A Spot Of Bother

103

Jamie and Katie went into the bedroom and collapsed backward onto the bed. They were laughing too much to explain the reason to Ray or Jacob. And it really was like being fourteen again. But in a good way this time.

And then Jamie needed a pee, so he walked along the landing and as he was emerging from the loo his father appeared and said, “Jamie, I need to talk to you.” No greeting. No pleasantries. Just a conspiratorial whisper and a hand on Jamie’s elbow.

He followed his father into his parents’ bedroom and perched on the armchair.

“Jamie, look…”

Jamie was still fizzy from the encounter in the kitchen and there was something reassuring about his father’s quiet, measured voice.

“The cancer,” said his father, wincing in a slightly embarrassed way. “Come back I’m afraid.”

Jamie realized that something rather serious was going on here, and sat up a little straighter. “The cancer’s come back?”

“I’m frightened, Jamie. Very frightened. Of dying. Of cancer. Pretty much constantly. Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Can’t sleep. Can’t eat.”

“Have you talked to Mum?”

“I’ve been getting on her nerves a tad,” said his father. “Not able to help out much. Really do need to sit down in a quiet room. On my own.”

Jamie wanted to lean across and stroke his father, the way you might stroke a worried dog. It was a peculiar urge, and probably not a wise move. He said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well, yes there is,” said his father, brightening noticeably. “You see, the thing is, I really can’t go to the wedding.”

“What?”

“I can’t go to the wedding.”

“But you have to go to the wedding,” said Jamie.

“Do I?” said his father, weakly.

“Of course you do,” said Jamie. “You’re the father of the bride.”

His father thought about this. “You’re absolutely right, of course.”

There was a brief pause, then his father began to cry.

Jamie had never seen his father cry before. He’d never seen an old man of any kind cry. Except on television, during wars. It made him feel seasick and scared and sad and he had to fight back the temptation to tell his father that he didn’t need to come to the wedding. Though if he did that Katie wouldn’t talk to either of them for the rest of their natural lives.

Jamie got off his chair and squatted in front of his father. “Dad. Look.” He rubbed his father’s forearm. “We’re all on your side. And we’ll all be there to hold your hand. When you get inside the marquee you can knock back a few glasses of wine…It’ll be all right. I promise.”

His father nodded.

“Oh, and I’ll have a word with Mum,” said Jamie. “Tell her you need some peace and quiet.”

He stood up. His father was in a world of his own. Jamie touched his shoulder. “You OK?”

His father looked up. “Thank you.”

“Give me a shout if you need anything,” said Jamie.

He walked out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind him, then went to look for his mother.

He was walking down the stairs, however, when he glanced into his old room and noticed suitcases on the bed. Because he was thinking about his father’s mental well-being he didn’t really consider the implications of the suitcases until he met his mother in the hallway holding a stack of clean flannels.

“Mum, listen, I’ve just been talking to Dad and…”

“Yes…?”

Jamie paused, working out what he wanted to say and how to phrase it. And while he was doing this another part of his brain considered the implications of the suitcases and he heard himself saying, “Those suitcases in my room…”

“What about them?”

“Who’s staying in there?”

“Eileen and Ronnie,” said his mother.

“And I’m staying…?”

“We’ve found you a nice bed-and-breakfast in Yarwell.”

It was at this point that Jamie threw an uncharacteristic wobbly. And he knew it was the wrong moment to throw a wobbly, but there was not a lot he could do about it.