I took a deep breath, counted to five in my head. ‘No, Dad. I just thought I’d call. See how you were.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Another count to five.
‘How are you both?’
‘Fine. We’re fine. I suppose. Your mother’s keeping herself busy with tennis and lunch club. And I’m still managing the shop. Part-time, now. Have to watch my blood pressure after the stroke.’
‘Stroke?’Oh. Oh. Oh my goodness. I slumped back in my office chair. My parents had grown old without me. My own blood pressure careened upwards in response.
‘Just a tiddler. Nothing to worry about. You’d never know, except they have me on that many pills I rattle.’
The endless possibilities of the past decade flashed in front of my eyes – all this time, anything could have happened. Just because my life had consisted of the barest remnants of nothing much for year after year, why had I assumed the same for them?
‘But you’re all right?’ Dad asked. ‘And what about… your little one?’
‘He’s six foot now. Not so little.’
‘Ah, got his mother’s genes then.’
‘He’s the most amazing swimmer,’ I blurted.
‘Of course he is. You get to find out what it’s like from the parent’s side, now.’
‘Dad, I wanted to say I’m sorry. For what I did, and the way I did it. I was young and confused and I panicked. The pressure of competing was bad enough, but then with all the TV stuff, the appearances and interviews, I felt trapped and lost all at the same time, if that’s possible. I couldn’t think clearly and I didn’t consider properly the effect it would have on you.’
A well-known kind of apology is the one where you say sorry in order to get an apology back. I hadn’t realised quite how strongly this fell into that category until my dad replied.
‘Right. Well. I appreciate that.’
I waited. Filling in the silence with what I so desperately needed to hear…No – we’re the ones who are sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for. We were greedy and selfish and bitterly regret abandoning you when you needed us. The only reason we haven’t tried to contact you is that you are better off without us. We think of you every day…
‘And I am glad to hear you’re all right. Keeping well.’
Keeping well? At what point in the conversation did we discuss how I was keeping?
‘Right. I must get on. Nice to hear from you. Bye then.’
Oh. My. Goodness.
I stared at the phone as if it was the font of all knowledge, holding the very secrets to life itself.
Because following that conversation, it was pretty darn close to it. The secrets to my life, anyway.
The secret?
My parents were crap.
Beyond crap.
It explained a lot.
And while it would not be an excuse, as I pondered and raged and pounded through the frosted forest later that day, it did allow me to release a little of the shame and the guilt along with my cloudy breath. It did convince me that I would strive to not let my past control me any more. I would choose to no longer define myself by my worst mistake.
I am Amelia Piper. My friends call me Amy. And I have as much right to be here, walking, talking, running, sweating, taking up space and oxygen and vital resources as anyone else.
I am here.
