Page 62 of The Promise
‘And he’s fine with your mum’s history with his dad, all that trouble and time in prison?’ he asks. ‘I’m not suggesting he shouldn’t be, I’m just trying to understand how it has worked out now that I’m over my own worries about it all.’
I focus on the road ahead while I answer his question. Dad has taken his time to come round to my relationship with David, having given me a recap of the many occasions on which my mother and the reverend clashed on everything from abortion to homosexuality to civil rights for Catholics like us, and how the religious divide in our country instilled a hatred among so many.
‘David and I don’t see religion, Dad, I’ve told you this many times,’ I explain. ‘Our parents’ history will not come between us. We won’t let it.’
I glance at my dad who looks genuinely impressed.
‘And he’s not afraid?’ he asks, just as I expected him to. A pause hangs in the air. ‘It’s not really common to see anyone of his sort around Green Park estate.’
He laughs nervously at the very idea.
‘We have no interest in hanging around Green Park, or anywhere near it, Dad,’ I say to him. ‘I’m not saying we won’t come and visit, but our life is here now and we’re getting on really well.’
Saying that out loud makes me feel as though I’m betraying where I come from, but I also know I need to keep moving on if David and I want to be together. There’s a whole big world out there, and if we do decide to go back and settle nearer home, there are many, many beautiful and much more desirable places to live in Ireland than the infamous Green Park estate.
‘I’m happy for you, I really am,’ Dad says, pointing out names on signposts he recognizes as we drive into Bromley. ‘Gosh, it’s just like living in a wee village here. Really lovely, and not what I expected at all.’
I feel a pang of sorrow for him when he says that, realizing how he – like my mum and so many others of his generation – was a victim of the times he was born in. My dad is a gentle soul, and his own worst enemy with the antics he was involved in, not to mention how his character changes when he decides to really hit the bottle, but if he had been born into a different era, when bombs, bullets and barricades weren’t a way of life back in our beautifulcountry, he could have made so much more of himself. Watching him admiring scenery and pointing out a red London bus shows an innocent and childlike side of him that I’ve never seen before. It’s so endearing but also just a little bit sad.
He’s looking fresh and new for his visit, if a little thinner than before, with his clean-shaven face and neatly cut hair, with just enough left to sweep back into a smooth quiff at the front. He always had a very distinctive look, and I’m delighted not to smell the usual whiff of alcohol from his breath.
‘We are hoping to buy a house in the New Year, somewhere in the same area but a bit bigger,’ I tell him as he drinks in every word I say and every sight he sees. ‘You should come over more often. I think you’d really enjoy the culture and the way of life here.’
My father, for all his lack of education and travel, instilled in me my love of poetry from a very young age, and he used to quote Irish writers like Seamus Heaney and Benedict Kiely to me as he walked me to school back in the day. I just know he would have loved to have seen more of the world through his own eyes than life allowed him to.
‘I will come back, you know,’ he says, nodding his head. ‘Thanks, love. I think I’ve had my eyes opened already.’
‘So, who would you normally spend Christmas Day with, Peter?’ David asks my dad as we tuck in to a magnificent dinner with all the trimmings two days later on ChristmasDay. It does my heart good to see my father enjoy his turkey and ham, and when he laughs or tells a very humble story of his own festive memories, I want to wrap him up and keep him here for ever.
‘Ah, I’m a bit of a drifter, David,’ he says as I pour him a top-up of white wine. ‘I always have been, I suppose. Some years I go to Annie and the girls for Christmas if they’ll have me, but mostly I could end up anywhere. I’ve a few friends who live alone like I do, so I’m never stuck, but this is a real treat. Actually, now that you ask, I don’t know when I last spent Christmas with my beautiful daughter in such welcoming surroundings. Thank you both for having me.’
I calculate in my head that it could be at least five years since my dad and I shared a proper meal together, which makes today all the more special.
‘Well, you’re very welcome to come here for Christmas anytime from here on in,’ says David. ‘Hopefully next year we’ll be in a new home, and maybe my own mother will be still here and fit enough to join us too.’
‘And your father?’ Dad asks, glancing my way to make sure he hasn’t suggested anything wrong. ‘I know he wouldn’t exactly be rushing to share a table with the likes of me, but maybe someday he’ll—’
‘I’m afraid we’ve accepted that isn’t ever going to happen,’ David says, his knife and fork clashing with his plate just a little louder than it probably should. ‘But I do see my mother when I can. Families, eh?’
I shudder for David when I hear him speak of his father and the wounds that continue to fester between them. It’s a stark reminder to me that, while we are living a beautiful life here in England, we are still a long way off fixing everything back home, but for now it’s the best it can be.
We close the subject at that and, after a dessert of home-made pavlova, we relax in front of the TV until we all fall asleep, our bellies bursting and my heart full up too with having my dad here.
With a new year, a new home, and hopefully some firm marriage plans in place to look forward to, I’m not sure I’ve felt as content in my whole life.
DAVID
With Kate at work in the children’s hospital on Boxing Day, it’s my turn to take the reins and show Peter O’Neill around the area we’ve decided to settle in here, which is a perfect opportunity to clear up any fears or past encounters once and for all, man to man and eye to eye.
I take him to one of my favourite haunts for a pint, and it’s not long before the small talk is out of the way and the elephant in the room takes over, leaving us to address the bigger picture that surrounds my love for Peter’s daughter.
‘Look, David … there’s an element where we live thatwill never want to accept you and Kate, but I’m praying you both are stronger than that,’ Peter tells me. ‘I know you are.’
‘Small minded people are nothing to me,’ I say with a nonchalant shrug. ‘What matters is Kate and I, the rest is just white noise.’
‘I totally agree,’ says Peter, ‘and it’s an outdated mentality in a very small minority that is slowly fading away in most parts of society, but there are still pockets of thugs in our neighbourhood who are just waiting on the opportunity to pounce in the belief that stuff like this is under their control. They don’t like newcomers on their territory, especially from families like yours who they would see as the enemy and vice versa. It’s the same on both sides. There are some very small minds who are stuck in a past they can’t move on from.’
It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but it’s good to hear from Peter that he can now see past the blinkers he once would have worn.
