Before the Dawn (7 page)

I’m not sure why I agreed to meet Annabel here, except it reminds me of the summer days we used to come here together, just her and me, to share drippy ice creams and paddle in the waves.  Like father and daughter... or so I believed.

It was here that I met Tracey. I’d always thought I was a confirmed bachelor, until Annabel stumbled on the promenade and pitched a strawberry ice cream onto my shirt.

“Oh, heavens! Annabel!”  Tracey looked at me in horror as she clasped Annabel’s shoulders.  Annabel stared at me with the guarded curiosity of a shy nine year old before she realized she no longer had any ice cream on her cone.

“My icecream!” She looked ready to burst into tears.

“Never mind,”  I said, breaking into a smile.  “I’ll buy you another one.”

“You don’t--”  Tracey stopped whatever protest she was going to make.  Our eyes met over Annabel’s tousled head, and something flickered to life inside me.  It was as if, at that moment, I chose to take on a role I had never envisioned for myself.... a father.

We spent the rest of the afternoon together, and as twilight crept onto the beach, Tracey and I made plans to see each other again. 

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” she said with a wry grin.

“I’m not.”  I smiled back.  “Look what happened because of it.”

Our courtship was whirlwind and chaotic, conducted with Annabel as our chaperone of sorts.  Dates were dinners for three at the local pizza place, or walks in the park to feed the ducks.  The few private moments we had were precious, snatched during lunch hours when Annabel was at school, or at night after she was asleep. 

I remember when Tracey and I were enjoying a romantic moment on her settee, and Annabel crept down the stairs, teddy bear in hand.

“Mummy, I’m thirsty... what are you doing?!”  Her shriek caused us to spring apart like guilty teenagers.  She wrinkled her nose in deepest disgust.  “You two were kissing.”

I worried that Annabel wouldn’t accept me.  Annabel’s father had walked out on her and Tracey when she was a baby.  It infuriated me, but it was done.  He’d never been in touch, never explained, and Annabel couldn’t remember him at all.  Several years later Tracey discovered he’d died in a car crash. 

“She needs a father,” Tracey told me.  “Someone to guide her, besides me.” I wanted to be that father... that daddy.  Yet, I couldn’t help but worry that it would all go wrong. I didn’t know the first thing about fatherhood,  I’d never spent any time around small children. So I remained half-afraid that I would do something to bring my fragile relationship with Annabel tumbling down like a child’s tower of bricks.

I shouldn’t have worried, not then.  Annabel accepted me with surprising ease.  It was as if she’d been waiting for a father, and knew at once that with me she’d found one at last.  I remember the first outing we had alone together.

“You’ll be fine,”  Tracey urged me.  “The two of you need some bonding time.”

Afraid of failing what seemed like a critical test, I did everything I could to win Annabel over... a trip to the zoo, ice creams, lollies, balloons... if she pointed at it, I bought it.  Looking back, I can see it was the wrong way to go about it.  Annabel would’ve been just as happy walking to the park.

As it was, I returned her to Tracey overtired and wired on too much sugar, at six o’clock at night.  Tracey gave me a bemused look as Annabel raced around the lounge, moving between laughter and tears, her hands and face still sticky from the candy floss.

“You had a good time then?”

“I think so.”

Tracey shook her head.  “Annabel wants to be with you, Mike.  You don’t need to buy her love.  Just be yourself... trust your instincts.”

What instincts, I wanted to say.  For a confirmed bachelor, this fatherhood thing was not easy.  I so wanted to get it right.

It turned out that I couldn’t have children, just one of those inexplicable things.  Tracey and I didn’t mind... Annabel was enough.

Then Annabel turned thirteen.  All of a sudden, this shy girl-child was raging with hormones, demanding things like pierced ears, blue eyeshadow and dates with boys.  I was bewildered by it all, and clearly out of my depth. Even Tracey, who seemed to know it all, struggled with Annabel’s tantrums and door slamming.

“I know this is typical teenager behavior,” she said tiredly one evening after Annabel had flounced up to her bedroom. “But honestly,” Tracey continued, “how long is this going to go on?”

All parents struggle with the teen years, I knew that.  Yet it felt different for me, because I’d come into the fatherhood game late, and was still learning the rules.

“We’re all learning the rules,” Tracey insisted when I told her of my own fears.  “I’ve been the parent of a teenager just as long as you have, Mike.”

Of course, the inevitable happened... or it felt like it was inevitable to me.  We had a big row, Annabel and I, which was nothing new in itself.  I can’t even remember what it was about... makeup, clothes, or boys, no doubt. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,”  Annabel shouted, her face flushed with anger.  “You’re not my real father, and you never will be!”

The words caused something to freeze within me.  Annabel’s eyes glittered with malicious victory, as if she sensed the power her simple statement had over me.  I hesitated, wondering how to respond.

Any sensible man, I know now, would have told her that was rubbish, he was her father in every way that mattered.  Any sensible man would have seen the glint of insecurity and fear beneath the tantrum, and given her a hug, perhaps told her he’d always be there for her.

Looking back, I know that’s what I should have done... what I wished I’d done. At the time, I was too shocked, too unsure to do anything but step back.  “No, I’m not,” I said quietly.  “But--”

Annabel slammed the door, and still at a loss, I retreated downstairs.

I can’t be sure, of course, but I think that was the turning in our relationship.  Any pretensions I had of being Annabel’s father began to slip away.  I allowed them to slip, out of sheer helplessness.  Every time we had a row, Annabel reminded me of the one thing I couldn’t change.

‘You’re not my father!’  The four most hurtful words I’ve ever known. Every time it cut me to the quick.

When I did dare to discipline her, act in what I felt was a fatherly way, she flew into a rage.  And I must admit I usually stepped down, hating myself for doing so, but always feeling backed into a corner by my own ambiguous role.

Tracey tried to encourage me, and she always stood beside me.  That seemed to infuriate Annabel more.  Perhaps she remembered the days when it had just been her and Tracey, perhaps she felt like we were ganging up on her.  Whatever it was, and whatever we tried, nothing seemed to work.  It was as if the few precious years of innocence, when I’d felt like her true father and she’d accepted me as such, had never been. 

As Annabel matured into an adult, our relationship entered a neutral, emotionless zone.  The tirades of her teenaged years had subsided, and she’d become an accomplished and friendly young woman I would be proud of, if she’d let me.  Fatherly pride on my part was forbidden. She now regarded me as the one thing I really was, her mother’s husband.  At family occasions and celebrations, we exchanged semi-polite chit-chat.

“Things all right at uni, Annabel?”

“Yes, fine, thank you, Mike.”

When Annabel was twenty-two she brought home Stuart, her almost-fiancé.  It occurred to me then, as I shook his hand, how unfatherly I had become.  I had slipped out of it completely, almost without realizing.  No vetting the boyfriends for me, no insisting on less makeup and longer skirts for my little girl.  I simply stood there, smiling politely and nodding my head, feeling useless.

We threw a small party when Annabel and Stuart became engaged.  Champagne and hors d’oevres for twenty close friends.  Tracey moved around the room, reveling in her role as mother of the bride. Every once in awhile she’d shoot me a worried glance, to make sure things between Annabel and I were still cordial.

Somehow I ended up alone in the kitchen with Annabel.  I was taking a tray of  mini sausage rolls out of the oven, she were coming in for a refill.

“Hello, Mike.”

I stood up, dropping the tray on the stovetop with a clatter.  “Hello, Annabel.”  Silence yawned between us, and I tried to fill it.  “This is quite an occasion.”

“Yes.” 

“Stuart seems like a nice fellow.  A very nice fellow indeed.”  What could I say that she would want to hear?

“Thank you.”  Her reply as usual, the minimum required.

“I just want to say...”  I cleared my throat, fumbling for words. “I know things haven’t always been easy between us, but I am happy for you.  I’ve always wanted your happiness.”  I tried to gauge Annabel’s reaction, but her face was impassive.  There is so much I would’ve liked to say.  I would’ve liked to shake her by the shoulders and shout ‘why have you made it like this between us, Annabel?  We could have had so much more.  I could have been your father, your real father...  if only you’d have let me!”

I would’ve liked to tell her it was my fault too, for making things difficult between us.  I should’ve been stronger, firmer.  Perhaps if I’d acted more like her father, she would have accepted me as such. Perhaps if I hadn’t been afraid, nervous, unwilling to believe that all parents, whenever they assume that role, experience struggles and doubts... perhaps then we would have had a chance at a real relationship. 

All this, I knew, came years too late, and soI didn’t say anything.  I just smiled and hoped that some of my sincerity and regret reached her.

For a moment I thought I saw something flash in her eyes, some nameless feeling that showed me she still cared, perhaps she still remembered. But then it was gone.

And now I stand here, freezing to death and wondering if Annabel will even show up.  She rang me out of the blue, asked me if we could talk privately.  I suggested this promenade, sentimental fool that I am.

Tracey was delighted by her call, reading more into it than I dared.  Throughout the years, she has mourned the father daughter relationship we could have had as much as I have.  Perhaps more.

I turn, as if I can sense Annabel coming, and there she is, walking down the promenade, her head lowered against the wind.  She looks up and sees me, and waves.

“Hi, Mike.  Thanks for meeting me.”

“Anytime, Annabel.  You know that.”

We gaze at each other and she slowly nods.  “Yes, I guess I do.”

“Well?”  I try to make my voice light, jovial.  “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Yes.”  Annabel looks at me directly, half challenging, half afraid, as defiant and tremulous as when she was nine.  “I want to apologize.  I realize I’ve made things worse between us than they need be.”

“How worse do you think they should be?” I can’t help but ask.  “Never mind, I don’t really want to know.”  Perhaps there is a tinge of bitterness in my voice that I can’t help, because I see the answering hurt in Annabel’s face.  I shrug.  “I’ve always wanted things to be better between us,”  I say.  I pause, then plunge ahead recklessly. “You might not remember, but we used to come here, to this promenade.  The two of us.  We had some good times once, when you were little.  I helped you learn how to swim.”

I don’t expect my words to have any effect.  After all, they never have, have they?  But this time is different.  This time Annabel’s face crumples, and she suddenly begins to cry. 

Out of instinct I wrap my arms around her.  She buries her head in my shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,”  she says.  “I never cry... it’s just...”

“What?”  I ask gently.

“I remember.”  She dashes at the tears on her cheeks, as if she’s ashamed of them.  “I know I was horrid to you, Mike.  I thought if I was terrible enough, you’d leave.”

“You wanted me to leave?”  Despite our bumpy past, I wasn’t expecting that.

“No, no, it wasn’t that.”  Annabel shakes her head.  “It seemed like all my friends’ parents were getting divorced.  Kids at school said you’d be gone... just like their families, I suppose.  And it had happened before.”  She takes a breath.  “I know I don’t remember my real father, but I know he walked out on us.  And I was afraid... afraid you would leave.”  She tries to smile but doesn’t quite make it.  “And I was angry too, and when I wanted to put things right, it seemed like it was impossible.  Then I decided you didn’t care, and so neither did I.”

She says the last bit quietly, but the words seem to echo inside my head.  Guilt and regret wash through me.  “I’ve always cared, Annabel. I should have told you so.”  I shake my head.  “I wish we’d had this talk a long time ago.”

“Maybe we weren’t ready for it then.”  Annabel gives me a wobbly smile.  “Knowing the way I was, I might have scratched your eyes out or worse!  I wasn’t easy to get along with.”

“And I was too easy to get along with,” I say, the realization coming to me just now.  “I was so afraid of rocking the boat, when I probably should have just tipped it over.”

“There’s nothing we can do about the past,” Annabel says quietly.  “But there is the future.”  She pauses, smiling tremulously. “I wanted to ask you if you’d walk me down the aisle at my wedding.  I know we haven’t had the best relationship but you’ve been the closest thing to a father to me and...  she trails off uncertainly before adding, “and I’d like you to.”