23rd November 2019
Afternoon
I retrieved the hire car from outside of The Miners’ Arms and drove it back to Dad’s house. The adrenaline was still coursing through my body from where Jamie’s mum had slapped me, making my legs shake. By the time I got back to Dad’s, the inside of my mouth had numbed a little, but the ache in the back of my head from last night’s booze had intensified. I was cold, wet and miserable. All I wanted to do was have a shower, get into something comfy and flake in front of the telly. Instead, I would change into my other pair of jeans – ready to go out again and search the woods – and I would have to deal with the awkwardness of spending time with Dad. I told myself it was just for one more night. This time tomorrow, I would be on my way back to London.
As I stepped out of the car, I could hear an alarm sounding from his house. Running towards the door I tried the handle, but it was locked. I started banging, calling for Dad. After a few attempts I heard him coughing, and the door opened. He stepped outside, smoke bellowing out into the street.
‘Dad, are you OK?’
‘Yes. What’s happening?’
‘There’s a fire.’
Looking into the hallway I could see the kitchen door open, smoke billowing from within. Taking a deep breath, I ran into the house and saw dark smoke seeping through the small gap where the old metal door didn’t sit flush against the rest of the oven. I turned it off at the wall and unlatched the windows and back door to let the smoke escape, before tentatively opening the oven. Inside was something black, so badly burnt I couldn’t tell what it was. Using two tea towels I picked it up and took it outside, before setting the hose on it, just in case it decided to re-ignite. The cold water made the charred food crumble like a bath bomb. Satisfied that the pan had cooled, I moved it from the grass to Dad’s patio table. A scorch mark remained on the lawn, but apart from that and the residual smoke, there didn’t seem to be any damage. Within a few minutes the kitchen had cleared enough for me to be able to breathe, although I knew that the smell would linger all day. Standing by the back door I coughed a little, the last of the smoke tickling the back of my throat as Dad joined me in the kitchen.
‘Dad, you left something in the oven.’
‘What?’
‘You put something in the oven and forgot about it.’
‘I…’ he started, unable to finish, and I saw the same look on his face I noticed this morning when I caught him in the garden.
‘Dad, where were you?’
‘I was asleep, I think.’
‘Did you not hear the smoke alarm? Did you not smell it burning? What were you even cooking?’
‘I – I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ I asked, fearing what he would next say.
‘I don’t know,’ he repeated, quieter this time.
I pressed him again, but he was unable to look me in the eye and walked away. I followed him back into the living room, where he sat down like nothing had happened.
‘Dad, you need to talk to me.’
‘What about?’
‘About what just happened. This isn’t the first time you’ve forgotten something.’
He looked at me, as if to ask, how could you tell?
‘I found the milk in the cupboard and the sugar in the fridge. And this morning, in the garden, I could see something was wrong.’
‘I’ve, umm…’ he paused.
‘Dad, just talk to me, for once just bloody talk to me. Your house could have burned down, or worse. Dad, what if I didn’t bang on the door, waking you? What then?’
‘I’ve been forgetting things lately,’ he said quietly, his tone even. It confirmed my fears.
‘OK, have you spoken to anyone about it?’ I tried to sound calm but inside my heart began to thump. It was the first time he had ever opened up to me about anything.
‘What? No, no, it’s fine, I’ve just been distracted, that’s all,’ he said, turning up the TV. I took the remote from him, switching it off.
‘Dad. You need to talk to someone about this.’
‘We just have.’
‘I mean a professional. I’m going to ring the doctor’s surgery, see if they can fit you in.’
‘I have.’
‘When?’
‘A few weeks ago.’
‘And what did the doctor say?’
‘He said it was nothing.’
‘We need to go again, don’t you think?’
‘No, he said it was nothing.’
I ignored Dad’s protests and googled the doctor’s number. It rang four times before an automated message stated that the surgery was closed, and if it was an emergency, I had to call another number. It wasn’t an emergency, but it was troubling. Before I went home tomorrow, I knew I needed to get him in front of his GP, otherwise he would never go back. I just hoped when I did get him in, we would be told it was nothing to worry about – just a bored, absent mind and nothing more sinister. Of course, I didn’t want anything to happen to Dad – we had our differences, a lifetime of things unsaid, but I still loved him dearly. I needed to know he was all right, I needed to know as soon as possible, because I didn’t want to stay here any longer than I absolutely needed to.