Page 5 of Things We Never Said
Sean hears his daughter blow her nose at the other end of the line.
‘I just miss her so much,’ she says finally, her voice wobbling. ‘But even that doesn’t make any sense. I mean, it’s not like I even saw her that often. I wish I’d come up more, Dad. I wish I hadn’t let work get in the way. But even though I knew ... I ... I don’t know. I sort of didn’t believe it. I couldn’t really imagine that she would be—’ April starts to sob freely.
‘It’s all right, honey,’ Sean says gently, fighting back unwelcome tears himself.
‘I didn’t imagine that she’d be, you know, gone ...’ April says, through her tears. ‘That doesn’t make any sense, does it? But I didn’t realise how ... final it would all feel, I suppose.’
‘Things don’t get much more final than this,’ Sean says, his own voice trembling.
‘I know. But I didn’t believe it, in a way. I do wish I’d come up more, though. God.’
‘It’s fine, sweetheart. Really it is. She wasn’t up to talking much, towards the end. You know that. And she wanted you to get on with your life. She was glad you were getting on with your life. She was really proud of you.’
‘I know,’ April says. ‘It’s just ... you know ...’
‘I do,’ Sean says, kindly. ‘But there’s no need to feel guilty.’
‘So, are you eating OK, Dad? Are you looking after yourself?’
‘Uh-huh. There are still sandwiches left over,’ Sean says. He thinks of the sushi box and looks around the room, then remembers that he put it in the refrigerator. ‘And Maggie has been dropping food parcels in,’ he adds. It’s an exaggeration, but at least it will reassure his daughter. Then again, perhaps it’s true. Perhaps the box on the table is food as well. He reaches out and runs one finger across the rough brown string looped around the box.
‘Oh, that’s good. Good old Maggie,’ his daughter says.
‘And you?’
‘I’m not hungry, to be honest,’ April admits. ‘But that’s no bad thing. I’ve been wanting to drop a few pounds for ages. So ... golden opportunity, I suppose.’
‘Well, don’t lose too much. You’re skinny already.’
‘I’m not.’
‘No, well ... you girls never think you’re skinny enough. But you have to eat something. You know that, right?’
‘I’m living on cornflakes at the moment. I can’t stomach anything else. But there’s, you know, loads of takeaways and stuff around the corner. If my appetite does suddenly return, I’ve only got to nip out.’
Sean, who has been absent-mindedly fiddling with the string on the package, now slides the box towards him. It’s not as heavy as he expected. Perhaps not food, then.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come back up?’ April asks.
‘I’m sure,’ Sean says. ‘You just rest and eat something and look after yourself. Are you back at work tomorrow?’ Without thinking about it, he has pulled the end of the knot holding the packaging together. The crisp folds of brown paper are opening slowly, like the petals of a flower.
‘I am,’ April says. ‘Three days. That’s all you get for ... for this sort of thing. I mean, I could probably take some more holiday and stuff, but I’m kind of wondering if work isn’t the best place to be. That doesn’t sound callous, does it?’
‘Not at all,’ Sean says. ‘I’ve been thinking pretty much the same thing. Now Monday’s almost here though, I’m having second thoughts. But I’ll just see how I feel in the morning, I expect. No one will mind if I don’t go in. No one will care either way.’
‘And you’re sure you’re OK?’ April asks, yet again.
‘I am. I’m fine,’ Sean says, thinking that how he is right now is a whole new, most unpleasant definition of ‘fine’. ‘And Mags brought me some sushi, like I said.’
‘You can’t live off a bit of sushi, Dad.’
‘And other stuff, too. A whole box of stuff. Really, don’t worry.’
‘Right. OK, then,’ April says. ‘Well, I think I might try to sleep some more. Sleep’s the least horrible place to be at the moment. I’m sleeping loads. It’s just the waking-up bit that I hate.’
‘When you suddenly remember?’ Sean asks.
‘Yeah. There’s this brief window, like, just a few seconds, yeah? And then I remember.’
