Walking Down the Aisle - An Example of My Work

Due to the success and positive feedback received from 'Quid Pro Quo' (you can read it here), I thought I would release another story - hope you enjoy it!

***Please note this piece contains one instance of swearing***

Sitting in the car, I turned the heaters toward my freezing nose and tried to shake off the icy feel to the day.  No matter how much I tried to put on a brave face, today was going to be one of the hardest days.

I heard the door open and with a mechanical clunk, Anna eased herself into the front seat.

‘Here, Dad, take my papers,’ she said, shoving them into my lap.  ‘ANNA GAPLINSKI’ they said in heavy bold typeface.  I knew these papers well, the familiar tea stains in circular rings on the front paper cover, and the heavy weight of the passive informative life-changing notes.

‘You warm enough?’

I turned to help her fasten the seatbelt.

‘Yes, Dad,’ she laughed, ‘Jeez, it’s so hot in here!’

Without asking, she leaned forward and turned off all the fans.  I didn’t mind.

‘So, onward we go,’ she directed, nodding ahead to the morning traffic.

Releasing the handbrake, I gave a quick smile and started the all too familiar drive.  A few minutes passed, and we hadn’t spoken about the meeting ahead.  It was a conversation that was just too intimate for us, too close to the truth, and I didn’t even know where to start.

Maintaining my supportive smile, I leaned forward and switched on the radio.  I knew she didn’t appreciate my taste in jazz music so I tried to find something a little more upbeat and well, quite frankly, young, that she could appreciate.   The electric rhythmic screech of dance music entered the void between us, and I looked to her for approval.

She took my hand.

‘Look, Dad, don’t worry. It’s fine. Just leave it.’

She turned off my radio in favour of the silence.

My thoughts wandered to the time she had first told me she had cancer.  I’d been at home working and there’d been an insistent knocking at my door.  I didn’t usually open the door to visitors but Anna had refused to go away.

‘Anna!’ I’d cried, surprised to see her after so many months.

‘Your doorbell isn’t working,’ she’d said with an accusatory look in her eye.

Ignoring her comment, I’d welcomed her into my meagre sized front room where I’d been cooped up next to a spluttering gas fire.  Sweeping off a load of old newspapers from the coffee table, I’d beckoned her to sit down. 

‘I’d rather stand,’ she’d said in an apologetic tone as she watched me return to my usual sofa spot.

‘Dad, I’m sorry…’ she had begun, and I spotted tears in her eyes.

I remember I had stood up and gone to her, but she had backed away.  Things hadn’t been so great between us since she had married and we had retained a respectful distance.  If her mother had been here, I know things would have been easier.

I had seen her shoulders heave, and the tears began to fall.

‘Oh, Anna, darlin’,’ I said.  My strong, beautiful daughter was in a mess and it scared me shitless.

‘Dad, I’m so, so sorry,’ she’d continued.  ‘I’m so sorry to bring this to your door, to bother you with this… especially after Mum…’

She had wiped her face furiously with the sleeve end of her brown, corduroy jacket.  

Like a fool, I had fumbled around looking for a tissue I knew just wasn’t there.

I had, of course, assumed at first that Geoff had left her.  A stupid, old fart like myself had to of course jump to the wrong conclusions.  But I wanted to be there for her. There would be no ‘I told you so’s’, no recriminations, just an offer to help her back on her feet into the big wide world, to a place in life where she was supposed to be.

‘Dad, I’ve got cancer.’

The shock at those words was astounding.  It was debilitating.  I think I must have blanked out for a second.  I must have looked like some stupid gawping zombie as I tried to say something but the words were not forthcoming.

‘The doctors have been checking me for a couple of years and told me it might happen and it has.’

She must have seen me stumble or something because she made a move to grab my arm.

‘Dad, Dad, it’s not terminal!’ she’d cried, trying to shake me out of my stupor.  ‘They think it’s stage 2B. Which means, I’ve got a good chance of getting through this.’

A cat ran in front of the car and jolted me out of my thoughts.

‘That’s meant to be a good sign?’ Anna said turning to me. 

I noticed her stare at my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

‘Huh?’

‘The cat, Dad.  A cat running out in front of the car.  Isn’t it meant to be a good sign?’

‘Yes, I think so… not sure really…’

Anna sighed. 

‘Look, Dad.  I told you not to come if it was too much.  I’m a big girl, I could have come on my own.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ I chastised her. ‘I can’t have you going to the hospital all on your own, can I?’

Anna sighed again and stared ahead at the queuing traffic on Altrincham Road.  I hadn’t meant to be so abrupt, and I should have chosen my words more carefully.  The fact is, it should be Geoff here with her today, not me.  And she knows that, but she can’t help feeling loyal to that piece of scum.  Ever since I’d met him at some nonsensical swanky restaurant, with his arm draped over her shoulders like a beefed up jock thinking he owned her, I’d known him.  I’d clocked him the second he sauntered into my line of sight.  Of course, Anna thinks I never gave him a chance.  But I did.  I just knew what he was like, because he is the image of me when I was that age.  And I made my mistakes back then.  And who can I blame when my only daughter comes home with someone like her Dad?

‘I’m sorry, darling.  I’m just a bit tense that’s all.’

I put my hand over hers resting on the passenger seat and she withdrew it.  I didn’t seek out the tears, but I knew they were there.

‘So, has the hospital given you any idea about today?’

‘No, Dad… it’s just the letter.  They won’t tell me over the phone either.  Said they need to see me.’

I nodded.

‘I meant it you know.  I am a big girl now.  You have to let me fight my own battles sometimes.’

I got the implication – this discussion was about more than just the cancer. 

‘I know.  I can’t help being a protective dad, can I?’

Turning into Wythenshawe hospital car park, I thought of the cruel irony over Anna’s choice of words.  She is no ‘big girl’, for Christ’s sake - she’s only 23. I thought I’d have a lifetime with her before the diagnosis.  I suppose I’d just waited for her to end it with Geoff and then we could be like we were before, just the two of us, even growing old together.  I know it’s a selfish view and she has to have a life of her own, but I didn’t think for a minute she’d be racing to that ole’ towering door of life with the words ‘EXIT’ flashing in neon red before me.  The thought of her leaving me alone in this world is just unthinkable.

Turning into a space, I pulled the car to a stop and murmured, ‘Here.’  Stating our arrival reminded me of a game we used to play when she was a kid to see who could shout out ‘Here!’ at the top of their voice when we’d arrived somewhere new on holiday.

Anna turned to me.

‘Look, Dad, no matter what happens today, I just want you to know that you have been the best Dad…’

‘Stop it, Anna,’ I said, choked.  Her pale blue eyes looked at me with concern.  She took my hand and squeezed it.  That was the thing with us and our hand squeezing.  It ran in the family – we always liked to be the ones in control.  Her squeezing my hand was a sign that she was in charge, whereas she’d pushed away my attempts in the car to hold hers.  The day of her mother’s funeral we’d said nothing, just held hands tightly as the coffin was lowered.  I guess being in this sort of situation is why we’re both so scared.  Trying to just reclaim a little bit of control makes us feel safe.

Opening the door, she swivelled in her chair and I jumped out the car to the passenger side and helped her get to her feet.

‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, motioning me away.

‘Your hair looks good,’ I said, noting the miniature red curls spread over her head.

‘Thanks Dad’.

Locking the car, I took her by the arm.

‘Dad, wait, my notes…?

I rolled my eyes. I needed to keep it together for her sake.

We entered the hospital main entrance.  The memories came flooding back.  The last time I’d been here was to drop her off at the Women’s Health Suite.  It had been a battle just getting her here that day.  Geoff opposed the doctor’s advice and told her he didn’t want her to have the hysterectomy.  He wanted kids.  Well yes, in an ideal world where we got everything we wanted, I’d wanted grandkids too, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose my only daughter so that pompous git could have it his way.  Anna had told me to just wait for him to come round and I’d nearly gone round to punch his lights out.  How dare he decide what’s right for her?

I’d been forced to beg, to plead with her to make the right decision.  I’m sure many people would disagree with the way I handled it.  I’m sure others would think that she should be allowed to make her own decisions.  But as far as I’m concerned, if it comes to it, I’ll be a miserable pile of emotional blackmail any day of the week in order to save my daughter’s life.

‘It was the right thing to do, you know.’ 

Anna interrupted my thoughts.

‘The ‘RH’,’ she continued, sensing what I was thinking. 

I gave her a weak smile. ‘I know, I know…’

‘We’ve done everything right, and we’ve done everything quickly.’

I appreciated her use of ‘we’.  The cancer had caused a change in both of us. As well as making me sit up and make more of an effort with my daughter, it had also produced a change in Anna.  She was different somehow, more determined, more considered.  I think she appreciated life more, not just the fact she was living day by day, but the smaller more intimate things, like thanking the dustbin men for taking away her bins, or stopping to make idle chit chat with the lady behind the counter at the newsagent’s.  Her life had stopped, and she had re-evaluated it.  In a weird way, I envied that clarity she possessed, that realisation that life will end one day and how we live our lives makes us who we are.

I can hear the squeakiness of her trainers against the shiny hospital floor.  We passed the maternity ward where she’d been born.

She nodded in the direction of the ward which suddenly came alive as a nurse exited.  A flurry of loud baby cries swept in a crescendo down the corridor.

‘It’s still possible you know; they froze my eggs, it could happen one day.’

‘I’m just glad to have you,’ I responded non-committedly.  The thought of Anna having children was a dream for now; I just wanted her to be well. 

‘Geoff is still keen.’

‘Hmmm… I bet he is.’

The awkward silence engulfed us, but we still clung to each other like drifters stranded at sea, not wanting to be here but having no choice in the matter.  The mere thought of Geoff forcing himself onto Anna, crossing over the scars of her hysterectomy and knowing she’d never be able to carry his children made me feel like retching.  A sheer disregard for her changed body, not caring who carried his children, but so long as they were his own. 

‘Let’s not go there, not today, okay?’ she asked.

I nodded. Another non-committal reply.

As we walked down the hospital aisle arm in arm, approaching the door to the ward, I thought of the day my little girl got married and how I hadn’t been there.  I thought of all the times I’d let her down; from missing her first nativity school play to just not bothering to get to know her as a kid.  I know that there are a lot of fathers out there who use work as an excuse to not see their kids, but if I’m being completely honest; I just didn’t try hard enough.  Despite my misgivings about Geoff, I should have been there on the day she got married, putting on a brave face and doing the right thing.

‘Here,’ Anna said, echoing my earlier line. 

Pressing the buzzer, the door opened and we were welcomed in. 

‘Anna!’ cried one of the nurses.

‘Hi Maisie,’ she replied as if she’d bumped into an old school friend.

I watched as the two exchanged pleasantries.  It is odd how illness makes you part of a new social group where everyone knows your name and everyone possesses the same conversation starter.  It’s a new group which you never even knew existed.  The closest anyone ever got to knowing my name was the girl from the local Post Office, and that was only when collecting my pension cheque every Friday.

Sitting in the waiting area, I looked at the usual set of faces surrounding me.  Those blank looks which give nothing away.  Anna joins me and the horde of faces turn to see her; the girl with cancer.  Ok, her hair is growing back now so it’s less obvious, but you can tell that she’s just a bit too skinny. I wonder how many of them are praying they’re not next.

‘That Maisie, she’s such a great nurse,’ Anna enthused, as she sat down beside me.

That’s my girl.  Ignore the faces and the cancer stereotype. Show them that this illness will never define you.

‘They’re all good,’ I responded, still clutching her notes in my hand.

‘Anna, we’ll see you now,’ Maisie beckoned us behind double doors that led to the examination rooms. 

‘Do you need me?’ I asked Anna, unsure if she was having further examinations.

‘Yes, Dad.  Dad… I need you.’ 

I took her hand.

I don’t know what the waiting faces must have been thinking as we walked hand in hand to see the doctor. 

Doctor Johnson greeted us with her usual brisk pragmatic approach.

‘Anna, how are you? Oh, and you brought your dad along too, that’s great!’

I shook hands with the doctor.  I like to keep it formal with her; it’s my ‘no-nonsense’ approach which means I’m a serious and over-protective father.

I ignored the look Anna exchanged with the doctor.

‘So, Anna, your notes here show you recently had another colposcopy, your first following your hysterectomy, and from what I can read here, the nurses thought they might have come across some CIN3 cells again so they took some biopsies to check it was all normal.’

Anna nodded. ‘And…?’

‘And I’m pleased to report that everything is as normal as it should be.  It’s scar tissue we think, so we’ll see you back here in 6 months for another check up and take it from there, ok?’

Anna and I looked at each other in amazement.  We smiled.  I think Anna may have stuttered a little laugh.  Our faces turned into grins. We flung out arms round each other and hugged tightly. 

‘Six months?’ I repeated to Doctor Johnson.

‘Six months,’ she said, closing shut her file and heading for the door.  ‘Maisie, see them out will you?’

I could hear the distant sound of ‘Next!’ coming from within the ward as the door spat us out into the corridor.  We’d made it; we’d survived.  I don’t think I’d ever been so happy.

‘Dad, I’ve something to show you,’ Anna said, asking for the file within my hands.

She turned the file over and flicked to the back page.  A couple sheets of loose-leaf paper came away easily in her hands.

‘Dad, I’m divorcing Geoff.’

She pushed the papers into my hands. 

And there was nothing more to say.  The beam of delight from my face said it all.  I pulled her arm under mine and reclaimed my daughter.  Patting her hand, I felt as light as Frank Sinatra from one of those black and white films.  We light footed it down the corridor as if walking down the aisle.  Except I was walking her to a new life and a new start. Together.

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Author update - you can now purchase my debut novel 'Where Were You When the World Ended?' from the Amazon Kindle store.