Chapter Eighteen
Seren
I don’t want this evening to end. The parade was wonderful, the town looks magical and everyone is happy. Later I’ll be drinking beer and eating pizza with my best friends on earth, but now I’m on my way to MacArthur’s for a very special date with Dad.
As this is likely to be the last lantern parade I’ll see living here for a while, Dad suggested we should toast my new job immediately afterwards. I was only too happy to agree. Mum’s been so supportive ever since I told her about Alastair’s offer, but secretly it was always Dad’s reaction that was going to matter most. Since our Shedservatory chat, he’s been amazing – almost as excited for me as I am for myself. I value that more than I’ll ever be able to express.
So, we are going to drink beer in Dad’s tiny art gallery and toast both of our futures. Just us.
He’d looked exhausted again this morning, so I suggested we postpone our toast, but he insisted it should happen. ‘You’re always saying I don’t rest enough, so how about this: I’ll go to the shop, switch on the lights and hang our paper lanterns in the archway for the parade, then snuggle here in my chair and catch forty winks until you arrive. How about that?’
Taking him at his word, I sneaked a fold-up mattress, pillow and sleeping bag into the storeroom before I left for the parade, with a note on the counter telling him where to find it all. I’ve already decided that if he’s still asleep when I get there I won’t wake him. Secretly, I’m relieved he’s taking me seriously at last.
The tiny courtyard off Fore Street is decked in paper lanterns and white lights, my display in the window lit, too. It would make an excellent grotto for Father Christmas one year, I think. Maybe I’ll mention it to Dad for next Christmas.
I put my key into the front door lock but the door swings open immediately. Typical Dad. It’s a wonder MacArthur’s hasn’t been burgled, considering the number of times Dad’s forgotten to lock the door. Maybe he forgot before he went to sleep.
But when I enter the shop, there’s no sign of the mattress, bedding or Dad. He wouldn’t have tried to put up his makeshift bed in the storeroom, would he? There’s barely enough room between the boxes to stand in there.
‘Dad?’
I think I hear a cough from the storeroom. Laughing, I walk through the doorway into it. ‘I’ve brought your beer. The parade was amazing. I – DAD!’
He’s crumpled up at the back of the room, one hand holding on to the bottom shelf. I drop the bottles and dash over, pulling his arm around my shoulder to haul him up and move him to a chair. When he lifts his head, I go cold.
His skin is white, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the hollows of his cheeks huge purple bruises now. He’s sweating, but his hands are cold and clammy. I can see the ragged rise and fall of his chest. He doesn’t look like my father at all. It’s terrifying . . .
‘Dad – are you in pain? Can you breathe? Talk to me if you can.’
He coughs, his voice thin and reedy when it comes. ‘Seren, stop fussing. I’m fine. I just . . . tripped . . . fell. I think . . . I hit my head on the shelf.’
‘Does your head hurt?’
‘Not really. Honestly, stop looking at me like you’ve seen a ghost. I’ll be fine – just give me a few minutes to get my breath back.’
‘I think I need to get you to hospital.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘A doctor, then. Dad, you don’t look well at all . . .’
‘No, Seren. No need. It usually passes in a few minutes.’
The word hits me like a truck. ‘Usually?’
His brow furrows. ‘What?’
‘You said usually. This has happened before, hasn’t it?’
‘Let it go, Seren . . .’
The full horror assaults me then. He hasn’t just been tired. This is something far more serious – and he’s been lying to me. ‘I asked you to go to a doctor months ago. I said you weren’t looking well . . .’
‘Don’t go overreacting. I’m on top of it.’
‘How is this being on top of your health? Dad, you look terrible.’
‘So, I’ll go to the doctor’s first thing Monday morning. Okay?’
‘Yes, you will. Because I’m taking you.’
He lets out an exasperated sigh, which makes my anger with him burn even fiercer. ‘I am perfectly capable of looking after myself . . .’
I want to slap him, hold on to him, cry – how dare he have been keeping this from Mum and me? And then, I realise. I can’t trust him to look after himself. This scary turn has happened before. If I hadn’t come back tonight, would he have swept this one under the carpet too?
I can’t leave him.
I can’t go to Falmouth terrified that Dad’s going to collapse again when nobody is with him. I’d never forgive myself if that happened and I wasn’t there. I want this new start so badly – it’s all I’ve thought of since I decided I was going to take the job. But not at the expense of Dad’s health. Ever since I started working at MacArthur’s I’ve had a feeling he needed me more than he was letting on. Now I know the truth.
‘Dad, I’m not leaving.’
‘I’ll be fine. Lou’s giving me a lift home at ten. Go and be with your friends, stargirl. Enjoy tonight.’
I shake my head, biting back tears. ‘No, not that. I’m not going to Falmouth. I’m not taking the job.’
‘No. You need to be there . . .’
‘I don’t. Not with things the way they are. You need me, Dad. And I need you healthy again. When you’re better, maybe I’ll reconsider. I’m sure Alastair would wait for me if he thinks I’m the right person for the job. But I’m not leaving you until I know you’re well.’
Dad cups my face with his hands and for the first time I see real fear in his eyes. ‘I feel awful for this.’
‘Don’t. It’s my decision.’
He folds me into his arms and bursts into tears. I cry too – fear and shock meeting crushing disappointment in a huge blow to my heart. Everything I’ve dreamed about has gone. But Dad needs me.
I’m doing the right thing. I just wish I didn’t have to tell Alastair tonight . . .