Two years later
Jane was reminded of that moment as she sat by her father’s bedside two years later. Bowel cancer was robbing her of the most important man in her life. He had a room in the local hospice, and the care he had been receiving was exemplary, however the acid eating away at Jane’s stomach was a constant reminder of her impending loss.
There were no machines in the room, no beeping or suctioning sounds. He was too far advanced for that. They administered morphine to make him comfortable, but otherwise the radio provided the only noise in the room. Roy insisted on the radio as company. Jane and her Mum had brought along mixed cassette tapes of all his favourite tunes, however he still preferred to listen to the radio.
“It’s the surprise of hearing songs I don’t expect, for what will probably be the last time,” he’d said. Not for the first time, silent tears had streamed down Jane’s face and she’d turned away so that he couldn’t see her cry. It wasn’t fair. Roy was still only 48 years old. He deserved so much more than this cruel and ignominious end.
Ella had nipped outside for a break, leaving Jane and Roy alone. Jane had brought along a Classic Rock magazine and was reading articles out of it to him, when he held a hand up. “Turn that up,” he ordered, and Jane had reached for the volume.
Eternal Flame.
“Dad!” Jane groaned and Roy chuckled gently, his eyes crinkled tightly in his pale face. It felt good to see him laugh. He patted her hand as she smiled at him. “You know I loathe this song.”
“There’s no romance in your soul, Jane. That’s your problem,” he teased.
“That’s not true.”
“Well, you’ve never shown much sign of it.”
Jane folded her arms. “I’m a rock chick, I don’t do romance.”
“I’m a rock … what’s the opposite of chick? Cock?”
“Oh my god. Rock cock?” Jane burst out laughing. “You’re such a disgrace.”
“Maybe. My point is though, that you can still have a soft romantic side and do heavy metal. Trust me on this. You can still find love.”
“I love Tim,” Jane responded automatically, and her father squinted up at her.
“Do you?” he asked.
Jane shook her head, amazed at the way history repeated itself. “I had a very similar conversation with Terri once, and she played this blasted song then. I think you two are in cahoots.”
“She’s a good girl, that Terri. She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“She does not. She’s a complete menace,” Jane contradicted fondly. Terri had moved to London to work with an investment banking firm, and Jane missed her although she travelled up to see her every now and again. Terri had toned down her goth look by necessity, just keeping her black hair. She was as striking as ever, and no doubt had the West End eating out of the palm of her hand the way the student clubs of Bristol once had. “She sends her love by the way. As does Tim.”
Her father closed his eyes for a while and Jane thought he’d nodded off, as he had a tendency to do. She listened to The Bangles for a while, feeling alone and full of fear, facing a future without her father, until Roy opened his eyes again.
“Don’t settle for second best, Jane,” he said. “Don’t simply make do. You can achieve so much, fly so bright.”
“I won’t make do, Dad. I promise.” She straightened the covers around him. “Do you really think Tim is second best?”
Roy hesitated, understanding that now was not the time to tell half-truths. “I would never interfere if I thought you were deliriously happy with Tim, and you know, sometimes ‘happy enough’ can do. But he doesn’t light you up the way a rich, deep seam of love can do.”
“Does Mum do that for you?”
“You know it. Since the moment I clapped eyes on her in a muddy field in Somerset all those years ago. Barefoot and hairy armpits and all.” Jane giggled. It was a family joke. “I’d drag myself over hot coals for her, even now, when I can barely sit upright.”
Jane smiled and squeezed her Dad’s cool hand. His bones were delicate. She was frightened she would break his fingers.
“Mum’s your eternal flame?”
“She sure is. She’s always been the only one for me. My soul mate. You’ll find one yourself … one day.”
“Assuming it isn’t Tim, you mean?”
“There’s that,” Roy winked at her.
Jane sighed. “You know, Terri used to joke, ‘so many men, so little time’. But men … they’re all just other people to me. ‘Amorphous souls inhabiting the same planet’.”
“That sounds like a Wild Dogz lyric, if ever I heard one.”
Jane chuckled. “Very good, Dad!”
“I haven’t lost my touch where lyrics are concerned. Besides. That was off their first album, wasn’t it? You regaled the whole neighbourhood with that, several times a day for about 18 months if I recall.”
“I did not.”
“Not far off,” Roy laughed wheezily. “It’s a good lyric nonetheless. You still like them?”
“Of course. They’ve been on a hiatus though. Difficult fourth album or something.”
“They were kids, I suppose. They’re growing up. I guess they have to transition. Either they’ll disintegrate and never come back, or they’ll come back better than ever. I’ve seen it happen over and over with the groups I love.”
“Well, I hope they do get it together. And soon.”
“In the meantime, there’s always The Bangles though, right?”
“Dad.”
“A bit of Whitney, maybe?”
“Dad!”
***
Jane awoke with a start. She’d been having an odd dream where she had been running away from somebody or something, an unknown menace. She’d been trying to get to the river in spite of walls that blocked her way. Walls made of concrete blocks, poorly plastered, scrawled over in colourful graffiti. She would try to haul herself over one wall, and scrape her knees, and the wall would collapse beneath her weight. She’d rise, covered in dust and attempt to run some more, getting nowhere.
Her father was staring at her. The dream dissipated as Jane returned to reality, and the realisation that her father was days away from death made the dream a fitting metaphor for her despair.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice husky.
“Yes,” she smiled and stretched. “Are you?”
“A little thirsty.”
“Let me get you some water.” She busied herself looking after him, lifting the bed, helping him to sit up a little, smoothing his covers followed by his forehead. “Can’t you sleep?” she asked.
“Plenty of time for that, as Bon Jovi might say.”
Jane’s stomach clenched. “Do you need something for the pain?”
“Not yet. In a while.” Her father’s face was as white as his pillow case.
“Would you like me to read some more to you? It might help you go off a little easier.” Jane desperately wanted to feel useful.
Perhaps her father understood. “Yes,” he replied. “Read to me.”
Jane angled a lamp so that she could see what she was reading without bathing the rest of the room in light, and finished an article about the making of Fleetwood Mac’s album Rumours - one of her father’s favourites - and turned the page. She had read most of the magazine now, and the next few pages were comprised of adverts for forthcoming concerts and album releases.
The familiar red and black logo for Wild Dogz caught her eye instantly. “Whoa!”
“What?” Roy asked, blinking at her in the subdued light.
“It looks like Wild Dogz have a tour coming up after all.”
“And a new album?”
“It doesn’t say that, although you’d assume it wouldn’t be one without the other. That’s brilliant news!”
“It is. You’ll have to go and see them.”
Jane beamed. “Oh I’d love to. Let’s see. A couple of London gigs, Manchester, Newcastle or Birmingham, Brighton, Portsmouth, Sheffield and … ta da! Bristol. Ideal!”
“That’s great,” her father sighed tiredly. “I wish I could come with you, but my gigging days are over.”
Jane reached out and stroked his arm, tears pricking at her eyes. “I wish you could too.”
“Except I’d hate to stand in the way of you meeting the perfect man. A gig like that, your ideal fella is bound to be in the audience, clad in a Wild Dogz t-shirt and wearing a smelly old leather jacket with Whitesnake and Black Sabbath badges sewn on it.”
“He sounds perfect. I’ll probably go with Tim though,” Jane chided softly.
Roy shook his head slightly and closed his eyes.
***
Roy Edward Fraser passed peacefully away in his sleep two days later, with Jane, Ella, and Roy’s Mum Lillian by his bedside. The women huddled together to weep for their loss and then, when the time came for them to take their reluctant leave of his body, they gathered his meagre belongings together, to carry home.
“Oh Jane,” said Ella. “There’s this.” She handed her daughter an envelope. It had been in the drawer by the bed along with his shaving kit and other toiletries.
Jane carefully tore the envelope open and drew out the contents. It contained a card with a kitten climbing out of a watering can. It was incredibly twee and not her Dad’s style at all. She wondered where he’d found it. Perhaps a nurse had given it to him. Inside the card were five crisp ten pound notes. The card had a message, written with a shaky hand, although still recognisably her father’s.
“Buy the tickets. Take Terri. Have a few beers for me. Take care of your Mum for me. And keep an eye out for your eternal flame. I’ll always be watching over you, Dad.”