CHAPTER ONE
Jackie
“I sometimes wonder why I do this to myself.”
I sighed. It was cold outside—late winter, early spring. I shivered and ducked into the warmth of the kitchen.
“Dad?”
No answer. I sighed. I hadn’t expected one. I hoped he was sober.
I do love Dad, and I can even understand why he does this. I just wish he wouldn’t sometimes.
My dad drinks. A lot. He lived here for the last ten years—since he and Mom split when I was in my late teens. Now I’m in my mid-twenties, and he is still drinking. Still holding down a job, though, which is something that makes me happy. He works for an old friend at the local garage.
“Jackie?” he called back.
Whew. He’s awake. Sounds sober too. Great!
“Dad?”
“There you are. I thought I heard someone come in. You cold?”
I nodded, rubbing my hands down my arms for warmth. “You have a fire in there?”
“I do,” he commented. “Nice and warm.”
“Good.”
I came to join him in the small sitting room, where there was, indeed, a fire burning. Knelt down and held my hands to the orange flames. When I looked up, my dad was watching me. Sometimes I wonder why I do this to myself. When I saw the look of tenderness in his eyes as he looked at me kneeling there, I knew.
I love him and he loves me. That’s all there is to it.
“How was your day?” he asked gently.
“Good,” I said, nodding. Well, it was okay. My job is tough, but it’s not too bad. And it is the first step on a ladder I want to climb.
I finished college five years ago, where I majored in child psychology. Now, I work as the psychologist at the reformatory. It’s a really demanding job, but I enjoy it. And it doesn’t have to be where I stop, careerwise.
I’d love my own practice one day. I just can’t open it here, in the small town where I was raised, since there isn’t an opening for another psychologist here: we already have two and they suit the community’s needs. And until Dad gets back on his feet, here is where I have to stay.
So, until then, I’m stuck.
“How was your day?” I ask. I look at him closely while he answers. He’s a bit gray and tired looking, and his hand shakes a little. I don’t think it’s the drink—I think he’s hungry.
“Dad?” I ask. “Did you eat lunch at work?”
“There were a lot of cars in the garage today,” he sidesteps. “I spent lots of time looking over this one Toyota…”
“Dad,” I interrupt. “Answer me. Did you eat?”
“Jackie…” he sighs and pulls a face at me.
“Okay. I know what that means. No. Well, I’m making dinner then.”
“Jackie,” he protests weakly. I ignore it.
“Dad, you should start being more responsible. You really should eat. Three meals a day. Doctor’s orders.”
“Oh, you know what I think about that…”
“Yes, I know what you said the doctor should go and do. But I don’t think he can. He might have read a lot about anatomy, but some things are anatomically impossible.”
He chuckled. I heard him as I made dinner. Good. I was glad to have cheered him up. I sometimes think that if he was more cheerful he wouldn’t have to escape his life the way he does.
Later, as we sat and ate together—I join him when I visit to make sure he finishes everything—he reached out and touched my wrist. I looked into those rheumy blue eyes and smiled. He’s still stunning—at least I think so. His hair was white and his face thinner than it should be, his eyes bloodshot. He had the thickened veins and the swollen eyes and face of someone who drinks far too much most of the time, but I could still see the hawkish, handsome man I have called father all my life. And I loved him.
“What?”
“Jackie,” he sighed. “You don’t have to do this.”
“No,” I agreed. “I want to.”
When his eyes looked back into mine I could see the depth of emotion. I wish I couldn’t—seeing him sad makes me sad too.
“I wish I could do more, you know.”
“We all do what we can,” I said softly.
I meant it. I believe that. No one does anything besides what they know how to do at the time. Sometimes our skills sets are just a bit small. His skills set consisted of hiding most of what he felt under anger or under booze. I was just grateful I’d learned other ways to handle how I felt.
He sighed. “I wish I could do more.”
“I know,” I said gently. “I also wish I could.”
I left shortly afterward, my heart heavy. At least I had made sure he ate.
I drove home into the darkness of a winter sky, the wind cold beyond the confines of my car. I stopped outside the apartment block where I rented—in a nice area of the town—and slipped out, folding my coat around me tight as I went. Inside, I took it off and, shivering, turned on the heat.
“Whew.”
I leaned against the kitchen wall and wished, not for the first time, that I could cheer up.
It was mainly Dad that upset me. That, and the things I saw at work. Seeing so much anger, pain and fear in children was really distressing. Facing up to the fact that we had a society that gave so many people so few options was even more distressing.
“I don’t know if I can keep doing this.”
I sighed. Made myself tea. Sat down and drank it. I looked idly at my phone while I did so. Then I set it aside, restlessly. Looked out of the window instead. The sky outside was gray, torn with wind and the setting sun leaked through, a fierce amber.
There is so much beauty in the world.
I closed my eyes. My grandma used to say that there wasn’t much use in bewailing all the bad things in your life. She always believed the things you focused on would multiply.
Well, Granny, in that case, I’m focusing on that sunset. I wouldn’t mind a few more nice things like that in my life.
If she had been there, I could almost imagine her answer. You don’t go shopping without a list. What do you actually want?
I drank the tea and thought about that. What would I want in my life? I had a career and a sense that it would grow. My boss spoke well of me and would give me a good review. That was the thing I wanted most—a fulfilling career path. Then…what else? I had Dad. I wanted him to get better, or at least get happier and more stable.
But what do I want for myself?
I sighed. I had a man in my life a while back. He was hypercritical and unkind. I had really tried my best to make things work, but Luke had dragged at me, wearing me down to the point I had wished I could join Dad in his oblivion. I was not entirely sorry things had ended.
I don’t think I want that again. But do I? I’m twenty-eight and I haven’t really thought about what I want from life.
In my heart, I knew I wanted a child. I had no idea how that was going to show up in my life, though. I was single and I didn’t, to be honest, have much of a desire to alter that. I could support a child on my salary—just. I would have to wait until I was more established before I put serious thought into that. I wouldn’t want my child to grow up with anything less than the best I could offer her or him. It would be pretty tough to pay school fees on my salary.
“Well, who knows. But that’s what I’d like. A child, and yes, love in my life.”
I knew now. If the magic was in the knowing, I’d done the first step.
Now I should really think about doing some work and then go to bed. I yawned. It was ten o’ clock and I was tired. I needed to wake up at seven tomorrow.
I was busy washing dishes when my phone made a noise. I took it out and looked at it. It was Ashley, a colleague. She sent a text.
Don’t forget about the meeting tomorrow evening!
Dammit. I texted back.
Thanks. I had forgotten. See you there.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and tried not to swear. I had forgotten about the meeting—it was with the head teacher and a representative from the council. We were going to talk about the budget, of all inspiring things.
“At least it’s tomorrow. And not tonight.”
Of all the things I could think of, that was the most positive outlook I could bring to the school budget. I laughed.
I finished the dishes and slipped into bed half an hour later.
As I lay down and closed my eyes, I wondered if my life would ever be any different. I wanted it to be. I was ready for it.