Lucy in the Sky

smile. ‘When are you coming over, so you can see for yourself?’
    He laughs softly and I realise I’m holding my breath, waiting for his answer. ‘Not anytime soon, I’m afraid. Got to get this house finished and it’s tougher than the last one. Plus, work’s really busy.’
    ‘Fair enough,’ I reply sadly. ‘Have you got any jokes for me?’
    ‘Funny you should say that…’
    ‘Go on,’ I urge.
    ‘Okay. An Englishman goes to the doctor and says, “Doctor, doctor, I really want to become Irish!” and the doctor says, “Okay, well that’s quite a simple procedure; all we have to do is remove twenty-five per cent of your brain.’”
    ‘Eesh,’ I interrupt. ‘My dad’s Irish.’
    ‘Bear with me,’ he says. ‘So he has the operation and afterwards the doctor comes in and says, “Oh, no! There’s been a terrible mistake! Instead of removing twenty-five per cent of your brain, we’ve removed seventy-five per cent!” The man looks up at him and grins. “No worries, she’ll be right, mate.’”
    I crack up laughing.
    ‘So what is the deal with your dad?’ he says suddenly. ‘Molly says that you never talk about him.’
    ‘When were you talking to Molly about my father?’ I ask, taken aback.
    ‘Sorry, I wasn’t being nosy. Well, actually I was.’
    ‘What do you want to know?’
    ‘Where is he now?’ he asks and I realise I don’t mind his prying. Molly’s right. I never talk about him. Not to her, James or anyone.
    ‘He was in Manchester, last I heard. My grandmother–his mother–used to send me birthday and Christmas cards until she died a couple of years ago, and she’d tell me what he was up to. Because he never bothered…’
    It was when Mum dragged me back to England that I first tracked down my dad. Growing up, I always wondered about him and started to ask questions, which I know my mum found difficult to answer. It was especially tough because after years of living alone with me she had finally found happiness with Terry and she had no desire to go back and relive her painful past. That’s when I found out about my father being an alcoholic. But I still wanted to meet him. My mum finally put me in touch with my dad’s mother in Dublin. My grandmother and father were the only relatives I had left on that side of the family. She was overjoyed to hear from me and together we planned for me to stay with her in Ireland. We decided to surprise my father, who lived on the next street.
    It was a disaster. My dad was off his face on booze, and the moment we walked into his house he shouted and threw a book at us. His place smelt of urine and was a complete tip. When I called my mum later in floods of tears, she barely knew what to say. She’d warned me but I hadn’t listened. There was little she could say to comfort me.
    My gran took me back there the next day, promising he was better in the mornings, and he was. But not much better. He didn’t want to know about me and what I was doing. He didn’task after Mum. He mumbled into his whisky and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I resolved never to see him again.
    My grandmother stayed in touch. But I hadn’t felt comfortable in her house, either. She was very pernickety and obviously not used to having people around. I didn’t know where to sit or how to behave. I was only seventeen at the time and it was all a bit much. We wrote to each other for a couple of years but soon even those letters dried up and we just sent the odd card instead. When she died I didn’t go to her funeral. The last thing I wanted was to see my father again. I wish now I’d gone. I still feel terribly guilty about it.
    I never really spoke to Molly about any of this. Sam’s parents had just died when I went to Dublin, and I didn’t want to add to their burden.
    ‘I’m sorry, Lucy,’ Nathan says softly, when I finish telling him.
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Have you ever thought about…No, I don’t suppose you’d want to,’ he says.
    ‘No, I don’t.’ I really don’t want to see my dad again. If he’s still a drunk like he was back then, then I’ve got no time for him.
    ‘Did he ever remarry?’ Nathan asks.
    ‘Not that I know of, no. I don’t think I’ve got any half-brothers or half-sisters.’
    ‘I was just wondering about that,’ he says.
    ‘Tell me another joke!’ I insist suddenly. I don’t want to talk about this any longer.
    ‘I don’t know any more,’ comes his sorrowful reply.
    ‘Really?’ I ask. ‘Are you all