Shout the Call

“Dad! Oh my God,” I shouted as I ran into my father’s open arms, instantly feeling like a little girl again as I buried my face into his jumper.

“Beatrice,” he said, choking back tears, “how are you my darling?”

“I’m great Dad, just great. I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve missed you and Mum so much. What’s bought you here? Where’s Mum? Are you okay?”

“Slow down sweetheart,” my father replied, laughing.

“Sorry Dad, I’m just so happy to see you.”

“I know, me too. We both miss you very much.”

“Could Mum not come, then?”

“She really wanted to be here honey but she’s off on conference duties in Italy,” he answered apologetically, “she couldn’t get out of it I’m afraid. She has sent this though.”

My father practically skipped out of the room and out the door. He reappeared with a neat, perfectly wrapped present in his hand and offered it out to me. I shook my head.

“She really didn’t need to buy me anything.”

“She knows that, Beatrice but between you and me, I know she feels pretty guilty about not being here so this is the next best thing.”

I turned the gift over and over in my hands, trying to guess its contents. It was square and soft. It’s a jumper I thought to myself. I opened the present, almost frantically, to find a lovely pair of plaid, fleece pyjama’s which is exactly what I needed for those cool nights on the bus.

“And here’s a little something from me,” he went on, “it’s not much but I hope you like it.” He pulled another gift out of his back pocket. It was a slim, rectangular black case. I opened it to find a beautiful new fountain pen.

“Oh Dad,” I said, rolling the pen between the thumb and index finger of my right hand, “It’s just perfect; beautiful. You really shouldn’t have, neither of you needed to but thank you so much.” I hugged my father again.

“Anyway,” I went on, “you never answered my question. What are you doing here? I mean that in the nicest possible way.”

“Wait, so I need a reason to come and see my favourite daughter?”

“Favourite daughter eh?” I asked as I looked up at his face, grinning, “are you telling me you’ve got a love child or maybe more out there?”

He laughed heartily. “Yes, Beatrice, there are quite a few actually.”

I laughed back.

“Dad, please call me Bea. I always feel like I’m in trouble or something when you use my full name.”

“Okay, if you insist, Beatrice,” he replied, “oops, sorry, Bea. I can’t help it – you’re still my little girl,” he said as he bought his right hand up to my face and pinched my cheek playfully.

“Actually, there is a reason I wanted to come and see you,” he continued, turning serious.

“What’s the matter Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Oh my darling, everything’s fine, it’s just…..”

“Dad, spit it out!”

“Don’t panic honey and please try not to get upset. I’m not very well sweetheart.”

“How not well?” I asked, feeling the pit of my stomach drop, “You obviously haven’t come all this way to tell me you have a cold.”

“I sincerely wish that was the case Beatrice. Look, can we have a little privacy here?” he asked, looking at Aaron, implying he wanted him to leave. I looked at Aaron too and nodded before he kissed my cheek and left us alone.

******

“Would you like a drink Beatrice?” my father asked as he opened the fridge, checking out what was on offer. I was speechless. Half of me was screaming out for alcohol; something to numb the shock and the pain. The other half of me couldn’t even think about drinking at such a serious time. My alcohol loving half won the battle. I nodded at him.

“I thought a whiskey was more suited to the occasion sweetheart,” he said as he headed over with two plastic tumblers and a whole bottle of Macallan. He poured us both generous amounts. We each took quiet, nervous sips at exactly the same time. My father cleared his throat.

“The last thing I wanted to do was come here and tell you this sweetheart. I really wish I was here, with you, just for the fun of it; to see you doing what you love. Hanley’s already told me how well you’re doing in the company and when he told me you got this gig, I was thrilled. I’m over the moon for you Beatrice. I know how much it means to you; I know how much you love this band.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I took a large gulp of the stinging liquid and struggled to get it past the lump in my throat. I couldn’t utter a word for fear of breaking down and it was obvious my father was struggling too.

“Don’t cry Beatrice, please don’t."

“I’m sorry Dad, I can’t help it.”

My father gulped down the rest of his whiskey in one hit. He winced. “Honey, I have cancer.”

I crumpled in on myself and hugged my knees.

“Can it be treated? Is it curable? What type is it?” I fired off quickly. I didn’t want the words lingering in my mouth; I wanted the questions out of my head.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart but its terminal bowel cancer. It was simply found too late to cure.”

I stared blankly at him, not quite believing what he was saying.

“Anyway,” he went on, “I phoned Hanley and he told me you were here. I explained everything and he gave me Jim’s number. I ordered Hanley not to speak a word of this to anyone; he promised me. He’s clearly very good at keeping his promises. Then I phoned Jim and asked if it was possible to catch up with you on the tour and well, here I am. You understand why I couldn’t tell you something like this over the phone honey, right? I wanted to surprise you……” As those last words left his mouth, he looked at me apologetically; sorry that he couldn’t find better words.

“Well, you certainly did that,” I shouted angrily, surprising myself with my outburst, “and then some.”

“Would you have come on this tour if I told you four weeks ago, when I originally found out?”

“What the hell? You should have said something Dad, and no, you know I couldn’t have.”

“You see, there you go,” he said almost smugly, “there was no way on this earth I would have ruined this opportunity for you. Personally, I didn’t want to tell you at all but your mother told me you’d never forgive me if I crawled off this mortal coil without saying goodbye.”

And then I broke down into deep, heavy sobs; I couldn’t hold it in any more.

“You’re not saying goodbye now are you? You can’t. Not yet; no way.”

“Beatrice, I’m afraid I can’t go defy the inevitable. The good news is….”

“Good news? Are you kidding me?” I shot at him.

“The good news is,” my father continued, “I’ll be joining you for a few days, health permitting. I won’t be on the bus with you but I’ll be following your movements. Oh dear, that sounds creepy doesn’t it? Hanley’s already arranged accommodation for me for the next few nights. Don’t worry; I won’t be hovering around, cramping your style. I’ll just be around if you need me.”

“Oh Dad, I just don’t know what to say.”

“I know Beatrice,” he said, stroking my arm, “anyway; I’m going to head off now. I want to try and beat you to Denmark.”

“How are you getting there, Dad?”

“I’m booked in on a ferry tonight and then I’ll just use public transport to get me to the hotel.”

“Oh, okay. Well please make sure you phone me as soon as you hit Denmark. I don’t care what time it is, just let me know you’re there safe.”

“Of course I will sweetheart and maybe we can go for lunch and have a proper catch up.”

“Hell yes. I was just going to suggest the same. It’s a date.”

My father kissed my forehead softly, gave me one last squeeze and left the room. I slumped on to the sofa and felt my heart break into a million pieces.