The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (best books to read non fiction .TXT) 📗

in the white stubble of his chin, the lines around his eyes, the slack skin around his neck. I remember riding high on his younger shoulders, racing those long legs across the park, being pulled in for a hug by those strong, wiry arms. It never bothered me that my dad was a little older than everyone else’s. I knew he was fitter and sharper than any of them.

Brenda sits down on the sofa with a sigh. She’s older than my mum – much closer to my dad’s age – and so totally different. She’s quiet and unassuming, insistent on good grammar and exemplary manners, but she’s also as tough as an ox, a no-nonsense kind of woman who gets things done without complaining. Even this new revelation – that my dad raised another man’s child – hasn’t fazed her. He’ll have had his reasons for not telling me, she said.

I don’t know how she’s managed with my dad for so long – his tempers and wanderings, his demands and emotional outbursts. But recently the cracks are starting to show. She simply can’t cope with this anymore, and we’re going to have to make choices. For the last few months, we’ve been trawling through websites and leaflets, speaking to doctors and social services, visiting community centres and respite homes. All of us – me, Laura and Brenda – all know some big decisions need to be made. But none of us wants to make them.

“Are you sure you don’t want something to eat, love?” asks Brenda. “I could do a toasted sandwich?”

I shake my head. I can’t eat today, just like I haven’t been able to eat for the last three days since meeting with my mum. I feel wobbly inside, and my breath feels strained and tight. Every time I try to eat something, I get heartburn. And I’m so, so tired, although I can barely sleep.

“When did you know you loved my dad?” I ask, my eyes fixed on his face.

I hear Brenda swallow a mouthful of tea.

“I don’t think there was single moment,” she says, “he just sort of grew on me. A shared word search in the staffroom, a shared packet of Jaffa Cakes… I finally looked forward to going to work just for that time together. But I knew he was married. I never imagined we’d be anything other than friends.”

“But how did you carry on like that, day after day, when you were secretly in love with him?”

“Well,” she sighs, “for me it was that or nothing. I was resigned to the fact that he had a wife and family. And anyway, I never would have imagined he’d be interested in me, romantically speaking. So, friendship was better than nothing.”

I think about Libby and I wish I could feel like that, but I just don’t. I’m tired of struggling with my feelings for her, trying to keep them in check. I don’t want to be her friend anymore. I just want to be free of her.

My dad stirs in his chair. For a second he opens his eyes and looks at me. I smile, but there’s no recognition there, and he quickly closes his eyes again, falls back asleep. What breaks my heart most are the times he gets angry and agitated about me never visiting, telling Laura that his son never comes to see him.

I’m always here, Dad. Always.

Suddenly I remember Laura’s phone call on the night of Josh’s birthday, how she told me Dad had been distressed, saying he never should have lied to me. Was this what he was talking about? The lie about my parentage? Laura thought he was talking nonsense. She would have told him to quieten down, have a nice cup of tea.

I wonder what it took for him to raise another man’s child as his own, knowing the biological father of that child was the true keeper of his wife’s heart. What did it take for him to allow that man to visit his home, speak to his wife, see his child, year after year? What did it take for him to allow that man to pay for his son’s education?

I know what it’s like to be offered money to help raise your child. My life – Josh’s life – could have been so different if I’d accepted the money Hellie’s parents were willing to give me. Maybe I was wrong, maybe I was being selfish, but surely every man wants to be able to support his own child. At twenty-one, whether I like it or not, Josh will have access to a trust fund he doesn’t know exists. He’ll be a wealthy young man. But until then it’s my job to support him. It takes a bigger man than me – a man like my dad – to shelve his pride.

“I should go,” I say quietly, but I can’t let go of my dad’s hand. I feel like I’ve already lost him once.

I hear Brenda take another sip of her tea.

“You stay as long as you need to, sweetheart,” she says. “This will always be your home.”

Chapter 18

Empty

I remember…

…

…nothing.

My mind is blank. I feel empty, spaced out, detached from reality.

Everything that went before feels like a lie.

I feel like a lie.

The memories stop. My thoughts stop.

I

Feel

Nothing.

Chapter 19

Secrets

I haven’t told Josh the truth yet.

It’s already been so hard for him, watching my dad decline. He makes a joke of it when his grandad can’t remember his name or can’t recognise his face, but I know it breaks his heart. How will he feel to find out his real grandad’s a man he’s never met? I don’t know. I don’t even know how I feel.

I have a sense of being numb, outside of myself. I can’t think straight. I can’t focus on anything. All the thoughts and memories that have been streaming into my brain for the past few weeks have vanished, leaving nothing but white noise. I’m functioning on