Page 40 of A Miracle on Hope Street
‘I don’t want to break down in the middle of this beautiful restaurant, Ruth,’ he says. ‘So I’m trying just to get this out as best I can. I don’t even know why I felt the need to tell you at all but I just feel like I can talk to you for some reason – but then, I’m sure everybody who meets you feels the same. You’re used to hearing people’s problems and now I’ve just told you a big part of mine. Yes, I miss my son so badly, but no, I don’t stay in touch. I wish I did, but I’ve left it too late.’
My heart beats a little faster and it feels very warm in here all of a sudden. It’s like I’m looking at a stranger, and then I remind myself that I actuallyamlooking at a stranger. The man before me, who I was just beginning to relax with and who I shared such fun times with yesterday and who I confided in and who I looked so forward to seeing tonight is not at all the man I hoped he might be.
He is doing to his son just what my mother did to me. He is shutting him out. I feel sick.
‘You can’t do that to your little boy, Michael,’ I say to him, the bitterness sitting on my tongue and the tears welling up in my eyes. I can’t help it, but my voice has risen slightly. I dart a look around, thankful that no one noticed my outburst.
‘It’s not as simple as that, Ruth,’ he whispers firmly.
‘But it is!’ I hiss at him, recalling all the times, year after year, that I wished our mother would come back to us – watching, waiting and hoping that she’d just turn up. ‘Itisas simple as that when you’re a child on the waiting end! You can’t give feeble excuses like that when it comes to a child! You’re his father, you’re the adult here and it’s up to you to do something about this instead of letting it kill you inside. God only knows what it’s doing to poor Liam!’
I’m judging him, I know I am, and it’s all because of what happened to me with my own mother and her abandonment of me and my sister. I’m going against all my beliefs and all my fine reputation as a problem-solver by judging him and showing my anger but I can’t help it. He has hit a nerve. He has no idea the damage he is doing by just staying away from his son in silence, and I, unfortunately, know this first-hand from being in the very same situation as that little eight-year-old who just wants his daddy to come home.
‘I should have tried earlier but surely it would confuse him now if I just rocked up and tried to put the pieces back together? He mightn’t even want me back now. He might have a new “dad” for all I know. I’m afraid, Ruth.’
He is afraid . . . sorry, but I’m not buying that for a second.
‘There are no excuses for parents who disappear,’ I say to him, lifting my bag from the floor as tears stream down my face.
I’m not crying for me, of course. Oh no. I’m crying for that eight-year-old boy who is searching, just as I have been, for the parent who got up one day and left and never came back. I can’t believe in the irony of it all and it’s making my blood boil that there are so many young kids out there who have to keep watching through the window and praying into the night that mummy or daddy will come back soon. And then, before you know it, you’re an adult and your head is a mess because of the damage they did while they were off living their life in regret and feeling sorry for themselves, just like Michael is doing now.
‘I can’t just turn up out of the blue and expect everyone to want to play happy families, can I?’ he tells me. ‘I’ve left it too late.’
I push my chair back and stand up, fix my handbag and lift my phone, then I wipe my damp cheek with the back of my hand.
‘That’s the thing, Michael,’ I tell him, emphatically. ‘It’s never too late to just turn up. Never. So, just get over yourself and make a move and give that little boy the life he deserves. Take it from someone who knows and who waited for years. It’s never too late!’
‘I’m sorry you feel like you have to leave.’
I stand there, looking at him, looking at me, and the plea in his eyes tells me to take a deep breath and rise above my urge to throw scorn on what I can see before me is a very regretful individual, who maybe needs my help more than my judging but I can’t stop my own train of thought.
I pull out my chair and sit back down again. I’m not finished yet.
‘I’m sorry, but I think you are being a coward, Michael,’ I say to him from behind gritted teeth. ‘You need to get a grip of your life and stop hiding out in Gloria’s Café, pretending that you don’t have responsibilities to face up to when you do!’
Michael’s mouth drops open.
‘How bloodydareyou!’ he says to me, leaning across the table. ‘Just who the hell do you think you are, speaking to me like I’m one of your problem page victims who doesn’t know where to turn to only to you for advice? I have made my own decision. It might not be the one you would agree with, but it’s mine, and it’s not up to you or anyone else to tell me any different, so don’t lay on your guilt trip with me! It won’t work!’
His face is reddening and beads of sweat fall onto his forehead. I am pushing him, I know I am, but there is a fire in my gut that I can’t put out right now.
‘People come to me for advice!’ I remind him.
‘ButIdidn’t come to you for advice. You came to me to help you with your Good Samaritan dinner and to make you feel better about your own poxy life so don’t come here looking down your nose at me!’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘We can’t all be saintly like you and your father, Ruth Ryans! Some of us fuck up from time to time! Some of us make mistakes, some of us are a bit more like your mother and it’s not always easy to just say sorry and pretend nothing ever happened!’ he spews out to me. ‘You have no idea how it feels to be in my shoes! You’re too busy hating your own mother to even try and hear her out, so why the hell would you even try and bother to understand me?’
I choke back tears at the mention of my parents and my breathing is stifled. My voice cracks when I speak.
‘And that’s the very reason why I think you need to go and find your son,’ I say to Michael, dabbing my eyes and fighting back so much raw anger towards him. ‘Because I know exactly how it feels to be him! I know what it’s like to have answers to questions brushed under the carpet when you dare to ask when mummy or daddy is coming home! I know what it’s like to lie in bed at night and wonder: was it me who made her run away? Was it something I said or did that made her hate her life so much that she had to leave? I know what it’s like to think that every time you hear the front door open that it’s finally her coming back, and then the darkness that follows when you realise it’s not and it might never be, and to lie under your bedclothes, shaking and crying and praying for her to soothe you again. I think I’ll go now, Michael. You just don’t want to understand what it’s like from your child’s point of view. You can’t handle it.’
‘No, Ruth, you are very wrong!’ he says to me. ‘This is not easy for me and I’m not running away. I’ve made a decision and I’m trying to stick to it, for Liam’s sake.’
‘For your sake, you mean,’ I reply to him. ‘It must suit you better that way.’
Chapter Seventeen
