MORNING SERIAL
AND it was ten years, or thereabouts, between him leaving and me receiving that letter from a solicitor in Larnaca, informing me of his death, with a return flight booked and paid for. All sorted. I’d figured he just wanted me to say goodbye.
Clare did ask about the funeral, of a man she never knew and a man I had barely mentioned in the years of our relationship; but she believed me when I said this stranger had been like a father to me, and she asked how the funeral had gone, and, for some reason, I had lied about it almost entirely. I said it was well-attended and I had been pleasantly surprised to see some old friends there: “Y’know how funerals are; they bring all sorts of things out of the past and bring them right up to your nose.”
“Some old friends?” she said. “Not girlfriends,” I said. “I didn’t mean that.”
I wasn’t sure if we were joking with each other or not.
“But it does mean I’d like to stay a few more days,” I said. “Who knows what might come out of it. There are a few dealers here, and some friends of Francis’s from way back who might have some connections for me. It’s networking, y’know? Just hold off calling your dad until the end of the week, will you?”
Clare sighed deeply.
“I have two auditions tomorrow, so I’ll call him Friday,” she said. The tone was delivered so there could be no doubt this was a stay of execution and not a relaxing of Clare’s feelings toward me at that time. The conversation had exhausted itself, and had tapered off to something much more demeaning than the usual combat – it was being dismissed now.
“Was there anything else?” Clare said.
Regardless of her anger, and how much I had been dreading calling her, I had enjoyed hearing her voice. It was always so steady and confident and even as she was reprimanding me I felt I was being done some good rather than just being reminded of my failings.
> The Golden Orphans by Gary Raymond is published by Parthian www.parthianbooks.com
CONTINUES TOMORROW