Dad
The phone rang again. Melinda had said, as she always did when she had to leave the office, to keep her informed, but eight calls in thirty minutes seemed a bit much.
She pulled out of the fast lane, it was something she did when answering the phone, then tapped the control on the steering wheel that accepted the call. “Melinda Blaine.” She said, failing to hide her impatience. The voice from the other end obviously noticed this and nervously rushed through their question.
“Get the documents there by courier and inform them that they are on the way.” She answered sharply, and hung up. Then, under her breath, muttered, “Cretin!”
Melinda wasn’t always so short with her staff, but today had been a difficult day. An early start, a long drive, and two meetings. Which she now felt, could have been done with a couple of phone calls.
She pulled back out into the faster moving traffic as soon as she could and began to reminisce. This motorway was very familiar to her, even from before she ever drove along it herself. When, as a child, her mother and stepfather would take her and her baby brother on holiday to Cornwall at least once, usually twice a year.
Her mind wandered. Thinking of her stepfather led her to think of her real father. He had disappeared when she was about three or four years old. No explanation had ever been given, by him or her mother; he just went and had never been heard from again. On many occasions, Melinda had tried to get her mother to open up about it, but had never managed to get an answer. Did she not know anything either? Perhaps. Melinda wondered how his disappearance had affected her mum. Was she upset by it? Was this part of the reason she didn’t want to talk about it?
She thought of the few memories she had of her dad. They were mostly happy; he was always playing with her and making her laugh. The only unhappy memories were the atmospheres between him and mum. They didn’t seem to argue; Dad would get told off for something and would sulk, sometimes for days. At the time, Melinda couldn’t understand any of this of course, but as she got older and thought back on it, she could begin to make sense of her dad’s character. The most telling statement was when he would say, as he often did, that he wished he could ‘go and live on a desert island by himself somewhere’. Melinda surmised that he didn’t like being around other people much, or at least he needed more space than most.
Then that puzzling image of him came into her mind again. She had her memories of him when they had played together, a clean-shaven, dark haired and handsome man, but she could also picture him older and with a beard. Her mum had repeatedly told her that he had never had a beard as long as she had known him, but the strange half thought was there and she couldn’t quite make sense of it.
She decided to snap out of this and switched on the radio to try and distract herself. It helped for a little while but then her mind wandered back to journeys made on this motorway as a child.
She would be in the back of the car with her brother, who usually slept for most of the journey; he was a couple of years younger than she was. In the front, her step dad would be driving and her mum would be in the passenger seat. They were wonderful times. Mums new husband was a good person, and though he could never replace her real father, was near enough to soften the pain. Melinda had gone through a very rough patch for the first six months after her dad left, followed by many years of thinking of him without much emotion. Then from about fourteen years of age, she began to think more deeply about him. There were questions she needed answering, and she missed him a little again.
A car pulled out in front of her and caused her to have to brake slightly. She resisted sounding her horn and let it wash over her. On the right, a familiar landmark passed by and she was transported back to the journeys in her childhood again. The same sight had always meant that they were nearly home, and would soon pull off the motorway. She would be feeling tired and could now relax enough to drift off. As the car slowed to pull onto the slip road, the changing engine note would bring a smile to her weary face. She may make the effort to open an eye to check. The junction was quite distinctive, the road went round in a full loop and under the motorway, leaving a large area of wooded land cut off from the rest of the world. The sensation of constantly turning could be quite surreal in her dozy state. She remembered on one occasion being aware of the trees going by, her eyes heavy and slowly closing, when she caught sight of a figure among the trees….
Melinda was jolted from her reverie by this thought. She was on that loop of road now, and frantically looked around as she tried to make sense of her thought. Then she slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt in the middle of the road. Cars squealed and swerved behind her. Horns sounded and angry drivers mouthed and gesticulated towards her as they passed. None of this registered; Melinda had pieced together her vision. She got out of her car and ran to the Armco barrier, causing more screeching of tyres and anger. After struggling over the barrier in her skirt, she made for the trees. There was a path into the woods. Following it for a few meters she came to a makeshift hut with the remains of a campfire. Astounded as she was, she still noted a couple of hanging rabbit carcases. Then she heard a noise behind her and swung round. There was the figure she had seen all those years ago, shabbily dressed and bearded.
“DAD!”