Daddy's Girl

Daddy’s Girl

(980 words)

  Cath opened her eyes to the whine of descending gears as the car slowed to a crawl. The soft green blur of hedgerows was gone and there were people and shops, and a cyclist overtaking them on the inside.
   ‘Want to stop?’
   ‘What for?’ She spoke without turning her head.
   ‘I don’t know. Stretch your legs, have a coffee somewhere.’
   ‘I’m all right.’
   ‘We should be home in under an hour,’ he said, ‘but if you feel ill or anything…’
   ‘I’m fine. Really.’
   In her half-dream she had been a child again, travelling in her father’s car. She remembered it had a grille and headlights that made it look very sad. When she became bored on their journeys to the hospital he would think up games for her to play, counting things she could see – dogs, buses, cars without roofs. And when that wore off he would sing to her, silly songs that made her laugh. She tried to recall them…
   ‘Did I tell you that Geoff and Carol said we could have their old buggy?’
   ‘Yes. You told me yesterday.’
   ‘I say old but it’s in perfect condition.’ He gave a sudden laugh. ‘Geoff said we can consider it a loan till they go for their second, then we can have it back again for ours. Should work out fine, I said, provided we stagger the girls’ pregnancies.’
   The Ugly Duckling! That was one of his favourites. And he didn’t simply sing the quacks; they were real animal sounds he made by some trick of the tongue. She would try to copy him, amusing her mother as they sat at her bedside.
   ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘You haven’t told me what you think of Jessica yet. Or David if it’s a boy. A bit difficult, not knowing what it’s going to be.’
   ‘I told you, I don’t want to know! I don’t want to know until it’s born.’
   She leant forward and turned on the radio. There was an interview with an MP accused of making fraudulent expense claims. They were in the country again and it had started to rain.
   Find the Slippers was another of their games. She had been very young then, before her mother’s illness. He would come home from work with that lovely smell of engine oil on his clothes and she would hide herself under the old sideboard where the family kept its footwear. Then, shoes off, he would probe underneath with his foot – I wonder where my slippers are – until it discovered the softness of her body. Funny! My slippers feel very wobbly tonight. And what a noise they’re making! And the room would fill with the irrepressible squeals of childish laughter.
   She remembered the way he embraced her after the funeral, his whispered promise to try to fill the awful void left in her young life. And she remembered the sacrifices he had made to keep it.
   ‘I must say, the place impressed me. Not a bit like I expected. What did you think?’ He glanced across at her, demanding an answer.
   ‘It was very nice’, she said, and turned to look at the hedgerows again. The MP was trying to explain why he would not resign.
   ‘And Dad liked it, too,’ he said. ‘You could tell. He’ll settle down in no time. Be chatting up the nurses before long, you watch.’ He patted her knee and turned the tuner to Radio One.
   ‘Why did you do that?’
   ‘Eh?’
   ‘Change the station?’
   ‘Since when have you been interested in politics?’
   ‘That’s not the point. You could have asked me first.’
   He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Come on, Cath. I just thought a bit of music would cheer you up.’
   ‘No, you come on!’ She switched the radio off. ‘Just stop making decisions for both of us, okay?’
    No further words passed between them for several minutes. The rain fell harder, lashing the windscreen with a force the wipers could barely cope with. The hedgerows were gone again, giving way to featureless grassland and mist-covered hills.      
   ‘Listen, Cath’, he said. ‘He’ll get all the care he needs now. Professional care. Alzheimer patients are their speciality. It wouldn’t have been fair on Dad to expect you to look after him any longer.’
   Her stare was incredulous, as if some conjuring feat had taken place before her eyes and rendered her speechless. The pretence! The hypocrisy! He was already beginning to erect a wall of lies for both of them to hide behind.
   ‘We wanted his room,’ she said. ‘We got rid of my father because we wanted his bloody room!’
   ‘Cath, we had to.’
   ‘Stop the car!’
    She got out and ran to a road-sign, feeling its press against the swell of her belly. Her hair flew into a scarf across her face, instantly glued there by the driving rain. The fields, the sky, the distant hills, were distinguished only by their hues of grey, and the dank smell of earth filled her lungs as she sobbed.
   He stood beside her, a hand poised, but she tensed and he drew it away.
   ‘Cath! We talked it over, remember? We agreed.’
   I know, I know. He had won another argument, that was all, dissecting her objections with the clinical logic of stainless steel until there was nothing left but surrender.
   He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face him. ‘You’re upset. It’s understandable. But you have to face it, Cath! The baby comes first. We have to plan for our children now.’
   She beat him off, her arms flailing the air a useless moment longer.
   ‘Children!’ The word spat from her mouth like a cobra’s venom. Her knees buckled as she gripped the post again and put her plea to the verdict of the hills.
   ‘Why don’t we ever tell the sickening truth about children?’

End