***
Nothing could have prepared Ella for the moment of sitting in her father’s house, waiting for him to enter the room. They hadn’t seen each other in over ten years. Someone had tied her stomach up in a ball of twine, so tight, like to end off a pompom. She couldn’t even take in the feel of his home because she busied herself swallowing back the nausea and bracing against the swaying in her head. She didn’t want to know the home he’d spent the last how many years alone in. Alone because of his own stubbornness.
The haggard-faced maid who’d brought her in had gone to call him. He’d obviously done well for himself that he could afford a full-time servant and a double-storey house with a pool in the La Lucia area of Durban.
Would he criticise her for never making the effort before now to come see him? Not like he’d tried to visit her.
Why had she thought she should visit him before she moved down to live in the same city as him? He didn’t have to know, did he?
Tears picked her eyes. She really did want him to know. And that was the hardest thing to admit.
When he walked in, all the memories from her younger childhood, the painful teenage years without him, and the reality of the present converged in one painful throb in her head and an awkward shaky smile on her face. She held herself from swaying forward.
“Ella?” He jumped down the stone steps to the indented living room area of his open-plan house and hugged her straight away. A sliver of hope entered her as his warm hug encompassed her for a brief few seconds. He stood back and surveyed her with a pleased smile. “You look just like your mom.”
Why did he sound happy about that fact?
“She’s changed a lot. It’s been years.” The words came out strained.
“We’ve been in touch recently.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Why?”
“Your mom and I aren’t enemies.”
“You certainly acted like it.” She bit her lip. Sometimes, she could keep things bottled up inside, but other times, the anger made it burst out in one fell swoop. She hadn’t planned on a confrontation today. So much for that.
“It’s wonderful to see you. Are you here for long? Can Liz make you some tea?”
“I don’t know if I can get it down.” She tried to swallow the bile lodged in her throat.
He sat on the couch and she settled a foot from him, unsure what to feel. Her heart wanted to sing a happy tune and to shout angry words at the same time. Instead, she clamped her hands in her lap and merely stared at him, taking in the visible signs of age—wrinkles, misshapen middle, greying temples and bald patch.
“Your mom says you’re doing well.”
“What did she say?” How come Mom hadn’t told her they’d been corresponding?
“You’re working and running a business part-time.”
“I’m looking at moving here. To Durban. Getting a transfer to another branch.”
He nodded, his gaze fixed on her. Could that be love in his eyes? She’d always known he’d loved her, but the letters had ceased between them. Partly her fault, partly his, but she couldn’t deny how easy it had been to blame him all those years for the separation of her parents. And blame herself. Somehow, she’d sensed for so long that the divorce had been her fault.
“I wanted to let you know I’ll be closer by. We can maybe see each other more often.” She dropped her gaze to hide the fears and mumbled, “I’m sorry I haven’t made the effort much lately.”
Lately? Maybe the last five years.
“Me, too, my girl. I think we’re too similar. We won’t bridge the gap—we’ll wait for the other one to do it first.”
She shot her head up and nodded but the tears wriggled down her cheeks anyway.
“Why are you crying?” He sat closer to her and hugged her from the side. “I’m sorry, Ella.” He stroked her arm. “I didn’t want to interfere.”
“What do you mean?” Ugh, she sounded all snotty and whiny.
“Mom had a certain way of bringing up kids. Didn’t want my way to interfere with hers. I thought it best to just love you from a distance. Heck, it was tough. I missed you every single day.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What must I say? Mom doesn’t want me around. I didn’t want to mess up your thoughts of her. You were living with her. I didn’t think you should hate the parent you’re living with.”
“But you could have told me once I left home and stayed on my own. I would have visited you more. And anyway, who said Mom’s way was the only way. She messed up a lot. We fought every day when I was a teenager.”
“Yes, but I would have made it worse. I’m a hippie. I like everything free and easy and your mom likes order and structure. We would have messed you up.”
“Rubbish. It would have brought a balance. I needed someone who wasn’t so rigid. I needed a shoulder to cry on.”
He roughly pulled her head onto his shoulder. “Well, I’m here now, my sweetie. Now please tell me what’s wrong?”
Sobs came as all the pent-up emotion of years burst out. How could her father have held back for so long? If things had been different, she would have found certain things a lot easier to cope with—like all those broken relationships. Mom had only brushed them off as bad moves on Ella’s part. Dad may have listened more.
“What do you want to tell me?” he asked once she’d gone quiet and pulled away, only to look around at his stylish, arty home.
Allowing her emotions to simper down, she took in the warm colours, atmospheric light effects, and unusual ornaments and trinkets. Pleasant to the eye and not too cluttered.
“I want to ask you something.” She peered at him after drying up the evidence of her outburst.
He nodded, softness in his older gaze. Her father had always held a special place in her heart. How could she have considered him a stubborn loser, a heartbreaker? Maybe her girlhood idealism of him had held some merit, after all.
“Why did you leave Mom?”
“I thought she would have told you by now.” He turned away and stood up, walking to the low bookshelf taking up one whole long wall. He picked up a book and paged through.
“I want to hear your side of it.”
“I’ve told you before in the letters.”
“Not really, Dad. All you said was that you couldn’t live together. Mom said about the same thing. Why not?”
“Parenting was one of them.” He glanced at her then went back to fiddling with the book.
“So I split you up?”
“No, we couldn’t agree on many things.” He turned to her.
“Yet, you loved her, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I loved her.” He brought the book with and then she noticed it was a photo album of her childhood. Tatty, well-used, and holding pictures right up until the present.
“If you loved her, why didn’t you make it work?”
“We both tried. Believe me, we did.”
“Maybe if you’d had The Album.” She shrugged. “But then, of course, I wouldn’t exist.”
“The Album. What’s that?”
She held up her hand. “That can wait. I want to know why you couldn’t make it work.”
“Does it matter now, Ella?”
“I missed out on all those years with you.” Tears came again despite thinking she’d been cried out already.
He grasped her hand. “I know. If I could go back, maybe I would have tried to make it work. At the time, we both agreed our fighting was having a detrimental effect on you. You used to cry, get really upset—”
“I don’t remember that.” Is that why she’d always felt deep inside that the divorce was her fault? As a child, she’d heard them fighting about her, but never understanding why, had assumed she’d caused the fights.
He nodded. “You hated it. You used to hide in a corner cowering. I never beat your mom but she used to make me livid. I would scream at her and she back at me. Your schoolwork suffered, you’d be sent home with symptoms but the do
ctor couldn’t find anything wrong. There and then, we decided for our good and for your good, to part ways. I couldn’t visit you, anything, because we always ended up fighting about something to do with you. The only thing we ever agreed on for you was the divorce.”
“The very worst thing,” she mumbled then shook her head. “Dad, I don’t understand it and I wish you could have been right for each other. I suppose that’s why I keep on searching for the right man. I don’t just want anyone.”
He nodded and smiled. “Mom was the only love of my life. I’ve kind of given up on finding anyone else. Become too fussy over the years.”
She laughed although the mirth didn’t reach right into her soul. In fact, the answers she’d been hoping for hadn’t come. She wanted to hear her dad say that he shouldn’t have married Mom in the first place, that he was certain from the beginning he’d done the wrong thing.
She sucked in a breath. “Do you wish you hadn’t married her?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t have had you.”
“No, besides that.”
“The first few years were magic. I loved her. Wish we hadn’t grown apart and let our differences come between us, but no, I don’t regret the times we did have.”
“Do you think you could have done things differently? I mean, being older and wiser—” She grinned at him. “—do you think you could have made it work?”
“I don’t know, Lala.”
She warmed at the endearment he used to call her when she was little.
“Why do you worry so much?” he continued. “Life is good. I’m happy. Your mom’s found a good man.”
Her stepfather was a good man. Dad had a point there. Not that she’d had much parenting from him since he’d only married Mom a couple of years back.
“The only thing I regret is the sadness I see in your eyes sometimes.”
She shrugged. “I missed all those years with you.”
“We will make up for it now that you’re moving here.”
“Yes, I can’t wait.”
His loving smile assured her she’d done the right thing coming here. In fact, she should have visited years ago. The tension unwound and she returned his smile. Time for something less intense.
“Now show me your home. It looks stunning.”
“Did you bring your cozzie?” Dad rose with enthusiasm.
“No, Dad. I didn’t think…”
“I’ve got a spare.”
She frowned at him. “Why would you—”
“Kept some in case you came. I have about five different sizes.”
“Oh.” The air left her lungs. Her dad loved her and why had she doubted it for so long? “You nana. I bet you they’re all full costumes.” She winked. “I wonder how fashionable they are. How long have you been collecting them?”
“Hey, I have taste. Come see.” He led her to the spare bedroom and she gaped at the expansive rooms and arty spaces. Something cold and tight inside of her began to melt, like an ice block in the sun.