I am sitting in my parents’ garden. The grass is warm. Parker is snuffling beside me, occasionally shooting me a cloudy, sightless glance.
I have returned from months away travelling in Asia. I am a gyroscope of stress, still adjusting to the sheer luxury of my surroundings – the calm, the cool, the peace.
The kitchen door swings open and Dad stands in the doorway. Behind him hangs a grey plastic mask that looks like something out of Halloween. It’s a relic of his radiotherapy sessions for yet another bout of cancer – this time in the throat, poor sod. He is looking a little worn, and his voice cracks when he speaks, but amid the agony of recuperation there is an unexpected gain – Dad is joyful again. Finally, after endless dances with death, after sixteen years with the black dog, he wants to live.
He wanders out into the sunshine, brandishing a fitness tracker armband.
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Dad: |
Breaking news – I’ve done my stats for the year. I’ve walked exactly 1,056 miles. |
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Me: |
Not bad! |
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Mum: |
[from within] Bert! Careful on those steps! You’ll fall, and that’ll be your hip shattered again. |
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Dad: |
I’ve never shattered my hip! |
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Mum: |
Yes, well, you’ve shattered everything else. It’s just a waiting game. |
She follows him outside, Marigolds on. They lean against each other. I don’t know who is supporting who. Dad continues …
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Dad: |
I’ve walked 2,790,361 steps in total. Do you know what that averages out at? |
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Me/Mum: |
No. |
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Dad: |
7,645 steps per day. |
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Mum: |
That’s very good. |
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Me: |
Very good. |
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Dad: |
It’s amazing to see how far you’ve gone, isn’t it? |
I let the weight of that sentence settle a little before answering.
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Me: |
Yes. Yes, it is. |
And then it hits me. This travelling, this endless momentum – it’s for them – for my mum and dad, who haven’t been able to go anywhere for such a very long time. Finally, after years on Pause, they are moving again. Now, finally, maybe I can stay still.
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Me: |
You should put those on your graph, Dad. On the computer. Just think – by the time you’ve walked into your study, you’ll have walked a couple of dozen more steps. |
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Dad: |
Good idea. I’ll do that. |
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Mum: |
I’m coming with you. I don’t trust you not to do yourself a mischief. |
And off they go, the pair of them. This weird, two-pieced jigsaw that looks like it couldn’t possibly fit together as neatly as it does.
I love you, I think as they disappear from view.
I think it, but I don’t say it.
I love you.