will meet someone else,’ he repeats, ‘maybe not Harvey,’ he adds with a dry smile, ‘but someone clever enough not to let you go.’
11
Summer 1985
Dad, Nick and I are sitting round the kitchen table when Mum tells us the news.
It turns out Mum wasn’t being silly.
She had just taken Megan to see a paediatrician, praying she was an over-anxious parent, but he told her that Megan had ‘spinal muscular atrophy’.
Megan has no strength in her muscles, which is why she can’t sit up. She’s not going to be able to lead a normal life, run around like Nick and me. She is nothing more than a ragdoll.
I burst into tears.
‘What can she do?’ Nick says, a question I’m not brave enough to ask.
I can’t imagine not being able to toboggan in the snow, collect conkers, bicycle into town and ice-skate with friends. It isn’t fair that Megan will never be able to do all these things that Nick and I do.
‘Well, she can enjoy being with us,’ Mum replies. ‘She can understand every word we say, so we mustn’t treat her any differently and . . .’
‘Beth,’ Dad interrupts.
‘She’ll go to a special school when she’s older,’ Mum continues. ‘She’ll need lots of love and attention and we . . .’
‘Beth, this is no use. Tell them,’ Dad insists. The colour in Mum’s cheeks vanishes. She shakes her head. ‘Not now,’ she says.
‘Tell them,’ he repeats, this time more softly. ‘Or I will.’
A silence descends across the room. I clutch Nick’s hand.
‘Well . . . The doctor, he said, he told us . . .’ But Mum can’t go on. She rushes out of the room and upstairs.
Nick and I turn to Dad.
What can be worse than what Mum has already told us?
12
Just enquiring if your spare room is still available? Your place has probably been snapped up by now but if it hasn’t, give me a call. I urgently need a place by the beginning of September. All the best, Jack Baker .
‘When I had a lodger I used to spend all the rent money eating out,’ Guy says, as we are on our fifth circuit of the park.
It’s late August and over the past month meeting Guy has become as regular as drinking coffee each morning. Unobtrusively he has entered my life. We don’t call each other because we haven’t exchanged telephone numbers. I don’t know where he lives; just that at the end of our walk he turns left at the zebra crossing and I turn right. I don’t even know his
Similar Books
