Page 75 of Good Sisters

‘No, you wouldn’t,’ I said. ‘You’re our dad. We want you there at big moments. Gavin needs you. He doesn’t have Mum so he needs us all to rally. Come on, Dad. Family is everything and we must support each other.’

‘Why don’t you go ahead, Sophie, and call George when she’s in full labour?’ Dolores was not letting go.

I stood up, walked over to the coat rack, grabbed Dolores’s coat, marched over and handed it to her. ‘We are going to the hospital, to be with our family on this big day. Goodnight, Dolores.’

She turned to Dad, who looked at the floor and muttered, ‘Sorry.’ While he went to get his wallet and his keys, I walked Dolores to the door and slammed it behind her.

Dad came back down the stairs, ready to go.

‘Seriously, Dad? Why her? She’s awful,’ I said.

‘Ah, now, Dolores is a nice person when you get to know her.’

‘No, she is not. And does she have to sit in Mum’s chair?’ I’d promised myself I wouldn’t mention it, but I couldn’t help it. It just felt like a betrayal.

Dad sighed. ‘I know what you mean, love, but it’s just a chair.’

‘No, it isn’t. It’s Mum’s chair.’ I knew I sounded half crazy, but everything still felt so raw. This was Mum’s house, her home. ‘She’s only gone a matter of months, Dad! What are you doing with that dreadful woman?’

Dad leaned against the front door, looking old and weary. ‘I’m lonely, Sophie. I miss your mum every minute of every day. I find the days and nights very long. You’re all great kids and are very good to me, but you’re busy with your own lives and children. I like having company. Dolores is easy to be around. She gets me out of my head and out of the house. Most days I don’t know what to do with myself. You have to remember, love, you lost a mother, but I lost a wife – it’s a different kind of loss.’

I bit my lip. I had been too quick to judge. Poor Dad. My anger melted away. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry you feel lonely. I know you miss Mum. So do I. I miss her so much. But it’s much harder for you, I get that. I just … well, it’s just that …’

Dad took my hand in his. ‘Sophie, I’m not running off into the sunset with Dolores. We’re just having dinner. She could never replace my Anne. That’s not what this is about.’

Yes, but it was dinner on Mum’s best china, used once a year, and Dolores was sitting in Mum’s chair, and she was pushy and brash and I hated her.

My phone rang.

‘Damn, it’s Gavin,’ I said. ‘Hi, Gavin, we’re just –’

‘What the actual? Where are you? I need support here. My girlfriend is having a baby and Mum’s not here to help me!’ he roared.

‘Jesus, let’s get to him before he combusts,’ Dad said, as he hurried me out of the door and locked it behind us.

‘We’re on the way right now. Relax, she’ll be in labour for a while. I’m bringing Dad. We’re coming.’

We walked into the hospital and saw Louise and Julie at the desk. The receptionist gave us directions.

‘Has the baby arrived?’ I asked.

‘Not yet,’ Julie said. ‘But Gavin keeps calling. He sounds manic.’

‘He’s hyperventilating down the phone.’ Louise pressed the button on the lift. ‘You’d swear he was the one in labour.’

‘God, I hope this doesn’t go on all night.’ I stepped into the lift.

‘I brought snacks and drinks in case it does.’ Julie indicated a big holdall.

Dad hesitated at the lift doors. ‘Maybe I should go home. I’m a bit of a spare tool here. He has all of you girls. I don’t want to be in the way.’

I silently cursed Dolores for feeding his self-doubt. We’d have to work on reassuring him and making him feel wanted in every situation.

‘No way.’ Julie linked his arm. ‘We’re all suffering this labour together.’

Gavin was pacing up and down outside the delivery roomshouting into his phone, ‘Dad! Where are you? I’ve left three messages. Shania is in labour. I need you here.’

We waved at him and he hung up.

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