DAD’S NOT SINGING ANY MORE

After their mom’s death Emma and Rachel had done their best but it seemed Dad was giving up

I’M REALLY worried about Dad,” Rachel said as she arranged biscuits on a plate. “I try to tempt him by cooking his favourite things but he’s not eating. Haven’t you noticed?” “He’s not singing any more,” Emma mumbled, her mouth full of biscuit. “I noticed that. He had a song for every occasion. Do you remember A Rose In A Garden Of Weeds?” Emma remembered how he’d smile at them as he sang, their mother laughing softly and telling him not to be so daft. “It always made me cry.”

“Most things made you cry,” her sister said dismissively. “Besides, Dad’s still mourning Mom. You can’t expect him to go around singing all over the place. It’s only been six months.”

“Then you can’t expect him to go around eating his head off either,” Emma retorted. “Where is he, by the way?”

“Having his afternoon nap. So keep your voice down or you’ll wake him.”

“What’s he doing having an afternoon nap?” Emma bristled. “You’re turning him into an old man. You’ll be installing a stair lift for him next.”

“Don’t be silly.” Rachel switched on the kettle. “And in case you hadn’t noticed, he is an old man.”

“Rubbish. He’s only 75 and fit as a fiddle – or would be if you didn’t keep stuffing him with pies and biscuits. That’s why he’s dozing when he should be out walking the dog.”

“Ah yes, the dog,” Rachel said. “I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Sammy?” Emma’s heart lurched as she remembered what she’d come to talk to Dad about. “The thing is –”

“Dad’s thinking of living here permanently,” Rachel said in a rush.

“What?” Outrage drove every other thought from Emma’s mind. “You can’t ask him to give up the home he shared with Mom.”

“I’m not asking him to do anything,” Rachel said hotly. “It’s what he wants. He’s desperately lonely and the house upsets him and –”

“Of course it does. They were married for 48 years. He misses her like crazy.”

“And he’s not looking after himself properly. The place is a dump.”

“For goodness sake.” Emma glanced with exasperation at her sister’s stylish but too tidy kitchen. “Any house looks like a dump compared with yours.”

“As for the dog –” Rachel swept on. “Did you know Dad had been letting him By PAULA WILLIAMS Illustration: MINDI FLEMMING sleep on the bed with him? How unhygienic is that?”

Emma thought of how comforting the dog’s presence would have been. “It was company,” she murmured.

“So I wondered if you’d have Sammy permanently? That way Dad can still see him when he visits you.” “Is this what Dad wants?” Emma asked. “Of course. The boys’ old playroom will make a lovely bedroom. And we can easily convert the small bedroom next to it into an en-suite bathroom, especially if Dad chips in –”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Emma hissed. “You want him to sell his house so you can enhance the value of this one.”

“How dare you?” Rachel said furiously. “You’re jealous. Can’t bear the thought of Dad spending more time with me than with you, can you?”

“I’m going to ask Dad –”

“Yes. Why don’t you? Go on; ask him. Then you’ll see.”

“Ask me what?”

THE two women whirled around as their father came into the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Neither answered him. “Waking up to the sound of you two arguing was like turning back the clock,” he said.

“We weren’t arguing –” Emma began but Rachel cut in.

“I told Emma you’re thinking of selling the house and coming to live with us. And she doesn’t believe me. Tell her, Dad.”

“It’s true,” he sighed. “Since your Mom . . . There’s no point staying there.”

“It’s too soon to make such a big decision,” Emma said. “Leave it until you’re feeling more yourself again.”

“I’ll never feel my old self again,” he