Page 71 of The Dramatic Life of Jonah Penrose
“I’ll have a word,” Jonah said. “Anything else you want me to tell him?”
“Yes,” his father said, then coughed wetly, spittle clinging to the edges of his mouth. “Tell him I’ll leave the landing light on for him so it’s not dark when he gets home.”
All the air left Jonah’s lungs. The landing light. He left it on whenever Jonah went out with his friends like a lighthouse calling him home, and Dad remembered, he remembered the tiny little gesture and provided it to him again now, something Jonah had forgotten about finally falling back into place.
“Okay. I’ll tell him.”
“And tell him... tell him... tell him we can play the piano when I get home... the song... what’s the song again?”
“‘You Win Again.’”
“Yes. The Bee Gees.”
“That’s right.” Jonah placed his other hand over the top of his dad’s and closed his eyes for just a moment, pretending they were in the garden back home, the grill on the BBQ hot, sausages cooking beneath the blistering summer sun while the sprinkler watered the vegetable patch.
“How does it go?” his dad asked, his eyes heavy but focused on Jonah.
Jonah took a breath and quietly recited the song to him, the tune one he could never forget, and he was there—a child again, sitting at the piano with his dad, their fingers dancing along the keys, and laughing each time his dad got the lyrics wrong. He sang to him, and they strolled along the beach as the sun kissed the waves before hiding beyond the horizon; the sea tickled their ankles as they held their shoes in their hands, knitted jumpers covering their bodies as they talked about life and the dreams Jonah wished he might someday achieve. Dreams hedidachieve. Dreams his father got to see him grasp and make his own. And as he reached the final chorus, his dad’s hand in his, he was standing outside the Palace Theatre in London having just watchedLes Misérablesfor the first time. And he knew his father would be there, alive in his memories, forever.
Twenty-Eight
“I can still feel your hand in mine, just like the nights we danced beneath the stars, back when we were younger, when you were only mine.”
—“The Melody of Achilles and Patroclus,”The Wooden Horse, Act One
As the taxi pulled up the long gravel driveway, Jonah held his breath, realizing this would be his first time back in his old home now that his father had passed away. He and his mother stayed by his father’s bedside as he drifted back to sleep, then, two hours later, he stopped breathing. Jonah kept hold of his hand, brushing his thumb over his dad’s knuckles, telling him how much he loved him.
The hours since then passed in a blur; the day seemed to stretch on forever, and Jonah couldn’t say he knew the time if someone asked him. But as they returned home, the sun still sat lazily in the autumn sky, orange and magnificent, bathing the ocean in shades of gold. Outside the house Dexter’s car sat parked alongside Aunt Penny’s, and Jonah couldn’t quite believe he was still there, in his childhood home, waiting for him. He helped his mum out of the car, looping his arm around her waist, her body so small against his, and took her inside, where the heating had been put on and the smell of something aromatic wafted from the kitchen.
“Oh, Nancy,” Penny said, greeting them in the cobblestoned hallway. She wrapped her arms around her sister, taking her from Jonah, and the two of them burst into tears. Jonah closed the front door and tried not to look at the family photo hanging on the wall beside it, his dad smiling athim, a reminder of happy days he could only hold onto now from within photographs. He left his mum and aunt in the hallway, Aunt Penny wiping away his mother’s tears while she cried rivers of her own.
He heard movement inside the kitchen, pots and pans clanging together, and as he made his way to the hub of the house, he stopped in the doorway to see Dexter hunched over the stove stirring something in one of his mum’s large cooking pans while Sally sat at the dining table nursing what he assumed could only be a glass of whiskey from his dad’s liquor cabinet.
“Jonah,” Sally said when she saw him. She rushed to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. “Oh, love, I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Jonah said, still not fully comprehending the gravity of what had happened. It didn’t feel real, his dad no longer being there, but he also felt a strange sense of relief knowing now his mind would be at rest and that there would be no more falls, no more confusion, no more pain.
“Jonah,” Dexter said, tucking a tea towel into the belt loop of his trousers as he made his way over to them. “I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s okay,” Jonah said as Sally released him. “It’s, um, it’s okay.”
“I wasn’t sure if you and your mum would have eaten anything, or if you would even be hungry, but I made a curry... just in case.” He gestured over to the pan on the oven, but immediately grimaced when he saw Jonah’s blank expression. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“What?” Jonah asked, snapping back into focus. “No, don’t apologize, that’s really lovely of you, thank you. I’m not sure mum will eat anything, but we can heat some up for her later if she wants to.”
“I’m going to go speak to her,” Sally said. She kissed Jonah’s cheek, then made her way out to the hallway to where his mum and Aunt Penny still lingered.
“I’m surprised you’re still here,” Jonah said as he sat himself down at the dining table, his limbs suddenly heavy, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up with him. “I thought you might have gone back for the show.”
“It didn’t feel right to leave,” Dexter said as he took the seat beside him. “But I can go. I realize this is a super-personal situation, and I’m not trying to insert myself into it.”
“No, you’re not doing that at all.” Jonah didn’t want to say how comforting it felt to have him there, even after their fight, even after the Dexah ship had sunk to the ocean floor.
Jonah looked around the kitchen, his eyes settling on several bottles of wine lined up along the edge of the counter. Dexter saw him looking and shook his head. “Apparently your mum and aunt rounded up all the wine in the house, and they’re donating it to the local library for raffle prizes,” he explained.
“Right,” Jonah said, unsure, the bottles of wine almost threatening as they loomed in the room.
“Bastien and Sherrie both called me. I told them your phone was off. Omari then texted asking for your mum’s address so he can send some flowers and herbal teas or something. I also spoke to Evie and told her what was happening and that you would contact her when you’re able, but I told her not to expect to see you for a few days at the very least.”
