"He's zonked.." Gary smiles, glancing back into the rear-view mirror to find Ethan fast asleep in his car seat, chubby cheek smushed against the seatbelt and two tiny hands clutching 'Lizebeth the infamous blue rabbit and an orange gifaffe from our day trip to Battersea Park Childrens Zoo -the newest addition to his collection, in a vice grip in his lap.
I twist in my seat to gaze at the toddler, leaning forward as best I can to pull the seat belt away from his face so as not to end up with a red sleep crease across his already pink face. "It didn't take long, did it?" I smile. We've only been in the car seven minutes.
Gary laughs slowly, taking the first left onto Sloane street. "I hope he had a good day.."
"Gary, did you see his face? He was elated." Turning back to face the front, I glance at the time;
5:26pm
"Only issue now though..." I sigh, peeking back at Ethan who is now snoring softly in the back of the car. "...Hes got to be awake and ready in an hour for people to come and say happy birthday."
Gary pouts thoughtfully into the rear-view mirror as he turns onto Notting Hill Gate. "We'll be home in five, we can get him up just before half six can't we?"
I nod in agreement, idly watching the world pass through the window and wondering where the hell the last three years went.
There's a long silence as we continue to drive before Gary says; "I'm sure the excitement of seeing everybody will wake him up again." And I nod in agreement a second time.
Another silence.
"Do you ever think he's growing up to fast?" I ask quietly, seemingly an obscure direction of conversation, but to my mind it makes perfect sense.
"Who? Ethan?" Gary doesn't take his eyes off the road as he turns down our street.
"Mm-h."
"Every-fucking-day." The reply comes as certain and instinctively as some relaying their name over the telephone.
I don't resist the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth and I bring a limp hand down to smack his thigh as we pull onto our drive. "Don't swear."
Gary makes a sort of 'Phsh' sound between his teeth as the car tyres crunch slowly over the gravel driveway, crawling at an alarmingly cautious rate until we are out side the front door.
"You carrying him or am I?" Gary turns to me as he takes the keys out of the ignition.
I throw him my best is-that-a-serious-question kind of eyebrow raise and swing open my car door. "I'll leave that to you."
"Have you been spoilt then Ethe?" My mother coos, bouncing her grandson on her knee. Both she and Marjorie have been doting on the three year old since they bustled into the house together with arms full of presents, barely saying two words to Gary and myself as they forced themselves into the living room to greet the Birthday Boy.
"Too spoilt i think.." Gary hums, halting his conversation with Ian and glancing over from where they are sat on the opposite settee. I smile from my seat at Garys piano stool, removed from the picture enough to enjoy the beauty of it.
"Nonsense!" Marjorie waves a chastising hand in her sons direction. "Theres no such thing as too spoilt on a birthday; is there Ethan?" She reaches over my mothers lap to tap the toddlers knee, earning her a toothy grin before his attention is once again occupied by the plastic hammer that he wields haphazardly and dangerously close to my mothers glasses. Lisa and Claire, my brothers wife, emerge from the kitchen at that moment, nattering about the morning school rush, making me smile again, realising that i have all that to come too.
I slide a finger across my Iphone screen and open the camera, silently snapping a few photos of the scene before me, before locking it again and leaving it on top of the piano next to three empty paper plates that once held slices of Thomas the Tank Engine cake.
A shrill squeal from the hall way, however, captures every-bodies attention.
"Daddy no!"
The scream, we all recognise at once, could only belong to my brothers daughter, Annie. And sure enough, with a clatter and scuttle of children's feet, Annie crashes through the living room door followed closely by Ians two boys and finally by my brother; chasing the small children and covered, head to toe in a whole manner of children's fairy stickers.
"Robert.." My mother groans, relenting her hold on Ethan when the toddler tries to wriggle free with a small gurgle to go and get in on the action. "What are you doing?"
Robert doesnt answer, instead he makes a bee-line for Ethan, swinging him high into the air and laughing along with him when the toddlers face reddens with hysteria as he points at the sparkly fairies dancing on top of my brothers eyebrows.
"You w'ook si-lly!"
We all laugh, and i slide open my camera once more to capture yet another moment.
When silence blankets the room again, other than the sustained background noise of constant conversion, Ian stands from his seat next to Gary, waving an empty bottle of Peroni in his face.
Gary just nods towards the kitchen, telepathic as siblings are when it comes to the refilling of drinks. "In the fridge, in the door, at the bottom."
Ian grins. "Cheers. You want one Rob?"
My bothers, who now has Ethan clinging to his neck like an ape and Annie at his leg just sticks a thumbs up with a face that looks like he could use a beer or two.
"And i know you dont want one," Ian nods towards the glass previously containing red wine that Gary holds between his knees. "Because you only drink that posh shit now." His tone drops so as to be reprimanded for his use of bad langue by his mother, but i can hear none the less.
"Give over!" Gary bites back, standing up, and knocking his brother playfully on the shoulder to no avail other than a shove back that leaves him staggering to stay upright. I burst out laughing and Ian grins over at me.
"You want a bottle Libs?"
"Im good thanks." I shake my head, just incase he cant hear me over the squealing of children as Marjorie opens a box of cupcakes on the coffee table.
"You want a glass of wine instead? Im filling this ponce's up anyway!"
"Fuck off.." Gary mumbles so only we can hear, coming up to stand behind me and planting two large hands over my shoulder, mindlessly working away the knots of tension. "Shes not drinking."
"Screw that!" Ian takes a step back towards the kitchen. "We're all getting wasted when the kids go to bed, youve got to join in, youve not had a drink all night!"
"Im fine, really," I insist with a smile, arching into Garys magical fingers as he continues to massage them into my aching shoulders. Only i can read the silent questioning in his touch. But i dont respond. Not yet.
Ian relents, finally, retreating into the kitchen to acquire whatever alcoholic beverages it is that people may desire, and being as everyone else seems pre-occupied with children and cake, i take a moment to turn to my father, who sits on the other side of the piano in a cream wing back chair.
"You okay dad? Youre very quiet today."
My father turns his neck slowly, looking at me impassively for a couple of moments before he smiles with the same sluggish speed. "Just enjoying it all." His voice is low, and steady, as if he has to think about how to form each word before it is allowed to leave his lips. Garys hands still at nape.
"Do you want another drink Peter?"
My fathers gaze flickers behind his bi-focals for a second before resting on Gary. "I'll have a whiskey if youve got one going, Son." He lifts a calloused hand off his knee, leaves it hovering there for a second before dropping it back into his lap as Gary nods behind me and moves over to the drinks cabinet.
Once im sure hes out of ear shot, i take a breath and lean forwards.
"Are you really okay, Dad?" I try to ignore the prickling of tears growing ever harder to ignore at the sight of my father, a man who had always been not only so physically able, but chipper and funny and larger than life; but now who has become a man with slow, pained movements, with a lack on an appetite and no desire to tell jokes any more because a simplistic thing such as speech is too much hassle for his stroked tongue to deal with. "Like, really okay dad?"
My fathers mouth tips into a jaunty smile, the only one ive really ever seen since the strokes. The one id grown up with was lost three years ago. "Im fine Betty, doin' jus' fine."
And the use of the nickname that only he has ever used is the undoing to my composure, and a fine mist blurs my vision as i reach across my phone, paper plates and wrapping paper to grab his hand. "But youre not are you?" I shake my head, desperate to help but not wanting to push. He never was forthcoming with any emotion -other than happiness.
A moment of silence passes, the giggling of children has faded since they all scampered out of the lounge and into the toy room with hands full of cakes, and the four women sit around an unlit fire, but chat as if it were a cosy Christmas night.
"I just wish that little lad had seen me befo' i were dyin'. I woulda been a helluva lot more fun. Remember how i use'ta play with you and Bob, Betty?"
"Dad-" The lump in my throat forces me to swallow before i can get my sentence out. "Dont talk like that Daddy, Please." I squeeze his hand tighter, but he doesnt squeeze back. And i know its because he cant. "You came! Thats all that matter. Hes grateful that you came dad."
My father nods slowly, as though he has to think about how to do it. "Aye.. I hope so Betty.. because it might just be the last time."
"Dad!" A hot tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I dont stop it.
"I ai-" My dad swallows steadily before he carries on. "-nt sayin' it to be mean Betty. You know its the truth." The old man looks up for the first time during the conversation, cloudy blue eyes that once used to sparkle like mine dont quite reach my gaze and in that moment, my heart knots so tightly it takes my breath away because i realise, that the man opposite me, whom i struggle sometimes to recognise as the father i knew, is right.
"Here you go Pe-" Gary trails off when he sees my face as he lands a tumbler of whiskey in front of my dad. "Libby whats wrong?"
I shake my head quickly, retracting my hand from my fathers and dashing the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, solely because i know that dad wont want a scene.
"Can i ask you something?" My father takes me by surprise when he looks up at Gary, who has slipped onto the piano stool next to me.
"Fire away." Gary smiles, closing the lid over the piano keys and i cant work out whether hes done it to resist temptation of playing or to use it to lean on.
"Do you love her as much as i do?" Dads gaze flickers to me momentarily before he stares Gary square between the eyes. Gary swallows, audibly, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"Yes."
"You sound very sure of yourself."
"I am."
"I love her a lot."
"I know."
"I'd die for her. Would you die for her Barlow?"
"Yes."
My father nods, satisfied with the answer for a moment until he lifts a heavy hand and waves it haltingly. "Then promise me one thing, Son?"
Gary nods.
"You gotta look after her. You hear me? For the rest of your God damn life. 'Cause i aint gonna be around to make sure you do much longa. Even now, i dont think i could bust your ass- not in this crippled state. I need you to promise me that, Son." My fathers voice cracks, and, for the first time in three years, breaks his composed exterior. "You gotta look after both of them better than any other son-of-a-bitch ever will."
"Dad!" I choke, and now thick, hot tears roll unstopped down my face, and somewhere in my mind im vaguely aware that my mother has stopped her conversation to stare over at the single most heartbreaking declaration of surrender i will ever hear. And somewhere, beyond the sound of my heart shattering at the absence of my fathers fight to carry on with life, i somehow hear the only voice that could ever ground me when i am so beside myself with grief.
"I promise Mr O'Riley."
There's a small sniffle from my mother over the far side of the room, but i don't turn to look, instead i press my face against Garys bicep, closing my eyes and trying desperately to block out everything other than controlling the torrent of emotion that i was not expecting to be hit with today.
"In fact." Gary wrangles his arm free from my hold, wrapping it around my shoulder and forcing my to look up to see my mother and Marjorie, sat on the far settee, my mother clutching her white hanky and Marjorie with a fist against her lips. Lisa, Robert and Claire sit silently on the opposite settee, all three staring over to the white piano; and finally, Ian who stands in the threshold of the kitchen with two bottles of Peroni and a glass of red, looking slightly confused but captivated none the less. And in that moment, i realise that they must have listened to the whole thing. And even now hes giving up, i realise that my father can still hold a room captive in the same way that my darling husband can too.
Gary clears his throat, lifting himself from the piano stool and reaching to take the wine glass from Ian. "I would like to toast. Not only-" He pauses when he reaches me again, curling a hand around the nape of my neck as he stands next to me. "-to toast to my wonderful son, who at this moment is probably breaking his leg and the legs of all other children in the house with a plastic hammer.-Sorry about that, ill pay for the damage." Theres a ripple of laugher among everyone. "But also to my incredible wife, whom i have vowed to love, cherish and protect for long as we both shall live, which.." Gary swallows. "I sincerely hope will be an eternity. And.." His fingers flex into my skin, and i know now what he is going to say. "...who, this year, miraculously decided that she loves me enough to give me the best Christmas present in the world and tell me that she's pregnant."
Theres a small squeal from someone in the room, and a mini clap from another. Ian wolf-whistles and my mother gasps and i cant help but smile, leaning my temple against Garys hip as he continues to speak.
"So.. Peter, i will promise you that i will look after you daughter, and your grandchildren better than any other son-of-a-bitch ever could. Thats a given. And i couldnt imagine ever wanting to do anything else. But, im afraid that you cant go just yet; there is a bloody good load i need you to teach me."
"Have you been spoilt then Ethe?" My mother coos, bouncing her grandson on her knee. Both she and Marjorie have been doting on the three year old since they bustled into the house together with arms full of presents, barely saying two words to Gary and myself as they forced themselves into the living room to greet the Birthday Boy.
"Too spoilt i think.." Gary hums, halting his conversation with Ian and glancing over from where they are sat on the opposite settee. I smile from my seat at Garys piano stool, removed from the picture enough to enjoy the beauty of it.
"Nonsense!" Marjorie waves a chastising hand in her sons direction. "Theres no such thing as too spoilt on a birthday; is there Ethan?" She reaches over my mothers lap to tap the toddlers knee, earning her a toothy grin before his attention is once again occupied by the plastic hammer that he wields haphazardly and dangerously close to my mothers glasses. Lisa and Claire, my brothers wife, emerge from the kitchen at that moment, nattering about the morning school rush, making me smile again, realising that i have all that to come too.
I slide a finger across my Iphone screen and open the camera, silently snapping a few photos of the scene before me, before locking it again and leaving it on top of the piano next to three empty paper plates that once held slices of Thomas the Tank Engine cake.
A shrill squeal from the hall way, however, captures every-bodies attention.
"Daddy no!"
The scream, we all recognise at once, could only belong to my brothers daughter, Annie. And sure enough, with a clatter and scuttle of children's feet, Annie crashes through the living room door followed closely by Ians two boys and finally by my brother; chasing the small children and covered, head to toe in a whole manner of children's fairy stickers.
"Robert.." My mother groans, relenting her hold on Ethan when the toddler tries to wriggle free with a small gurgle to go and get in on the action. "What are you doing?"
Robert doesnt answer, instead he makes a bee-line for Ethan, swinging him high into the air and laughing along with him when the toddlers face reddens with hysteria as he points at the sparkly fairies dancing on top of my brothers eyebrows.
"You w'ook si-lly!"
We all laugh, and i slide open my camera once more to capture yet another moment.
When silence blankets the room again, other than the sustained background noise of constant conversion, Ian stands from his seat next to Gary, waving an empty bottle of Peroni in his face.
Gary just nods towards the kitchen, telepathic as siblings are when it comes to the refilling of drinks. "In the fridge, in the door, at the bottom."
Ian grins. "Cheers. You want one Rob?"
My bothers, who now has Ethan clinging to his neck like an ape and Annie at his leg just sticks a thumbs up with a face that looks like he could use a beer or two.
"And i know you dont want one," Ian nods towards the glass previously containing red wine that Gary holds between his knees. "Because you only drink that posh shit now." His tone drops so as to be reprimanded for his use of bad langue by his mother, but i can hear none the less.
"Give over!" Gary bites back, standing up, and knocking his brother playfully on the shoulder to no avail other than a shove back that leaves him staggering to stay upright. I burst out laughing and Ian grins over at me.
"You want a bottle Libs?"
"Im good thanks." I shake my head, just incase he cant hear me over the squealing of children as Marjorie opens a box of cupcakes on the coffee table.
"You want a glass of wine instead? Im filling this ponce's up anyway!"
"Fuck off.." Gary mumbles so only we can hear, coming up to stand behind me and planting two large hands over my shoulder, mindlessly working away the knots of tension. "Shes not drinking."
"Screw that!" Ian takes a step back towards the kitchen. "We're all getting wasted when the kids go to bed, youve got to join in, youve not had a drink all night!"
"Im fine, really," I insist with a smile, arching into Garys magical fingers as he continues to massage them into my aching shoulders. Only i can read the silent questioning in his touch. But i dont respond. Not yet.
Ian relents, finally, retreating into the kitchen to acquire whatever alcoholic beverages it is that people may desire, and being as everyone else seems pre-occupied with children and cake, i take a moment to turn to my father, who sits on the other side of the piano in a cream wing back chair.
"You okay dad? Youre very quiet today."
My father turns his neck slowly, looking at me impassively for a couple of moments before he smiles with the same sluggish speed. "Just enjoying it all." His voice is low, and steady, as if he has to think about how to form each word before it is allowed to leave his lips. Garys hands still at nape.
"Do you want another drink Peter?"
My fathers gaze flickers behind his bi-focals for a second before resting on Gary. "I'll have a whiskey if youve got one going, Son." He lifts a calloused hand off his knee, leaves it hovering there for a second before dropping it back into his lap as Gary nods behind me and moves over to the drinks cabinet.
Once im sure hes out of ear shot, i take a breath and lean forwards.
"Are you really okay, Dad?" I try to ignore the prickling of tears growing ever harder to ignore at the sight of my father, a man who had always been not only so physically able, but chipper and funny and larger than life; but now who has become a man with slow, pained movements, with a lack on an appetite and no desire to tell jokes any more because a simplistic thing such as speech is too much hassle for his stroked tongue to deal with. "Like, really okay dad?"
My fathers mouth tips into a jaunty smile, the only one ive really ever seen since the strokes. The one id grown up with was lost three years ago. "Im fine Betty, doin' jus' fine."
And the use of the nickname that only he has ever used is the undoing to my composure, and a fine mist blurs my vision as i reach across my phone, paper plates and wrapping paper to grab his hand. "But youre not are you?" I shake my head, desperate to help but not wanting to push. He never was forthcoming with any emotion -other than happiness.
A moment of silence passes, the giggling of children has faded since they all scampered out of the lounge and into the toy room with hands full of cakes, and the four women sit around an unlit fire, but chat as if it were a cosy Christmas night.
"I just wish that little lad had seen me befo' i were dyin'. I woulda been a helluva lot more fun. Remember how i use'ta play with you and Bob, Betty?"
"Dad-" The lump in my throat forces me to swallow before i can get my sentence out. "Dont talk like that Daddy, Please." I squeeze his hand tighter, but he doesnt squeeze back. And i know its because he cant. "You came! Thats all that matter. Hes grateful that you came dad."
My father nods slowly, as though he has to think about how to do it. "Aye.. I hope so Betty.. because it might just be the last time."
"Dad!" A hot tear escapes and rolls down my cheek. I dont stop it.
"I ai-" My dad swallows steadily before he carries on. "-nt sayin' it to be mean Betty. You know its the truth." The old man looks up for the first time during the conversation, cloudy blue eyes that once used to sparkle like mine dont quite reach my gaze and in that moment, my heart knots so tightly it takes my breath away because i realise, that the man opposite me, whom i struggle sometimes to recognise as the father i knew, is right.
"Here you go Pe-" Gary trails off when he sees my face as he lands a tumbler of whiskey in front of my dad. "Libby whats wrong?"
I shake my head quickly, retracting my hand from my fathers and dashing the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, solely because i know that dad wont want a scene.
"Can i ask you something?" My father takes me by surprise when he looks up at Gary, who has slipped onto the piano stool next to me.
"Fire away." Gary smiles, closing the lid over the piano keys and i cant work out whether hes done it to resist temptation of playing or to use it to lean on.
"Do you love her as much as i do?" Dads gaze flickers to me momentarily before he stares Gary square between the eyes. Gary swallows, audibly, wrapping an arm around my waist.
"Yes."
"You sound very sure of yourself."
"I am."
"I love her a lot."
"I know."
"I'd die for her. Would you die for her Barlow?"
"Yes."
My father nods, satisfied with the answer for a moment until he lifts a heavy hand and waves it haltingly. "Then promise me one thing, Son?"
Gary nods.
"You gotta look after her. You hear me? For the rest of your God damn life. 'Cause i aint gonna be around to make sure you do much longa. Even now, i dont think i could bust your ass- not in this crippled state. I need you to promise me that, Son." My fathers voice cracks, and, for the first time in three years, breaks his composed exterior. "You gotta look after both of them better than any other son-of-a-bitch ever will."
"Dad!" I choke, and now thick, hot tears roll unstopped down my face, and somewhere in my mind im vaguely aware that my mother has stopped her conversation to stare over at the single most heartbreaking declaration of surrender i will ever hear. And somewhere, beyond the sound of my heart shattering at the absence of my fathers fight to carry on with life, i somehow hear the only voice that could ever ground me when i am so beside myself with grief.
"I promise Mr O'Riley."
There's a small sniffle from my mother over the far side of the room, but i don't turn to look, instead i press my face against Garys bicep, closing my eyes and trying desperately to block out everything other than controlling the torrent of emotion that i was not expecting to be hit with today.
"In fact." Gary wrangles his arm free from my hold, wrapping it around my shoulder and forcing my to look up to see my mother and Marjorie, sat on the far settee, my mother clutching her white hanky and Marjorie with a fist against her lips. Lisa, Robert and Claire sit silently on the opposite settee, all three staring over to the white piano; and finally, Ian who stands in the threshold of the kitchen with two bottles of Peroni and a glass of red, looking slightly confused but captivated none the less. And in that moment, i realise that they must have listened to the whole thing. And even now hes giving up, i realise that my father can still hold a room captive in the same way that my darling husband can too.
Gary clears his throat, lifting himself from the piano stool and reaching to take the wine glass from Ian. "I would like to toast. Not only-" He pauses when he reaches me again, curling a hand around the nape of my neck as he stands next to me. "-to toast to my wonderful son, who at this moment is probably breaking his leg and the legs of all other children in the house with a plastic hammer.-Sorry about that, ill pay for the damage." Theres a ripple of laugher among everyone. "But also to my incredible wife, whom i have vowed to love, cherish and protect for long as we both shall live, which.." Gary swallows. "I sincerely hope will be an eternity. And.." His fingers flex into my skin, and i know now what he is going to say. "...who, this year, miraculously decided that she loves me enough to give me the best Christmas present in the world and tell me that she's pregnant."
Theres a small squeal from someone in the room, and a mini clap from another. Ian wolf-whistles and my mother gasps and i cant help but smile, leaning my temple against Garys hip as he continues to speak.
"So.. Peter, i will promise you that i will look after you daughter, and your grandchildren better than any other son-of-a-bitch ever could. Thats a given. And i couldnt imagine ever wanting to do anything else. But, im afraid that you cant go just yet; there is a bloody good load i need you to teach me."
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