Chapter 16

A Good Friday tradition in our house before the unpleasantness, was that I would bake Hot Cross Buns in the morning while listening to the St Matthew Passion by JS Bach. Why I should remember that while forgetting so much more important stuff, I don't know, but I'm glad I did. Furthermore thanks to my foresight (which seemed infinitely superior to my memory, or backsight) and the already fully stocked larder cupboard, I had all the ingredients I needed. I rose early and had got things under way when Trish arrived downstairs, looking dishevelled, as well she might after the previous night's activities.

She said nothing but shambled about the kitchen getting in my way while she made tea and toast. At last she broached the silence.

"Nice smell."

"Trish, you have never tasted Hot Cross Buns until you've tasted home made ones."

"Humph!" she replied. I neither knew or cared whether she was dismissive of my assertion or approving of it. She sat at the table and munched her toast while I ate 'on the hoof'. As I passed behind her I kissed the top of her head.

"You are so beautiful!" I whispered. This time there was a snort of disbelief.

"It's true." I asserted. Another snort.

I sighed. "There's no talking to some people in the morning." No reply.

She got up and came across to me where I was knocking down the dough, mixing in the dried fruit and cutting and forming the pieces into buns, She put her arms round my stomach and laid her head on my shoulder, "Love you," she said.

"And I you," I replied, "and I'd demonstrate how much if I weren't at this delicate stage of things."

She sighed in disappointment.

"I'm off for a shower," she said, and she was.

Just over an hour later the buns were sugar-washed and on a cooling rack, and I went upstairs. Trish was fast asleep on the bed, wearing a bathrobe. I crept out of the bedroom to the bathroom and took a shower of my own.

I returned to the bedroom naked and dry and stroked her face until she opened her eyes. Then she opened them wider as she saw my nakedness and my half-erection. She smiled, rolled off the bed and dropping the robe off her shoulders went to hang it up. As she passed the window she stopped, holding the robe in front of her.

"Allan, there's a girl on our drive," she said in surprise. "She's just standing looking at the house."

A pause.

"I think she's crying. I'll go and see what's the matter."

She pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and a tee shirt over her naked body.

"Get dressed and come down," she said. It was more a request for help than an order.

I went to the open window and looked out. Trish was walking towards her. The road was quiet on this bank holiday and I could hear every word. The girl looked familiar.

"Hello. Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean–"

"What's the matter hinny? Are you in trouble?"

"It's all right. It's nothing."

"It's obviously something. Would you like to come in? Have a drink: juice? milk? tea? Come on in and tell me all about it."

And Trish put her arm round the girl and the two came into the house. Where had I seen the girl before? Somewhere in Sale perhaps; was she checkout girl? I hurriedly (or as hurriedly as I could manage) dressed and descended the stairs quietly. They were in the kitchen. Trish had obviously got her a drink, so I'd missed nothing.

I had reached the bottom of the stairs when they began talking, and what was said froze me to the bottom step.

"So, what's the matter?" asked Trish.

"It's nothing really. I used to live here. My mum said the house had been sold. We moved out when Mum went to live with her boyfriend. I didn't want to go; I love this house. I hoped Dad might come back someday. I wish we knew where he was. I came back for a last look. I hate living where we are, and I hate her boyfriend; he's creepy. I hate it that he and mum are getting married. But ... Everything's just as we left it! And you've been making hot cross buns! Dad always did that on Good Friday. That's weird!"

"I'm Trish."

"Greta."

"Well, Greta, my boyfriend wanted this house as soon as he saw it, and he wanted it furnished. It seems your mother wasn't interested in any of the contents so she left it just as it was."

"Is he here?"

"Yes. He's getting dressed, I think. Now, your dad. What happened? Tell me the story."

"He walked out on us. Two years ago. He went on one of his sales meetings and never came back. He's living with another woman somewhere, but no one knows where he is. Mum was totally devastated for ages, and every day she'd say 'perhaps he'll come back'. Then I think she just lost it and got angry and bitter.

"That was when she started sleeping with Derek. But it's not like it was with Dad. No one laughs any more. Derek doesn't play with the lads, Dad used to play footy with them. He was lots of fun. He used to talk with me and take me for walks. Derek's boring – he just keeps looking at Mum with those adoring eyes. I don't think he knows we're there.

"I don't think he's very good in bed; Mum used to make a lot of noise with Dad, but it's very quiet now. I used to feel so repulsed and embarrassed when I heard Mum and Dad, but now I miss the noise.

"I can't understand why he did it. Mum and he were so happy. How could he even look at another woman? While we lived here I always thought Dad would come through the door one day. When we moved in with Derek, I think that's when I lost hope. Even if he couldn't face Mum, how could he just leave me and my brothers? How could he? I wish I knew. I miss him so much."

I heard her begin to cry again.

I felt a real sense of loss. It wasn't just my life and health those thugs had taken; they'd destroyed a whole family, and that family was, like me, still suffering. Somehow that wasn't real before this moment, but now I felt their loss intensely. Greta must not suffer any more. I heard someone get up and I hid round the corner of the stairs in case it was Greta.

"I'll be with you in a minute. I'll just see where he is." Trish came into the hall and saw me.

"You heard?" she whispered.

I nodded. I was still in shock. That was my daughter in there, and she was very upset.

"Will you see her? She needs you Allan."

Again I nodded. I couldn't deny my own daughter.

"Wait here until get her ready," Trish said, practical as always. "Meeting you will be a shock; it's the last thing she'll expect, but your appearance will be even worse. Trust me, I know what's needed." She turned and went back.

"He'll be here in a minute. Now, you wished for your dad just now?"

"Well, yes. I always longed for him to come home, but there's no hope of that."

"Listen, Greta. I'm afraid you're in for some shocks today."

"What d'you mean?"

"If I told you I could put you in touch with your Dad?"

"What?"

"I mean it. I can put you in touch with your Dad, but there are conditions."

"You sure? You're not joking? You wouldn't joke would you? Anything. I'll agree to anything."

I could almost see her bouncing in her seat. I smiled and tears started in my eyes.

"First. You must agree most solemnly not to tell anyone else where he is. Not your mother. Not your brothers."

"You know I have brothers?"

"You said your Dad used to play with your brothers. Now will you swear not to tell a soul where he is? He will eventually make himself known, but not yet."

"Yes, yes, I don't understand why, but I'll keep it a secret. Anything to see him again." She was impatient, "Can we go and see him now?"

"Second," Trish said, ignoring her request. "There are things you need to know. I told you, you are in for a number of shocks, some of them are bad."

"OK, OK!" I could hear her impatience growing.

"Here goes then. Your father did not go off with another woman."

"So why–"

"The day he left York and should have come home, he was attacked by a group of yobs who took everything he had, including his clothes. I'm sorry to tell you this, Greta, but they beat him up very badly. No one who saw him admitted to hospital thought he would live. And he only had his underwear on so no one knew who he was. It's taken him this long to remember he even has a family. He didn't know his own name for over a year."

I heard a gasp. "But I'm sure Mum contacted the hospital and there was no one admitted."

"The hospital was in Newcastle. I'm a nurse there. I was there when he was admitted."

"Newcastle? How?"

"No one knows. Your Dad can't remember. But Greta, you have to know he was very badly injured. He still is. Greta, it's his face darling. They kicked his face in; it had to be rebuilt while he was in a coma. You won't know him."

"I will! I'll know him!"

My heart bled for her.

"OK. My boyfriend can put you in touch with him. I'll get him."

She came into the hall.

"Off you go," she said with tears in her eyes.

My eyes were wet.

"Here," she said, offering me her handkerchief. "Dry your eyes."

I did and made my way to the kitchen.

I limped in without my stick and walked across to her, holding out my hand. I saw her face register all the usual emotions, shock, horror, pity, and as I spoke, I saw she realised who this hideous man was.

"Hello Greta," I said.

She took my hand.

"You're in touch with your Dad now, chicken," I said with a smile, the tears forming in my eyes.

"Daddy!" she shouted, and sprang to her feet, the chair flying backwards as she was instantly round the table and in my arms.

"Daddy!" she sobbed and sobbed. I could feel her tears on my tee shirt, and my own fell on to her head.