I took a deep breath in and called my sister’s mobile. This was not a call I wanted to make but I had known it was coming. So did she.
My sister answered, “Hey Kath, can I call you back? I’m about to start the lunch service.”
“Hey Susie. No. It’s important. But I’ll be quick. It’s Dad. It’s time. A day or two at most the nurses tell me.” My voice cracked a little. Saying the words that my Dad is dying just made it real.
I heard a small sob, “Thanks for telling me straight Kath. I’ll make arrangements here and be in Manchester later today if I can. I’ll call you back once I know what train I’m on.”
“OK. Take care Susie. See you soon.”
“One last thing. Make sure that woman is not there when I get there.” Susie hung up before I could reply. Deliberately probably.
Susie owns and runs a busy restaurant in London. It’s open seven days a week so it’s full on for her. Even when the restaurant is thriving, it is a huge commitment. There’s always staff to hire and fire, uniforms and linen to have cleaned, food and liquor to order, customers to placate. At the moment, with cost of living pressures, there is the added stress of keeping the meal prices low but still making money. As she tells me, the needle is balanced precariously between profit and loss. Anyway, the restaurant had made it really difficult for Susie to come to Manchester to visit Dad. She had made me promise that I would communicate with her honestly about Dad and that’s what I had done over the last few months.
Dad is 81 – a “good age” until you’re talking about your Dad and the very real prospect of losing him. He’d always had good health. Really good health. In fact, he’d always been quite smug about it. “Never drink, never smoke. That’s why I keep so well,” was always his refrain.
But something gets all of us one day doesn’t it? In Dad’s case, it was an infection bad enough for him to be hospitalised. Blood tests whilst he was there showed the dreaded “C.” A nasty type. Incurable. There was treatment to improve the quality of the life he had left but the medicos did not fill us with any false hope. It was to be six months. Or less.
I live in Manchester so I can see Dad regularly. I had thought he was looking a bit “peaky” and I knew he was off his food. I had suspected that time was closing in.
“That woman” – the one Susie refuses to see – is Dad’s partner of over twenty years. They had had an affair whilst she was working for my Dad. Which is dreadful. No argument from me about that. But she is Dad’s long-term partner and my view is to at least be civil. Especially at the moment.
Susie and I had had furious rows about this. Well, about lots of things actually. But let’s stick to the issue at hand – “that woman.” Helen. Dad’s partner. He has probably been with Helen now longer than he was with our Mum.
I had beseeched Susie, “This is about Dad. Not about you.”
To no avail.
Susie had told me repeatedly that she would be in the same room once only with “that woman” and that would be at Dad’s funeral.
So, now here we are, almost at the point of Dad’s funeral but not quite.
Keeping Susie “happy” has been a challenge for years. She has never been part of a long-term relationship and she has no children. As she has aged, she has become more and more set in her ways. More absolute. Harder.
I, on the other hand, married three plus decades ago and have grown children. “Compromise” is my middle name. It has to be when you have a long-term relationship I think.
I picked Susie up from the station and took her straight to Dad’s. Helen had taken the opportunity to go down the street and pick up some prescriptions. My nerves were on edge as I waited for Helen to come home and for Susie to erupt.
For now, though, there was peace. Just two sisters sitting at our Dad’s bedside as he lay sleeping.
Susie and I sat in silence for about an hour, lost in our thoughts and our memories.
Dad opened his eyes, saw us both and smiled. He whispered, “My girls. You’re both here. You’ve been good girls to me. I need you to do one more thing for me - be kind to Helen when I’m gone.”
With that, his eyelids closed again.
About the author
Leonie Jarrett lives in Melbourne, Australia with her Husband of more than three decades, her four adult children and her two Golden Retrievers. Leonie is a lawyer and has owned several businesses. Now that she is semi-retired, Leonie is loving writing rivers of words.
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