The Sun in Her Eyes (15 page)

‘Who’s Elizabeth?’ I ask as Tina nods, conceding.

‘Josh’s god-daughter,’ she explains, giving me a hug and turning to Nell.

‘Sorry, Nelly,’ she apologises with sincerity. ‘I’ll make it up to you next time.’

‘Okay.’ Nell nods unenthusiastically.

Josh flashes Nell and me a look of embarrassment before turning away. We watch them walk out of the bar.

‘Christ,’ Nell mutters.

‘I’ll say.’ I take a sip of my Cosmopolitan.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me, right?’ Ethan says irately.

I look at him blankly. ‘Pardon?’

‘You’re not drinking that. Nor you, Nell,’ he adds when her glass makes it up to her lips and freezes.

‘Jeez, what has the world come to when we can’t even let a couple of nice guys buy us a drink,’ I say with annoyance, putting my glass with a little too much force down on the
bar.

‘They weren’t nice guys,’ Ethan states.

‘That’s debatable,’ I reply, but I can’t be bothered to argue with him. ‘Come on, let’s go somewhere else.’

‘Yes!’ Nell exclaims with relief. ‘I want to go dancing!’

‘I can give you a lift home if we leave now,’ Ethan interjects.

‘I don’t want to leave now,’ I reply childishly. ‘Do you, Nell?’

‘On that crap note? No thanks,’ she says.

‘See you later, then?’ I look at Ethan.

He nods curtly and I spin on my heels, grabbing Nell as I go.

Half an hour later, Nell and I find ourselves in what is, admittedly, a slightly dodgy bar on Hindley Street.

I don’t think we would have ever dared to come to a place like this when we were teenagers, and I don’t feel entirely comfortable at the amount of attention we’re getting from
a group of bikers sitting at the bar.

One of them has a sleeve of tattoos trailing all the way up his right arm to the side of his face. His name is Dennis and it transpires that he works at a nearby tattoo parlour.

‘I’ve always wanted to get a tattoo,’ I say. I’m trying not to seem too uptight.

‘I can give you one now, if you want,’ he replies with a straight face. One of his friends sniggers. I’m not so drunk that I missed his double entendre.

‘Ha ha, very funny. I’m married, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ I waggle my ring finger at him.

Dennis turns to Nell. ‘Do you want me to give you one, then?’

Nell visibly stiffens. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to drink and get inked.’

‘Do you want to move on?’ I ask in her ear.

She nods. We both slide off our stools.

‘Not leaving already?’ Dennis says. ‘Come on, I was going to buy you a drink.’

‘No thanks,’ Nell replies.

‘Thanks anyway,’ I add politely, turning towards the door and stopping in my tracks.

Ethan is sitting further down the bar, talking to the bargirl. He glances at me and halts his conversation mid-sentence. I stalk straight over to him, Nell in tow.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Protecting you from date rapists,’ he replies drily.

‘That’s very brotherly of you,’ I say. It comes across as way more sarcastic than I meant it to.

He ignores me, glancing at Nell.

‘Aw, Ethan,’ she says sweetly, coming forward to put her arms around him. ‘I thought you’d left.’ She wobbles unsteadily on her feet.

‘Are you ready to go home now?’ he asks her kindly, drawing away.

She nods drunkenly and he meets my eyes. ‘Okay?’ he says without smiling, putting his beer bottle down on the bar.

‘Are you alright to drive?’ I ask with a frown.

‘I’ve been drinking low-alcohol beers all night,’ he replies miserably, leading the way out.

Nell falls asleep in the car – nothing new there – so I have to wake her and walk her into her flat before returning to Ethan’s GTI. We drive to Dad and Liz’s house in
silence. He pulls up outside and leaves the engine running, turning ever so slightly to face me.

‘Thanks,’ I say, not really knowing what else
to
say.

‘Okay,’ he replies, avoiding my gaze.

With a sigh, I climb out of the car.

‘See you soon,’ I say through the open door.

‘Yep,’ he replies.

I shut the door and he’s gone before I’ve even stepped onto the driveway.

‘Amber! Wake up!’

Liz is in my bedroom again.

‘What time is it?’ I moan.

‘It’s eight thirty,’ she replies crossly.

I force myself to sit up in bed. She’s standing at the doorway, looking annoyed. ‘Len is still asleep. He had a rough night, but he could wake up at any time. You’ll have to
help him get dressed. I’m going to be late for work.’

‘Okay,’ I mumble, rubbing at my eyes.

‘And next time you come home at two in the morning, perhaps you could have the decency to be a little quieter,’ she snaps, calling over her shoulder as she storms off, ‘You
woke us
both
up!’

Damn. Not a good start to the day.

I manage to get showered and dressed before hearing movement coming from behind Dad’s bedroom door.

‘Are you okay in there?’ I ask with a knock.

‘Come in,’ he calls.

I tentatively open the door to see him sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to pull on his trousers.

‘Do you want some help?’ I ask.

‘No, I’m okay,’ he replies defensively.

‘I’ll make us some breakfast.’ I leave him to it.

Five minutes later, he calls my name. I rush back to his room to see him standing with a look of immense frustration on his face as he struggles to do up his trouser button.

‘Let me help,’ I say quickly, bending down to secure his trousers. I glance up at him and he looks away from me, but not before I notice that his brown eyes have filled with tears of
defeat. ‘I’m making bacon and eggs.’ I use as light-hearted a tone as I can muster. He follows me to the kitchen without another word.

I’m dreading breaking the news that his boss and one of his colleagues is coming to visit this morning. In my eagerness to go out last night, I completely forgot to tell Liz about it when
she got home from work. I have no idea if she’d approve or condemn the idea, so this is all on me if it goes wrong.

Hopefully a decent cooked breakfast will put him in the right mood.

‘So, Dad,’ I say, sounding nervous despite my attempts to appear casual. ‘Daniel Fletchley called yesterday and he said he’d like to pop over today with Melanie Simons.
They’ll be here at lunchtime.’

‘No!’ he erupts.

‘Dad,’ I say in despair. ‘Please.’

‘Don’t want them to see me like this!’ He angrily throws down his fork onto his plate with his good left hand.

‘But you can’t stay cooped up forever. You’re going to have—’

‘No!’ he shouts.

‘Dad,
please
.’ And then I can’t help it: I burst into tears.

A moment passes before he calms down enough to grunt my name and reach for my hand.

‘I understand,’ I say with a sniff. ‘I do. But you’re lucky to be alive! You should be happy—’

‘Happy?’ he interrupts in disbelief.

‘Well, not happy, but… You could have
died
.’ And then I lay on the biggest guilt trip I can think of, hoping it’ll jerk him out of his rut. ‘I don’t
want to lose another parent.’

He instantly looks full of regret.

‘People want to see you,’ I say reasonably. ‘The sooner you face up to them, the sooner you can stop fretting. You need to get back to normality.’

Somehow or other, I get him to agree.

But I’m still not sure I’m doing the right thing.

The meeting turns out to be humiliating and awkward for all of us. Both the headmaster, Mr Fletchley, and the history teacher, Mrs Simons, try their hardest not to appear
shocked when Dad opens the door to them, but they’re unable to mask their looks of pity when they spot his walking stick. My heart is in my throat as I close the door and watch Dad lead them
at a slow shuffle into the living room.

Dad still needs assistance sitting down on the sofa, but I’ve never felt his hatred of my help so keenly as when I settle him in front of his colleagues.

Conversation is painful and stilted. Neither Mr Fletchley nor Mrs Simons seems capable of letting Dad finish his sentences in his own time, so they keep chipping in, trying to guess what his
next words will be. Their intentions are good, but they’re making everything worse.

Eventually, I can bear it no longer and I ask them to be patient, but this just embarrasses everyone, not least of all Dad. When he claims to be tired after only half an hour, my heart sinks. I
feel like I’ve failed him miserably. I’m a useless carer. I’m a useless daughter.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say after he’s seen them out.

His eyes meet mine, and in them I see compassion. ‘It’s not your fault,’ he says. ‘I
am
tired.’

Then he goes into his room and shuts the door.

I’ve been dreading telling Liz about what happened, but she takes the news surprisingly well.

‘He
does
need to see people. The last thing we want is for him to become a hermit.’ She pats me on my arm. ‘Don’t beat yourself up about it.’

‘Thanks,’ I murmur gratefully.

Later, I come out of my room to hear her talking quietly to him in the living room. I pause outside the door to listen.

‘Now what can you see?’ she asks. ‘What are the shapes and colours of the trees in the distance? What are the clouds like?’

My brow furrows with confusion.

‘What can you smell?’ I hear her ask. ‘Is the air salty? Is it windy? Can you hear seagulls? Waves? Pick up a handful of sand and let it slip through your fingers. What does it
feel like?’

Her soothing voice continues as I peek around the corner of the door. Dad is lying on the sofa, propped up by cushions, with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. Liz is sitting on the armchair and
reading from a card. I realise that’s she’s practising visualisation with him. One of Dad’s doctors told us about the benefit of relaxation exercises as a way to combat anxiety,
and I’m guessing Dad felt plenty of that today.

I watch as his chest slowly rises and falls.

Liz has never seemed to me to be a very tolerant person, but I’m beginning to see a side to her that I didn’t know existed. I slip away and return to my room.

On Thursday afternoon, Nell asks me if I want to go and see a movie that night. I’d love to, but I have to decline. Liz is going to her carer support group and I
can’t deny her something that she obviously feels she needs. The words that I saw written in her diary – ‘I’m terrified’, ‘not the same man’,
‘it’s been hell’ – have continued to eat away at me.

That evening, I try to touch base with Ned before he leaves for work, but the home phone rings out, and his mobile goes straight to voicemail. I assume he’s already on the Tube. I hate
talking to him at work, but I’m desperate, so I give him an hour to get there and settle in before trying him again on his mobile.

A woman answers.

‘Ned’s phone,’ she says, making my stomach somersault unpleasantly.

‘Is Ned there?’ I ask.

‘Who’s speaking, please?’

I’m incensed.
I
want to know who’s speaking!

‘It’s his wife,’ I say crossly. ‘Who’s this?’

‘Hello, Amber,’ she replies, making me wait a moment longer. ‘It’s Zara. Is everything alright?’

No, actually, it’s not. What the hell is Zara doing, answering Ned’s phone? ‘Hang on, here’s Ned,’ she says before I can reply.

‘What are you, my secretary now?’ I hear Ned tease.

‘It’s Amber,’ I hear her loudly whisper.

‘Hey!’ he exclaims, way too jubilantly for my liking.

‘What is
she
doing answering your phone?’ I sound accusatory and I’m damn well feeling it, too.

‘Hang on a sec,’ he says, still sounding chirpy. A moment later, the background noise dies down with the sound of a door closing. It’s obvious he’s gone somewhere
private.

‘She was sitting at my desk, waiting for me to come back from the kitchen,’ he says seriously. ‘I came in early because we’ve got a client meeting this morning. I was
making us coffee. Okay?’

‘No! Not okay!’

‘Amber,’ he says with more than a trace of impatience. ‘We can’t go on like this. I’ve told you there’s nothing to worry about. I’m not going to keep
defending myself and I’m sick of defending her. Zara is senior to me, we work closely together, that is
all
.’ He sighs. ‘Jesus, now she’s going to think we’ve
had an argument!’

‘Well, you’d better get back to her, then,’ I reply, hanging up on him.

I know it’s childish, but it’s just one thing too many. My eyes well up with angry, frustrated tears, and I have to give myself a few minutes to gather myself before going to make
dinner for Dad.

It’s Friday and Dad has been home for a week. Just one week, and already I feel like a caged animal.

I can’t imagine what it must be like for people who are sole carers. Do they ever get a break? How do they cope?

At least Liz has her work; she has her freedom during weekdays. I can’t wait until tomorrow when it’s Saturday. Dad still refuses to leave the house. I don’t know how to bring
him round.

Ned called me earlier, but it was a wasted effort.

‘I know things are difficult right now for you, Amber,’ he said, somewhat patronisingly.

‘You have no idea,’ I replied vehemently. ‘You’re on the other side of the goddamn world. You know nothing.’

We didn’t end our call on a high note.

The truth is, I’ve never felt more alone. Maybe I should be going to the support group with Liz… I dismiss the thought immediately. One of us has to stay at home with Dad.

I’m in the kitchen watching Dad struggle to make tea when his mobile buzzes to alert us to a text message arriving. As we’re still sharing his phone, it could be for either of us, so
I force myself to wait patiently while he takes a look.

‘It’s from Ethan,’ he says eventually, making me instinctively straighten up. ‘He wants to know if you’re free for a coffee.’

My heart leaps into my throat. The thought of escaping this prison is agonisingly tantalising.

‘Oh.’ I take the phone from Dad.

‘Go,’ he urges. ‘I’ll be fine.’