doing what he had once vowed never to do. Reiterating his own father’s cruelties.
David’s father had deliberately excluded him from their non-existent family life, by sending him to boarding school. Now David’s job excluded him from Jamie’s life, as he slaved in London, trying to repair the damage his own father had done. The only son was left alone. Again.
It was as if they were destined, as a family, to recycle the same cruelty in every generation. As if Jamie’s fate was revenge taken by all those boys sent down the mines.
This is what you made us do, decade after decade, now you Kerthens must suffer the same
.
How had it come to this? It wasn’t for lack of paternal love. Sitting here in the calm, orderly silence of his London flat, David recalled his own ferocious happiness when he first held Jamie as a baby: a happiness so great it encompassed a significant element of sadness, within. He remembered a striking phrase his mother had used for parents of newborns, of firstborns, their conflicting sensibilities:
Your heart is cut by a thousand shards of happy glass.
It was painfully true. The happy glass entered your heart when you had a kid and it never went away: needling anxiety, pinpricks of worry and, occasionally, a lancing, inexpressible joy, a happiness so intense you knew that, when you died, this was how you would judge and remember your life: this was what you would think about on your deathbed. Not your career or your accomplishments, not your partners, not sex, not how many cars or wives or holidays or millions you had, but how you had done with your kids. Was I a good father? And were there enough of those diamond-hard, dazzling moments of paternal and filial happiness?
‘Daddy.’
Jamie was back.
‘Yes. Hi there.’
‘Sorry, Cassie wanted something and I had to fetch it.’
‘That’s fine. But, well, I’ve got to go myself, soon. Work.’
The boy flinched. Was that a flash of anger, or disgust?
‘You’re busy?’
‘I am. I’m sorry. I am busy, but if I get it all done now, then I promise not to work at the weekend.’
‘You said that last weekend, when you came down. But you looked at your phone the whole time.’
David inwardly blushed at the truth of this. Then he remembered his concerns, what he’d wanted to ask, during this phone call. ‘Jamie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You said something about Rachel. You said Rachel can be weird.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why did you say that?’
‘’Cause, Daddy. ’Cause she can, she can, she asks me things. And she looks for things, in the house.’
David scowled, but tried to hide it. ‘Things?’
‘Things, and stuff. Things that have happened, are happening.’
David calmed himself. He had to do this firmly, but without alarming his son.
‘Jamie, she is trying her best to fit. You have to cut her some slack. She’s the one who has to adopt our lifestyle, become part of
our
family, and she’s trying very hard, getting to know Carnhallow, that’s why she asks questions, or maybe seems uneasy. But’ – he leaned closer to the screen – ‘you do remember our promise, about the past? What we agreed.’
Jamie’s eyes widened, though he surely knew what David was talking about.
‘C’mon, Jamie. You remember. You have to remember.’
‘Yes, Daddy, I know. Don’t like talking about it.’
‘I know, it’s difficult and sad. But I need to stress this again. You mustn’t
ever
talk about what happened, that night, anything anyone said, what you saw. You mustn’t talk about it, about that night. Agreed? It’s like the therapist, exactly the same. Even if someone questions you, if
anyone
questions you, say nothing. Even to Rachel.’
‘Nnn.’ Jamie shrugged, as if this was nothing at all, or something he was about to ignore.
‘Jamie!’
‘OK, Daddy, yes!’
Jamie sipped at a can of drink. San Pellegrino. His blue-violet eyes were beautiful, even when seen through a laptop screen. The boy spoke:
‘Daddy I have my own
David’s father had deliberately excluded him from their non-existent family life, by sending him to boarding school. Now David’s job excluded him from Jamie’s life, as he slaved in London, trying to repair the damage his own father had done. The only son was left alone. Again.
It was as if they were destined, as a family, to recycle the same cruelty in every generation. As if Jamie’s fate was revenge taken by all those boys sent down the mines.
This is what you made us do, decade after decade, now you Kerthens must suffer the same
.
How had it come to this? It wasn’t for lack of paternal love. Sitting here in the calm, orderly silence of his London flat, David recalled his own ferocious happiness when he first held Jamie as a baby: a happiness so great it encompassed a significant element of sadness, within. He remembered a striking phrase his mother had used for parents of newborns, of firstborns, their conflicting sensibilities:
Your heart is cut by a thousand shards of happy glass.
It was painfully true. The happy glass entered your heart when you had a kid and it never went away: needling anxiety, pinpricks of worry and, occasionally, a lancing, inexpressible joy, a happiness so intense you knew that, when you died, this was how you would judge and remember your life: this was what you would think about on your deathbed. Not your career or your accomplishments, not your partners, not sex, not how many cars or wives or holidays or millions you had, but how you had done with your kids. Was I a good father? And were there enough of those diamond-hard, dazzling moments of paternal and filial happiness?
‘Daddy.’
Jamie was back.
‘Yes. Hi there.’
‘Sorry, Cassie wanted something and I had to fetch it.’
‘That’s fine. But, well, I’ve got to go myself, soon. Work.’
The boy flinched. Was that a flash of anger, or disgust?
‘You’re busy?’
‘I am. I’m sorry. I am busy, but if I get it all done now, then I promise not to work at the weekend.’
‘You said that last weekend, when you came down. But you looked at your phone the whole time.’
David inwardly blushed at the truth of this. Then he remembered his concerns, what he’d wanted to ask, during this phone call. ‘Jamie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘You said something about Rachel. You said Rachel can be weird.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Why did you say that?’
‘’Cause, Daddy. ’Cause she can, she can, she asks me things. And she looks for things, in the house.’
David scowled, but tried to hide it. ‘Things?’
‘Things, and stuff. Things that have happened, are happening.’
David calmed himself. He had to do this firmly, but without alarming his son.
‘Jamie, she is trying her best to fit. You have to cut her some slack. She’s the one who has to adopt our lifestyle, become part of
our
family, and she’s trying very hard, getting to know Carnhallow, that’s why she asks questions, or maybe seems uneasy. But’ – he leaned closer to the screen – ‘you do remember our promise, about the past? What we agreed.’
Jamie’s eyes widened, though he surely knew what David was talking about.
‘C’mon, Jamie. You remember. You have to remember.’
‘Yes, Daddy, I know. Don’t like talking about it.’
‘I know, it’s difficult and sad. But I need to stress this again. You mustn’t
ever
talk about what happened, that night, anything anyone said, what you saw. You mustn’t talk about it, about that night. Agreed? It’s like the therapist, exactly the same. Even if someone questions you, if
anyone
questions you, say nothing. Even to Rachel.’
‘Nnn.’ Jamie shrugged, as if this was nothing at all, or something he was about to ignore.
‘Jamie!’
‘OK, Daddy, yes!’
Jamie sipped at a can of drink. San Pellegrino. His blue-violet eyes were beautiful, even when seen through a laptop screen. The boy spoke:
‘Daddy I have my own
Similar Books
