Father pt.4
4
“Dad, will you give me a lift down to the sports ground in a bit?” This was Gemma. It was Friday evening.
“What for?” She sighed when I asked this, looking at me as if it was perfectly obvious, then said in a slightly patronising voice,
“To go hang out with my friends.” I was about to reprimand her for speaking like that but decided against it and instead asked,
“What time?”
“About seven.”
It was half six already.
“You haven’t eaten yet.” I said.
“What we having?”
“Fish and chips.” She wrinkled her nose and I felt a little dismayed; she always used to really like fish and chips.
“I’m not hungry yet,” she paused, thinking, “you could drop me off on your way to the fish shop.”
“So what will you do for tea?” I asked. She shrugged and looked at something on the wall, then back at me,
“You could give me some money, and I could get something later.” I sighed and then said,
“Okay.”
Twenty minutes later we were in the car on the way to the sports ground. Gemma had ejected my cassette and the radio was playing, filling our void of conversation. I glanced at her for a second while we were on a quiet stretch of road. She was looking away from me, her elbow on the window frame and her cheek resting on her knuckle. The sun was low in the sky beyond her, highlighting part of her face while casting shadows over the rest.
“How are you going to get home?” I asked, turning down the radio a little. She watched my hand turn the dial and draw away, then said,
“I’ll walk with Marisa.”
“What time?”
“Ten.” I looked at her, then back at the road.
“I don’t want you back any later than nine.”
“Everyone else stays out till ten”
“I don’t care what everyone else does; you can be in at nine.”
“Aw, please, Daddy, let me stay out till ten.”
I sighed; she used to call me ‘daddy’ all the time, now she only did when she wanted something.
“Half nine, then.” I took another quick glance at her. She opened her mouth as if about to argue, looked at me, then said,
“Okay.”
We had reached the sports ground by this time. I pulled up in the car park, looked out my windscreen and saw a group of kids, mostly around Gemma’s age, some maybe a little older, stood around the children’s play park area. A couple of them were rocking idly on the swings, their dark hooded tops turning them into silhouettes in the setting sun. Three more were sat on the see-saw (one at either end and one in the middle) and there were few boys with their arms around girls, or holding girls’ hands. I noticed some of them were smoking as well and some had cans of cheap lager in their hands. They turned to look at the car when I pulled up, then most of them turned away again, though a few continued to stare blankly at us.
I looked doubtfully back at them until Gemma brought my attention back to her.
“Can I have the money now please, dad?”
“Oh, yeah sure,” I said, pulling my wallet from my back pocket and taking out a five pound note and offering it to her. She reached out then halted her hand in mid-air.
“Do you think I could maybe have ten, please, Daddy?” She asked, smiling. She saw I was about to protest and so quickly said “I haven’t had my pocket money for this week yet.” I replaced the five and pulled out a ten. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said taking the money from my hand and jumping out the car. She was about to walk away, but I said,
“Gemma.” She stopped, a little rigidly, and turned around.
“Yes, Dad?”
“Just, stay out of trouble, okay?” She looked blankly back at me, leaning on the open door, “I mean, just be careful,” I continued, “being out at night on your own as a young girl.”
Marisa was walking over to Gemma now. Gemma had noticed her and so quickly said, “kay, Dad, see you later. Bye, Lucy.”
“Bye, Gem,” Lucy said from the back seat of the car.
“Bye,” I said, as Gemma closed the door. I stayed and watched for a few moments as she walked off with Marisa, then Gemma turned back and looked at me, indicating clearly that I was no longer wanted here. I reversed out of the parking space and pulled back out onto the road.
I thought about what I had just said as I pulled up at a set of traffic lights. I was trying to sound fatherly and caring and give advice to my daughter, but it had just sounded awkward. Thinking of Gemma reminded me that the radio was still on. I pushed my cassette back in and the pop music was replaced by Pulp’s ‘Do you remember the first time?’.
In the rear view mirror I saw Lucy turn her attention from the passing scenery to the radio as I pushed in the tape. She stared at it for a moment, and then she stared back out the window, at the sun, and began idly moving her shiny shoes to the music. I smiled.
Gemma came home at ten minutes before ten. I was watching television when she came in. I heard her kick off her shoes and thought she was going to come in and say that she was back and maybe watch something with me, but then I heard her go up the stairs. After a few minutes I followed her. I knocked on her door once and then went in.
She was sat at her computer, listening to music. The computer monitor was again the only source of light in the room.
“Dad,” she said turning round, surprised because she had apparently not heard me come in.
“I thought I said be home at half nine,” I said.
“Yeah, I know, but I’m only twenty minutes late.”
“Which is quite late.” I pointed out. I noticed the smell of cigarette smoke on her clothes.
“Sorry,” she said. I took a step towards her, almost tripping over some clothes on the floor in the darkness.
“Two things,” I said, “Firstly, put a light on, you’ll damage your eyes with nothing but the monitor on, and secondly, tidy your room tomorrow; it’s a tip.”
“It’s my room,” she said a slight defiance creeping into her voice.
“And who pays for this room? And who pays your pocket money and give you lifts.” I was not sure, but in the low light she seemed to be looking at me as if I was some strange intruder that had trespassed into her territory.
“Okay, I’ll tidy it tomorrow,” she said. I noticed that she was chewing gum.
“Have you been smoking, or drinking?” I asked
“No, Dad,” she said. I could not see her face well enough to tell whether she was lying, silhouetted as she was against the dim light. She saw me looking at her intently, so added “A few of the guys in the year above me were smoking near me and that’s why it’s on me. But I hate the smell.”
“Good,” I said, giving her the benefit of the doubt, “I wouldn’t want my little girl taking up bad habits.” I put my arm out a little way, about to make some gesture of affection, ruffling her hair perhaps, as I had done when she was young, but drew my hand back, the action incomplete, and realised how stupid what I had just said must have sounded.
“I’m going to watch Lord of the Rings in a bit,” I said, filling the pause I had created.
“Um, okay,” Gemma said.
“Well, do you want to watch it with me?”
“Um, well, actually I was just going to stay on the computer for a bit then go to bed. Maybe another night.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. She turned back to the screen. Before I left I said, “turn a light on.” She did not respond for a moment, then when she realised I was waiting, she got up and turned her bedside light on. It suddenly illuminated her unmade bed, the clothes discarded over it, and the jewellery and various other small items she kept on the table around the lamp. It also set a warm amber contrast to the cold white glow that lit her face as it coloured her from behind.
“Don’t stay up too late,” I said, about to close the door.
“I won’t,” she said, not turning away from the screen. I closed the door and went downstairs.
As I watched the film I again thought about the amount of time Gemma spent on her computer, and the distance that seemed to have grown between us over the last few months. Before going to bed I checked on Lucy. She was sleeping peacefully as she always did. I also listened at Gemma’s door as I went past. Through the wooden door I could faintly hear the tapping of her fingers on the keyboard.
I woke up late the next morning, having gone to bed late, after the film finished. For a while I stayed in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting thoughts drift in and out of my head. I would probably have lain there longer if my bladder had not forced me to leave the comfort and warmth of my bed. So I got up and walked across the landing to the bathroom and opened the door. Doing so revealed Gemma stood there, completely naked in front of the tall bathroom mirror. It was in the mirror that I saw her face reflected (for her back was to me), a troubled expression darkening it as she held a hand on her ribcage and scrutinised her chest in the mirror. Then the expression turned to shock and then, a moment later, to a surprised, embarrassed anger that reddened her cheeks.
I too was shocked, not expecting anyone to be in here at all, let alone standing unclothed. For just a second too, an image of Rachel flashed into my mind, and fixed me, paralysed and incomprehensible to the spot where I stood, staring blankly. Gemma was quick to react though and shouted
“What the fuck, Dad? Don’t you ever knock?” at me while reaching for the nearest towel to wrap around herself. I snapped out of my paralysis at these words, realising again that I staring at my daughter. I said
“Sorry,” quickly turning away and closing the door behind me, then, by way of explanation, “I didn’t think anyone was in there.” She did not answer and so I just stood there, embarrassed, wondering what to do or say next. And then I realised what she had just said. “Hey, don’t use that kind of language in my house.” I called through the door.
From the other side came the angry, indignant reply “No, I will,” Gemma’s voice a little higher than usual with emotion. “You should knock,” she continued, “and why isn’t there a lock on this door? How can we have a bathroom without a lock?” It was true that our bathroom had not had a lock when we had bought the house, and it was one of the many things that I ought to sort out but was not a desperate issue and so could wait a little longer, until I got around to it.
A few seconds later she pulled open the door and I realised I had been leaning against it a little as she did so because the action made me take a step towards it to regain my balance. Gemma pushed past me wearing her pyjamas and saying “there’s no privacy in this house. I’m sick of it.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll put a lock on this weekend. It’s just never been a problem.” I said following her the short walk across the landing, seeking her forgiveness, but she closed the door before I had finished speaking.
Again I now stood on the other side of a door to her, indecisive and wondering whether to go after her and apologise again or to just leave it. I stood there for maybe thirty seconds before I sighed and decided I had better just leave her alone for a while, rather than aggravate her further, and besides, I still needed the toilet. I went into the bathroom and closed the door.
As I stood over the toilet, I thought about Gemma, stood a few feet away from where I now was stood, moments before. I had never noticed before how much she had grown up; I realised now how much more she was beginning to look like Rachel. She had always had a fairly strong resemblance to my wife, having similarly wavy hair of about the same length, though a different style and light tone, but now she was beginning to develop the figure Rachel had had.
The images of Gemma suddenly evoked images of Rachel in my mind. I saw her now stood before me, naked and beautiful, as she used to do. I felt a pang of desire mixed with a sharp, nostalgic sadness. I stepped away from the toilet, washed my hands and face, then stood before the mirror and looked into it. I wondered if Gemma was coping alright with the way her body was changing, without a mother in her life to guide her through the process of becoming a woman. I wished I could supply that absence, but our ordinary conversations felt awkward enough, without talking about such delicate issues.
Tags: family, father, Fiction, isolation, loneliness, novella, original fiction, part four, Relationships, Silent Hill 2
