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Michael G Kimber
Michael G Kimber
The Nightwriter
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Three Days - Yesterday
Looking back I suppose it was the unexpectedness of it that made it hard. It simply had never occurred to me that such a thing would happen, but almost without me knowing, it did. It was as though I had been looking the other way, taking no notice of what was going on. Perhaps I didn't want to know.
"Come here darling." my mother said one day. Somehow I knew what she was going to say, even before she managed to say the words. "Your father is going away for a while.h
I knew at once that 'a while' meant for good. "Are you getting divorced?" I was ten years old; what did I know about divorce? My mother was not inclined to go too deep, but simply replied that because their careers made conflicting demands, they had grown apart." We see so little of each other, and you hardly ever see him." She smiled a heavy smile, "So we think it best that he should live closer to his work."
It seemed so matter of fact, all decided, no need to ask any questions. Not that I could think of anything at the time.
"I've told the other two, and they seem to be quite alright about it."
The 'other two' were my sister Josephina, and brother Stefan. She was twelve, and my brother was seven, but as for 'being alright' my mother was way off. When I saw Jo later that day her red eyes were proof of that. And Stef, normally a none-stop chatterbox, couldn't find a word to say.
"What do you think Jo?" I asked my sister. Being two years older than me, I thought she would know. "What's happened?"
"I don't know. They never said anything before."
"When is he leaving?" I persisted. She didn't answer this time, but hurriedly fished for her hanky out of the cuff of her sleeve before turning her back on me. However my question was answered at breakfast the next morning. Everything seemed just the same and fatherfs briefcase was waiting for him by the door, just as it was on most Monday mornings.
"Come here darling." my mother said one day. Somehow I knew what she was going to say, even before she managed to say the words. "Your father is going away for a while.h
I knew at once that 'a while' meant for good. "Are you getting divorced?" I was ten years old; what did I know about divorce? My mother was not inclined to go too deep, but simply replied that because their careers made conflicting demands, they had grown apart." We see so little of each other, and you hardly ever see him." She smiled a heavy smile, "So we think it best that he should live closer to his work."
It seemed so matter of fact, all decided, no need to ask any questions. Not that I could think of anything at the time.
"I've told the other two, and they seem to be quite alright about it."
The 'other two' were my sister Josephina, and brother Stefan. She was twelve, and my brother was seven, but as for 'being alright' my mother was way off. When I saw Jo later that day her red eyes were proof of that. And Stef, normally a none-stop chatterbox, couldn't find a word to say.
"What do you think Jo?" I asked my sister. Being two years older than me, I thought she would know. "What's happened?"
"I don't know. They never said anything before."
"When is he leaving?" I persisted. She didn't answer this time, but hurriedly fished for her hanky out of the cuff of her sleeve before turning her back on me. However my question was answered at breakfast the next morning. Everything seemed just the same and fatherfs briefcase was waiting for him by the door, just as it was on most Monday mornings.
We didn't usually see him during the week. Mum said he had a room near his laboratory, where, we children believed, he was doing something secret for the government; but he always came home for the weekends. He had been quite jolly over breakfast, telling us not to worry, that he would see us as often as possible, and that we would hardly notice the difference. He was right in one sense, for we did not notice any difference at first, but over time it began to dawn on us that he did not live with us any more. His visits became brief, no longer including overnight stays or breakfasts.
Conversation between him and my mother became polite, but rather formal, and jolliness with his children seemed somehow forced. Gradually the time between visits lengthened until, by the time I was fifteen we saw him only once a year.
By and large we remained a happy household, mother managing to maintain her professional life as a solicitor; Josephina achieved high marks at school, and was looking forward to university. Stephan had settled well into the Grammar school where I myself was now in the senior section. He was of course, three years behind me.
We had all moved on, looking to the future, yet completely unaware what fate had in store for us. Life moved on, as if - in a way that I was yet to understand - it had nothing to do with us.
But strangely I often found myself looking back, clinging perhaps with the certainty that hindsight brings, to times past. Back to times remembered, and paradoxically to those uncertainties that the passing months and years turned into certainties. They were my yesterdays, but they cling, stubbornly refusing to be left behind.
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By and large we remained a happy household, mother managing to maintain her professional life as a solicitor; Josephina achieved high marks at school, and was looking forward to university. Stephan had settled well into the Grammar school where I myself was now in the senior section. He was of course, three years behind me.
We had all moved on, looking to the future, yet completely unaware what fate had in store for us. Life moved on, as if - in a way that I was yet to understand - it had nothing to do with us.
But strangely I often found myself looking back, clinging perhaps with the certainty that hindsight brings, to times past. Back to times remembered, and paradoxically to those uncertainties that the passing months and years turned into certainties. They were my yesterdays, but they cling, stubbornly refusing to be left behind.
Top Of Page Next Story