Father never really took to William. Ages before, hed picked out a suitor for me from among his mates sons and wouldnt even entertain my own choices, brushing them off as if they were flights of childish fancy. He lived in a cloud of his own dreams. When he heard Id gotten engaged to William, he promptly banished me from the house. I think he was expecting Id come wailing back, begging his pardononly that never happened.
Mother was always gentle with me, but she couldnt stand up to Dadshe was frightened of him, and, perhaps more painfully, afraid shed end up on the street, since she hadnt any family left at all. I, however, found myself in a very different world. My mother-in-law was a marvellous soul. She welcomed William and me with open arms into her home and helped us in every wayspiritually and financially. The three of us lived together for a while, then our boy was born, and the rhythm of our strange, floating life became far sweeter and calmer than it ever had been in my fathers house, with all his brooding mutterings.
Contact with Mum became nearly impossible too, all thanks to Dad. She had to drop hints about meeting friends whenever she wanted to see me or her grandson. Her caution wasnt unfounded. Father could be cruel, even violent; hed lash out sometimes. Still, somewhere deep within, Mother clung to her love for him, never truly imagining leaving his shadow.
So I waited, and with William, passed my days as though my parents lived not in Manchester, but on the far edge of some mist-soaked island, miles away.
It was only after nine long years, when our lad had begun grammar school and my mother-in-law had fallen ill with a stroke, that Mother persuaded Dad to pay a visit. It was clear hed missed us. When he saw his grandson, he actually smiled, and even gave William an awkward hug, begrudgingly letting him into his fold. Mum pitched in to help look after Williams mother, while he and I mostly worked. It ended up that our boy needed to stay with GranddadDad would walk him to school, collect him, take him along to the park for football and the like.
But something odd grew between the cracks. After spending time with Granddad, my sons temper would flare more easily. He brooded, wept for no reason, and grew wild-eyed at nothing in particular. William spent long evenings coaxing out of him what was wrong. Eventually, the truth tumbled out: my father had been tearing him down, day after day, telling him as they walked along the High Street that he wasnt wanted, that neither Mum nor Dad loved him, that he was worthless at P.E. and deserved to warm the bench.
Father hadnt changed at allstill harbouring his old grudge, ready to poison our lives at any cost to avenge some slight from years past.
So that was it. I cut all ties, preferring to leave work early and fetch my boy myself, seeing only my mother in short, shadowy visits, than tolerate such poison. My father was an old man, untouched by fear or care. If family was so useless to him, well, wed manage just as well without him. We had lasted nine years apart, and could last decades moredrifting, peaceful, as if waking from one long, odd, unfathomable dream.
