When Daddy Comes Home (7 page)

Her father turned away, a complacent smile on his face. Now that he had won, it seemed that he was bored with taunting her.

She knew his rules were not made because he cared what time she came home, but because he demanded her total submission. And, just as when she was a child, her mother never interfered. She simply ignored it.

Antoinette saw the look of pleasure on her father’s face as he felt her enjoyment of the night ahead diminish, then the smile faded and his malevolence showed through. He would have preferred a show of defiance from her so that he could have had the greater pleasure of banning her from going out.

On one occasion she had rebelled against his authority and had argued her point when he accused her of not helping in the home more. For that burst of insolence, as he had perceived it, she had been banished upstairs and forbidden to leave her room. That night Antoinette went to bed hungry while the smells of their supper cooking drifted up to her along with the sound of the television she had paid for.

She climbed back up the stairs and felt a wave of anger that turned into a surge of hatred that this time was directed at both her parents: her father for his arrogant bullying and her mother for her compliance. The anger added to her defiance and she hastily crammed all of her make-up into her handbag. She would fix her face on the bus, she told herself.

Taking consolation from that thought, she wriggled into her tan stockings and slipped on her yellow dress, clinching her belt tightly around her waist. Then she put on her pointed-toe stilettos and she was ready. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of finding something else to sneer at, she hastily covered her outfit with a coat.

Determined that she would not be a target again of her father’s derision and taunts or, worse, somehow annoy him further, she scurried from the house. She knew she would arrive in town early and have to sit on her own until her friends arrived.

‘God, I hate him. Why can’t he leave me alone?’ she asked herself miserably as she walked to the bus stop, feeling her eyes well up with tears again. Angrily she brushed them aside.
She did not want what was left of her mascara to run down her cheeks and stain them with dark rivulets.

‘Don’t let him get you down,’ she told herself. ‘Enjoy tonight, you mustn’t let him win.’ Her shoulders straightened, her head was held higher and her step more purposeful as she heeded her own advice.

A
ntoinette fixed a smile firmly on to her face as she entered the coffee bar. She did not want her friends to suspect there was anything wrong, or to know that for the last hour she had sat alone in a bar, ignoring the stares given to a single girl in a male-dominated environment as she ordered two double vodkas.

Cappuccino coffees were brought to the table as the girls talked about the new band, how good the clarinet player was and – even more exciting – how he had apparently learnt his skill in the army.

Their eyes widened at each piece of gossip and Antoinette laughed and giggled with the group, determined not to show that for her the excitement of the evening had been spoilt. Another round of coffees was drunk before the girls made their way to the Plaza, a smart dance hall in the centre of Belfast. It was a large building, brightly lit, with plush velvet seating and a bar lavishly decorated with mirrors. It was here that that live bands played the latest music for the city’s youth to dance to on a Saturday night.

Tables and chairs ringed the large dance floor, a glitter ball spun its magic and with its smart seating and elegant décor, the Plaza had become the in place. Here the latest fashions and
hairstyles were worn. The girls spent the afternoon before they went at the hairdressers, and the boys had discovered that Brylcream not only slicked hair back but with a little bit of work could turn neatly cut hair into fashionable quiffs made popular by their favourite pop stars.

Antoinette and her friends gave their coats to the cloakroom attendants then made a beeline for the ladies toilets. There they joined the mass of girls repairing make-up and admiring their reflections in the large mirrors. The final improvements to their appearances had to be inspected by their friends before they sauntered nonchalantly out to join in the melée outside.

The evening lived up to the group’s expectations and they jived away to the up-beat tempo of the band alongside the hordes of youngsters who filled the dance hall. When the clarinet player lifted the instrument to his mouth and at the request of the audience released the haunting melody of ‘Stranger on the Shore’ for the second time, Antoinette danced slowly to the seductive notes of the hit tune. She hardly noticed her partner or heard what he was saying for one thought nagged at her: what excuse could she make for having to leave early?

At ten o’clock, she turned to one of her friends and said she had to go.

‘What, already?’ asked her friend, surprised. ‘You’ll miss the end of the dance. It’s the best bit. Why do you have to leave so early? You don’t usually have to go home before the rest of us.’

Antoinette’s excuse came easily. She had spent the whole evening planning it, after all. ‘I know, it’s a shame, but my parents are taking me to Coleraine tomorrow. We’re visiting my grandparents for lunch and then going on to my aunt,
uncle and cousins, so we have to be up early for the drive. It’ll take three hours, you know. So I’ve got to get bed at a sensible time tonight.’ It was strange that she could lie so easily about her relationship with the family who had rejected her three years before.

Her friend nodded and shrugged. She didn’t much mind whether Antoinette stayed or left. ‘See you next week then. Bye,’ was all she said before turning her attention back to the band.

Antoinette slipped away from the dance floor unnoticed and collected her coat from the cloakroom. At the bus stop she placed a wad of chewing gum in her mouth. Although she had swapped from whiskey to vodka some time ago, she felt safer with the smell of mint on her breath. Her mother might know that she drank but she would not let her father see any more weaknesses than he already did. Antoinette did not see any irony in that thought, for it was her father who had introduced her to whiskey when she was still a child.

As her father had instructed, she caught the early bus home which brought her back to the gate lodge well before the curfew that Joe had set. She wanted to deprive him of an excuse to complain about her behaviour.

He’ll just have to find another excuse to bully me, she thought grimly.

Letting herself in quietly, she was relieved to find that both her parents appeared to be asleep, for the house remained silent as she crept up the stairs. She knew that if she had arrived later than the time demanded of her, Joe would somehow have known. Antoinette picked up Judy and placed her on the bed. When she’d got ready for bed, she climbed in next to her dog and cuddled her as she waited to fall asleep.

I hate him, she thought as she began to grow drowsy. She longed for life to go back to how it had been before he came home, but that, she knew, was impossible.

Antoinette patted the bed as an invitation for Judy to join her. Even though the little dog now suffered with rheumatism, the offer of joining her mistress on the bed was normally taken up with delight. This time, when she tried to clamber up, she slipped, falling back with a yelp.

Antoinette stretched her arms out and picked up the now elderly dog and settled her by her side. Judy gave another whimper and, suddenly worried, Antoinette looked for the source of her discomfort. She ran her fingers gently over her stomach which felt distended. Then near the bottom of it, she found a swelling that was small but hard.

‘I’ll take you to Mr McAlistair,’ she said, more to reassure herself than her pet. ‘He’ll make you better.’

She gently stroked Judy as she whispered reassuring words into her ear and with a pang realized that the little dog’s backbone had become prominent, forming a fleshless ridge which her thick fur had until now hidden. Judy, she now realized fully for the first time, had become an old dog.

Antoinette cradled the confidante of all those childhood secrets whispered since her fifth birthday, and she kissed the top of the wiry head, flooded with love for her pet. Dogs, she knew, seldom live beyond twelve and Judy had nearly reached that birthday; but that knowledge did not make the reality any more bearable.

She felt a lump in her throat. Over the last six months since her father had come home, Judy had not just been the main
reason she had continued to stay at home but the only good thing in it.

Even if she had been able to find a landlady prepared to rent to a teenager with a pet, she could not have taken an old dog away from her familiar surroundings and the small garden she was used to. What could she have offered in return? Only a life in a pokey bed sitter which was all she could have afforded. As cruel as her father was to her, he never took his spite out on the animals. No, he would stroke both Judy and the marmalade cat her mother adored, while he shouted at her.

Judy had been the one constant in Antoinette’s life. Unlike the humans that had been part of her world, the dog had never faltered in showing unconditional love for her mistress. She had sat quietly by Antoinette when she had despaired of life, licked her hand with her dog kisses to show support, and in return Antoinette had loved her.

She looked into Judy’s liquid brown eyes that returned her gaze with such trust and knew she had to do what was best for her pet. She gave her one more hug then went downstairs to telephone the vet.

Less than an hour later Antoinette heard the words she had been dreading ever since she found the lump.

‘I’m sorry, Antoinette, the tumour is malignant.’

‘Can you operate on her?’ she asked, wanting to place her hands over Judy’s ears to protect her from hearing her fate. From the vet’s expression, she knew what the words were going to be. Instead she gently stroked Judy’s head and braced herself for what was to come.

‘She’s an old dog – it wouldn’t be fair on her to put her through it. You know even if we removed the growth it would come back again.’

‘What can you do?’

‘She’s in pain, Antoinette, and it will get worse. You have to be brave and face up to it. I know how much you love her,’ he continued gently, ‘but it’s the last thing you can do for her. You don’t want her to suffer, do you?’

Antoinette pushed down the sobs that were threatening to leave her throat; she did not want Judy to feel her grief. The little dog, who always knew when her mistress was upset, looked up at her curiously.

‘It’s all right, Judy, your stomach won’t hurt for long,’ she whispered and then faced the vet again. ‘When do you want to do it?’

‘Tomorrow. I want you to have a nice evening with her, then first thing in the morning you give her a pill that will make her drowsy. Then you bring her into me at ten a.m. I’ll give her an injection, and you can hold her until she goes to sleep. It’s only after that that we bring her into this room for the final injection but by then she won’t know anything. Her last memory will be of you holding her.’

‘She won’t feel anything, you promise?’

‘No, Antoinette, she won’t feel anything.’

Antoinette left the vet with Judy trotting by her side, trying not to think about life without the little dog’s companionship.

When she got home, she explained to her mother, with a shaking voice and tears raining down her face, what the vet had said. For once, Ruth was supportive, and tried to comfort her even though Antoinette was inconsolable. Seeing her daughter’s tears, Ruth’s eyes filled as well, for she loved the little dog too.

Then, to Antoinette’s amazement, her father said something entirely unexpected.

‘Antoinette, I know how much you love your dog. Do you want me to take her for you in the morning? It’s not easy you
know, doing what you’re doing.’ Joe bent to stroke Judy, this time gently.

Antoinette looked at him for a moment with astonishment; then, when she realized he was sincere, with gratitude. ‘Thank you, Daddy, but I want to do it for her. I want to be with her.’ Her father stood up and gently patted his daughter on the head. ‘I’ll tell you what, I’ll go down the road, get us all some nice fish and chips, and your mother can make some tea. You sit with your wee dog.’ With a smile that reminded her of the father she had once known when she was very young, Joe left.

He returned from the chip shop laden not just with large portions of fish and chips but with pickled onions and mushy peas as well. Ruth laid the table, cut thin slices of bread and butter, and they tucked into the feast. After the fish and chips, there were thick wedges of fruit cake, and while they ate they diluted the sadness of the day by sharing their memories of the little dog’s life.

‘Hey, do you remember the time Judy jumped from an upstairs window, when she was just a puppy?’ asked Joe. ‘I had to race to the vet with her and after all that, she hadn’t even broken a bone. Just pulled a muscle. Still landed me with a large bill, though.’

They laughed, remembering how Judy had had her two front legs taped together while the muscle healed, and what a comical sight she had looked. Her strange appearance when taken for a walk did not in any way dent her enjoyment, nor did it stop her from jumping up with muddy paws on the furniture.

‘And what about the time you hired her out to the local farmer to catch rats?’ said Ruth. ‘I was furious with you!’

But as they remembered the plucky little terrier’s spirit, anger was forgotten and they laughed instead.

‘She’s had a good life, Antoinette,’ her father said eventually. ‘I’ll clear the dishes away. You and your mummy go and watch a bit of television and I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea.’

And for that evening, Antoinette was lulled into thinking that the game of happy families that Ruth had orchestrated over the years was a reality. It was those brief moments of happiness that encouraged her to perpetuate the myth that she was part of one.

That last night, Judy shared Antoinette’s bed; she curled into the crook of her mistress’s arm and hardly moved. When Antoinette opened her eyes early the next morning, Judy gave her a few gentle licks before snuggling back down contentedly on the bed. Antoinette picked her up and took her downstairs to let her out into the garden. There Judy squatted, savouring her morning ablutions, then leisurely sniffed a few clumps of grass before strolling back into the house.

Antoinette poured some of her tea into a saucer for her. Judy much preferred it to water and she lapped it up gratefully. When every drop had been licked from the bowl, she looked up at her mistress expectantly. Her tail wagged furiously when, to her delight, she was given another treat – a chunky piece of ham. It was there, wedged in the centre, that Antoinette had artfully hidden the pill. When Judy had eaten it, Antoinette picked her up and put her on her knee, running her fingers through Judy’s coarse fur until she touched the lump that distorted the dog’s stomach and traced gentle circles around it. She laid her smooth head against the rough fur of her pet, letting it tickle her face. Then she took the face of her childhood companion in both her hands, turned it towards her and saw the devoted expression there. She had received unquestioning love from Judy, who had managed to melt the cold frightened place in her heart and given her
comfort when there was nothing from anyone else. So many times she cried into Judy’s coat until the little animal had licked away her tears with doggy kisses.

Antoinette felt a pain in her chest that seemed to be a lump made of all the tears she had cried over the years. Where do they come from, she wondered. Is there a sac made of a thin membrane that our grief enters and becomes water, then, once filled, it finally bursts, releasing an unstoppable torrent?

When Judy’s body grew heavy and her breathing deeper, Antoinette knew she had fallen into a light doze and it was now time to take her to the vet. She picked her up carefully, not wanting to waken her, and carried her on that short walk.

The vet opened the door, gave her a kind smile, and brought them quickly into the surgery.

‘Antoinette, I’m just going to give her the first injection. Then she will simply slide into a deeper sleep. She won’t feel anything.’

Fighting to control her emotions, she watched as the needle slid into the back of her dog’s neck, then carried her gently back into the waiting room. There she sat, holding her pet and not letting herself think of the evening ahead when she would return to her parents alone. It seemed like only minutes but was in fact nearly an hour when the vet called her back for the final injection. He took the sleeping dog from Antoinette’s arms and laid her on the table. She watched as the needle was placed in the dog’s ankle. Still holding back her tears, she stroked the fur of Judy’s head until she felt her grow limp and, as life left the little dog, she said a silent goodbye.