All I Ever Wanted

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I wonder if Phoebe knows. How long has he been there? Has he been following us? I'd convinced myself he wouldn't come back and that idea had seemed plausible considering how long it has been since he came snooping around.

I turn around and rush upstairs, looking for Phoebe. I find her exactly where I expect, in our room sitting on the bed. She doesn't know her father is here. I flop on the bed next to her and contemplate whether to tell her.  

I stall for a few minutes but I know in the end I will tell her just to see her face light up in excitement. I bite my tongue lightly to try and stop myself giving in. She makes you want to tell her the truth even when she's not trying. She would make an exceptional interrogator.

I loosen the grip on my tongue and say quickly "Father is outside." I wait for the words to sink in and the reaction that follows. I hope she'll have come to her senses but somehow I know she hasn't.

She leaps up from the bed and runs to the window. "Really! He said he would come! He promised, I knew he wouldn't break a promise!" Little did she know he broke the most important promise of all.

I fake a smile and ask Phoebe "Are you going down to see him or not?"

Phoebe nods enthusiastically. "Yeah!" She turns from the window and runs down the stairs, jumping the last step. She swings open the door excitedly and I warily follow. I don't know what our fathers up to, but its not good. I really don't want to be there when everything goes pear shaped. Actually I hope Phoebes not there when everything goes pear shaped. I'm waiting for the inevitable disaster, Phoebe believes everything is perfect. I sigh at her naivety.

Our father gets out of the car and walks up to Phoebe, "Hey baby girl!" He exclaims like he's one of those perfect dad's who buy their children ponies and build a white picket fence around there house. Its sickening. He disappears from our lives one day, never speaks to either of his daughters then appears one day and acts like it never happened. 

What makes me most upset is that he's worming his way into our lives thorough Phoebe. When he turns around and changes his mind she'll be devastated. I hate it when she's sad, or anything other than happy. Then adding salt to the wound I'll be the one left to pick up the pieces and glue them back together. Again. Well I've got news for you. One day the glue won't stick and everything’s going to fall apart. For everyone’s sake I hope the day never comes.

Phoebe wraps her arms around him in a tight hug and he hugs back with a loose grip. He looks over her shoulder at me. I glare but he gives me a smug smile. I wish for once I could forget about everything and tell him to take a hike, preferably in the middle of the M6.    

But firstly and most importantly that would crush Phoebe. Secondly when he did eventually go away he wouldn't send child care. Even the small amount he used send every now and then is better than nothing. After he turned up here he stopped sending it. I guess he thought the money was no longer needed now her was here. I snort, what a joke. Of course my father didn't think that, the man doesn't think.

Phoebe interrupts my thoughts, "Bye Emma!" And she climbs in the passenger seat of the car without a backwards glance. With one last evil look he climbs in the car and drives away. I storm back into the house and slam the door.

Mike is in the living room watching T.V oblivious to everyone around him. I sigh and sink into a nearby chair. I take out my notepad and sketch on the blank pages. I draw a forest. Tall trees, long grass and autumn leaves. The sun filters through the trees and illuminates a clear, blue lake. I take some crayons and carefully colour in accounting for the shadows. I take a moment to study the picture.

Its not the best since my mind has been elsewhere, but not the worst. I wish the scenery was real. A real place where I could run around, climb trees, have picnics. Do those normal kinds of things. I place the pad next to the chair and lean back.

Mike is glancing with curiosity at the notepad so I pick it up and hand it to him. He studies the page carefully. "It’s beautiful."

I shrug. "It’s not that good." And I'm being truthful, not modest. It’s really not that good.

Mike turns the pages back and scans each page taking in picture after picture. A lot of the drawings are landscapes but others are of people and objects. Mike reaches a page but I can only make out the outlines of people. He stops a little longer at that page. He traces his finger along the outline.

Finally he holds up the picture to me so I can take a look. It’s of a family. A mom, a dad and two sisters. The sisters look a lot like each other although one is older than the other. Curly blonde hair and both have blue eyes. Its Phoebe and I with our mother and father. In the picture we look happy. Except for one small detail. A detail I've obviously added after I drew the original picture. A big cross straight through our fathers face.

If I think back I remember drawing it. I was about four. It’s probably why the quality of drawing is so bad. I remember the day. I was so happy. I had hope. But then my father shattered my hope with his size twelve boots. And I drew a cross through his face in permanent marker.  

I focus on the details of the drawing. I've drawn myself with blue eyes although when I look in the mirror my eyes are a misty grey. Phoebes hair is shorter, wispier somehow. The pencil is one unbroken line rather than my usual sketches. But I was only four and it was one of the first pictures I'd done. Sure I'd drawn many childish scribbles but this is one of the first recognisable things I'd drawn.

Mike looks to me expressionless but I sense he's looking for a answer or a reply of some kind. "My father isn't a good person." I say simply.

Mike searches me for more information but he finds nothing in my blank face and guarding eyes. Why would he? I've spend a lifetime perfecting a blank mask that hides my emotions. Mike will never be able to penetrate it. See behind the falsified calm. Sometimes I even convince myself.