For some reason it seemed that it should have been something I would have known. Dad had owned the barn for years, but I’d never really taken notice of how much land surrounded it.
Dad took my hand and led me back to the entrance. He walked a square pacing out the boundary. There was plenty enough space to create a driveway and a small garden.
I pulled my hand from his and placed my palms together, I laid those palms against the side of my head, leaning in to them slightly. I then pointed to the barn.
“You want to sleep in there?” he asked. I nodded.
“It’s an old workshop, I haven’t been in there for years…Wait, you want to live there?” I nodded again, and a genuine smile formed on my lips.
“Well, I guess it could be converted. It would be a lot of work, Dani, and I imagine we’d need to get architects, the council, probably the bloody parish bigwigs involved. But you know what…” It was his turn to nod gently and then smile at me. “What a project that would be for us, huh?”
I took his hand again and walked back into the house. We went straight to the kitchen, and while he put the kettle on, I grabbed my pad.
I want Christian to put my house up for sale. I know he said to wait but it’s time. I’m never going back, Dad. We can use that money to convert the barn; I can live there, next door to you.
I paused. I’d have hated for him to think I was desperate to leave him.
I don’t want you to think I don’t like being here, but I have to move on at some point. I don’t want to leave you and this could be a perfect solution.
I slid the pad towards him when he sat.
“Don’t you worry about leaving, or living with, me.” He chuckled. “Dani, for the first time in months there’s colour in your cheeks. We could burn the thing down afterwards, I wouldn’t care, as long as it keeps that colour and maybe adds a little sparkle to your eyes as well. Let’s do it.”
I pulled the pad back towards me.
Will you ring Chris, ask him to deal with the house for me?
I knew Chris phoned every couple of days. Dad kept him informed of what was happening to me, he never told me what was happening to them. I guess they’d thought news of their baby wouldn’t be welcome. I racked my brain to remember Helen’s due date.
When is the baby due?
Dad didn’t answer immediately. “The baby was born a few months ago, Dani. A little boy. They named him Alistair, after me, of course.”
I covered my mouth with my hands, which was a ridiculous thing to do since they’d never shield the sound that wouldn’t leave my lips.
“We all thought it might be a little too soon for you.”
I shook my head. But you missed out on the birth.
“No, I’ve met Alistair, several times. Did we do wrong?”
I thought for a moment, and then gently shook my head.
I’m sorry.
“Don’t be, Dani. We’d love nothing more than for you to meet Alistair, but we didn’t want to upset you.”
I understand. I’d like to meet him, though.
Dad smiled, I wasn’t sure it was the breakthrough he imagined it was. Part of me asking was so Dad wouldn’t feel that he’d have to sneak around to see his grandson. And my being at the cottage meant Christian and Helen felt they couldn’t bring Alistair to him, I guessed.
“I’ll call Chris now,” he said. I gave him a nod.
I had no idea how long it would take to sell my house. I knew Chris had said I should have rented it out, but I hadn’t been able to bring myself to do that. I knew I’d never return, and the compensation payout I was scheduled to receive, meant I didn’t need to sell the house to convert the barn, but it made sense. I didn’t want the pressure of being a landlady.
I could hear Dad in the hallway on the phone. While he chatted, I made more tea. I opened and closed cupboard doors; I made a shopping list while I did. I wasn’t up to visiting a supermarket. To stand in a queue, or be in a crowded place filled me with dread, but I could start to do something instead of being waited on hand and foot.
“Alistair has a cold or the croup, or something. But Chris wants to visit tomorrow. Are you up for that?” Dad said when he walked into the kitchen.
I nodded and wondered if I was being lied to. Maybe Helen didn’t want me to meet Alistair yet. I didn’t think it would be for any malicious reason; rather, she was concerned I wasn’t ready. I’d never be ready to hold another child. I’d never be ready to share utter joy at the birth, or the milestones, because I’d always wonder what we’d be doing with Hannah on her first birthday, her first Christmas. But I knew I had to.
Lincoln,
I made a decision today. I’m going to meet my nephew. He was born months ago and I didn’t know. I guess everyone thought they were helping me, they would have been right. I’m not sure how I’ll feel, to be honest. I’m scared to hold him, to breathe in his scent.
You told me a secret in one of your previous letters, can I tell you one now?
I don’t want to put pressure on you but writing to you, hearing back from you, has really helped. Perhaps it’s because, although I know your name, your story, you’re still anonymous. I can pour the words on paper and not worry because you understand.
Dad wants me to see a specialist, to see if they can work with me on talking. I haven’t agreed yet. I’m still not convinced that I won’t open my mouth and nothing but screams will emerge. I’m scared that my vocal cords won’t actually work. So, for now, I’ll just continue the way I am.
I’ve visited Trey and Hannah a couple of times now. It doesn’t get any easier, and with Christmas looming, I’m sure things will get worse. Dad asked if I’d go to Midnight Mass with him; I can’t do that. It would be hypocritical of me to sit in a church and pray to a God I don’t believe in. I can’t even do it just because it’s the Christmas thing to do.
It seems that every time I write to you, I tell you only about myself. And I feel terrible about that. So, how are you? Tell me about your day.
Dani.
I folded the paper and placed it back in the original envelope. Why we’d stuck to that one envelope, I didn’t know. It was grubby, frayed at the edges, and the only way to secure it shut was to place a small amount of tape on the flap. I waited until late afternoon before I walked up the lane and deposited it in the honesty box.
“There’s an architect coming this afternoon, and Chris said he’s contacted some estate agents who seem very keen to sign up your house,” Dad said, when I walked back into the house.
I nodded but a pang of anxiety hit me. I’d have to try to communicate with the architect and that embarrassment I felt started to build.
“I thought what might be good is if you wrote a list of the rooms you wanted, that way we can give him that and let him come up with the best design.” Dad had obviously pre-empted my anxiety.
I grabbed the pad and tapped the pen against the table as I thought. I wanted the barn to be an all open-plan, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls on one end. I wanted to be able to sit and watch the ocean. I wrote a list, a kitchen at one end that flowed through to a living room. I could put a dining table between the areas to break it up. A downstairs cloakroom would be handy, maybe doubling up as a utility room. Upstairs I just needed the one bedroom with perhaps an en suite.
“How about a guest room, if you have friends over?” Dad said, reading over my shoulder.
I paused. I’d received the usual, ‘if you need anything, just call,’ messages when the accident had first happened. I’d had the, ‘you take all the time you need, your job will be here when you’re ready to return,’ statement from work. I didn’t see or hear from anyone and my company quickly found a way to make me redundant. I wasn’t sure I needed a guest bedroom but added it to the list, just in case.
For the first time, in a while, the constant nausea subsided. I couldn’t say I was excited about the project but it gave me something other than my loss to focus on.
More importantly, for the first time in months, I saw a twinkle in my dad’s eyes.
One of the problems I’d had, for most of my life, was suffering guilt when my actions caused someone else pain. My guilt levels were off the scale.