Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
“You done?”
Lucy shrugs, looks down.
“I’ll be on my best behaviour,” I assure her before stepping forward to kiss the top of her head. “He sounds great. I’m looking forward to meeting him.”
She looks up at me, smiling wide. “Thanks, Dad.”
“He’s paying for any claw marks in the furniture, though.” I can’t help it.
She punches my stomach, making me laugh as I stumble back a step. “The eggs!” It’s another close one, but I save them. Again. I nudge the box towards her. “Here. Put these away before they end up all over the bloody floor.”
“They’ll end up on your head if you embarrass me tonight,” she says, snatching the eggs and turning to the fridge. “Or maybe I’ll do something less obvious. Like…put toilet water in your mouthwash.”
“What the… Did something traumatic happen to you as a child?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” The fridge door swings closed. My daughter raises her chin, stares me out. “Remember when you hijacked the karaoke at my eleventh birthday party? I’ll carry the emotional scars of that performance for the rest of my life.”
I think I’m legitimately offended as I clutch my chest. “You used to love One Direction!”
“Yeah, well it wasn’t One Direction standing in front of our living room window massacring What Makes You Beautiful was it. You were the only parent out of all my friends to know every lyric, I swear.”
Draping an arm across her shoulders, I bring her in for a quick hug. Laughing, I say, “It’s memories like those you’ll cherish when I’m on my deathbed. You wait and see.”
Lucy scoffs. “Oh, wow, Dad. Seriously?” Noticing her mum is off the phone in the next room, she pulls away from me and walks off. “Mum!” she calls as she heads into the living room. “Dad needs therapy or something.”
Outwardly I’m laughing, but my mind has taken hold of what was supposed to be a throwaway comment about my deathbed. Suddenly, I’m picturing myself there. Hopefully, old and grey at the end of a long, well-lived life. If I were to close my eyes and riffle the files of my memories, there’s already a big enough collection to bring a contented smile to my face in the final moments. There are tears and sorrow, naturally, though vastly overshadowed by an abundance of joy, laughter, and love.
Yet…I feel a hollowness, too. An aching pit deep in my core. As if it’s waiting to be filled. Begging. Is that what regret feels like, I wonder. When people talk about looking back on their lives, about lost time and missed opportunities, is it because they ignored this feeling, didn’t fill the void in time?
Can I live with that?
Can I die with that…
Chapter Seven
William
It’s almost one AM when Becca and I get to bed. Tiger stayed until ten, and Ben was at the cinema with his friends until midnight. I picked them up in my van, dropped his mates at their houses on the way home. Now, we’re on our backs, naked, damp from the shower, and staring at the dark ceiling, discussing the day. Life. Ordinary, real-world stuff like regular married people in love do.
“Your dad came by the other day. Wednesday, I think it was.”
It feels like she’s just dropped a hot boulder on my chest. “What for?”
“He says you’ve got some of his old Motown records. He wants them back.”
“I’ve got nothing of his,” I spit, my tone dripping with acid as if every ounce of hatred I’m feeling is Becca’s fault. I apologise immediately. “Sorry. I just know I don’t have them. I left with nothing.”
My father’s records are nothing but the soundtrack to the worst times of my life. When I left that house for the last time, I damn sure never wanted to see them again. To this day when I hear Reach Out I’ll Be There by Four Tops, my ribs ache. I smell the stale beer on his breath. I see his eyes bulge as he spits in my face.
Those fucking records aren’t in this house.
I feel her nod against the pillow. “Can you check the loft just in case? I told him you would.”
A frustrated huff blows through my nose. I know they’re not there. I also know Becca won’t rest until I’ve looked. “Sure. When I’ve got time.” I’m not rushing to complete the pointless exercise.
“What do you think he wants them for?” Becca asks.
“To sell.” I shrug. “Pawn. Swap for weed. Nothing good.” I need to change the subject to something that doesn’t hurt my stomach. “I should’ve known the kid was vegan the moment Lucy told me he was studying environmental science,” I say. “Only vegan tiger I’ve ever met.”
Becca chortles, kicking my ankle under the covers. “That mince was nice though, wasn’t it? Looked like cardboard in the packet but cooked up pretty well.”