Number 3 Is Dead

He is dead. Number 3 is dead. We are asked by mother if we want to go and see him in the coffin. I say yes.
I want to make sure he is dead.
It is really creepy at the undertakers. Number 3’s sister is there having travelled down from Essex. She is really crying and wailing, she is hanging on to the open coffin and she keeps throwing her upper body across it which makes the coffin shake. In my head I imagine that she will pull the coffin over and that number 3 will fall out onto the floor. I wonder to myself if I will laugh out loud if this does happen. But it does not, and so I just stand staring at number 3. He really is dead. Number 3 is dead.
There is a lot of tension at the funeral as number 3’s ex wife has turned up, and even though she is standing discreetly at the back of the church mother is not pleased with this.
In the evening it hits me. I have seen a dead body. The dead body is number 3. At bedtime I am frightened as I think the ghost of number 3 will come and get me whilst I’m sleeping. I wonder if my brother and sister are also frightened as they have said nothing. I want mother to stay with us but she does not because there is someone knocking on the front door. Mother goes to answer it, it is the Life Insurance man, and mother gets her coat and goes out with him to the pub. I lay in bed wondering how she can leave us alone at a time like this. But my mind is clouded by thoughts of a ghostly number 3 and so I cover myself completely with the duvet and remind myself that this time number 3 has really gone. Number 3 is dead.

In My Fathers' House

Their place is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like it. They have an amazing cooker, it’s called an AGA, and I’ve never seen one before. They have a piano and really nice furniture. The whole place is a little bit messy but this just adds to the appeal. My stomach is still churning with nerves. The wife is lovely. She is very pretty, really trendy, she has really nice clothes and shoes. But above all this I can tell immediately that she is a really good mother. The two girls, (my half sisters?) really love their mother and, I notice, their mother is always talking to them and cuddling and kissing them. Father is really handsome and funny. The two girls call him daddy and they clearly really adore him. He has a sports car, his own business, and a villa in Spain. Really, for the 15 year old girl I am he is my dream father. We all go to Petticoat Lane market. I am given chestnuts and latkas and pomegranates to eat on the street whilst we’re walking in the market. I have never even seen these things before, let alone tasted them. I find them delicious. We stay at their place for a couple of days. I feel like I’m in a whirlwind, everything is so exciting yet at the same time a little scary. I have not forgotten the initial doubtful telephone call to grandmothers; it is continually in my mind. But I do not want think about the possibility of this man not being my father. Everything is too perfect and I want to be part of it. They seem to have accepted me. I want to be perfect for them; I want them to really want me and to really love me.
I am very careful with my appearance, I mean my hair. I spend a lot of time making sure the bald patches are covered up. I don’t want them to find out what I have done and what I continue to do. They can’t find out that I pull my hair out; it has to remain a secret. They definitely wouldn’t want me if they knew.
All too soon the trip is over and my sister and I return to our home city and mother. Upon our return mother has taken to her bed with a mystery illness that has no symptoms except for the bad mood she is in. Mother refuses to see the gifts that father had brought for me and she does not want to hear anything about the visit. She does not voice her disapproval but makes it felt by her stony silence and the way she continually pulls the blankets up around her. Finally, as I turn to leave the room she speaks. Mother reminds me that I must never tell Daddy about any trips to London. When I ask her why not? Mother again replies “Just don’t, it would break his heart”. I don’t understand this but I do as I am told and keep this secret tucked away with my other secret.

Hello Father

January 1st 1982. I travel by train with my sister to London to meet my father. I’m really excited but also really nervous. My sister won’t talk to me about him, all she will tell me he is he is married again with two children, both girls. Throughout the journey I keep thinking about the first phone call that took place at grandmothers. I wonder if he is my real father. I tell myself he must be, why else would I be sent to him? We arrive at Victoria station. I’ve never seen so many people, the station is packed. My sister tells me that we have been told to go to the taxi rank where we shall be met by them. But when we get there no one is waiting for us. We wait and wait but nobody comes. My sister tries to telephone them but there is no answer. In my head I am convinced that they have come and are hidden in the crowds of people that are milling about. I’m convinced that they have seen me, that this man who I am told is my father has seen me and decided that he does not like the look of me so has decided to run away. To disappear into the crowds. My sister does not seem at all worried, but I am really scared. My sister telephone’s mother and tells her that no one has come to meet us. Mother says we must return home. I can’t believe this is happening. I want to meet him. I want to see my father. Unbeknown to us mother has telephoned the station. We hear our names being called out over the tannoy system. We’re being asked to hurry to the gate to board the last train home to our city. We are running, my sister and I towards the departure gate. We reach the gate, the train still there. All the time I am thinking that they have seen me, my father and his family, and they don’t like the look of me. They hate me, they don’t want me. I’m still running toward the train when I become aware that I cannot hear or feel my sister running by my side. I stand still and turn round. I can’t see my sister at first, I am terrified, and I think I must have lost her in the crowds. Suddenly I do see her, in the distance, back by the departure gate. My sister is being hugged by a man and a woman and two smaller girls. They are all happy, embracing and kissing each other. I remain on the spot where I have stopped running, standing still, watching. This is how I meet the man they call my father. Is he my father? Is this my father? I walk towards them, my stomach churning with nerves. Then they greet me and embrace me, and we head off to their place. I am aware of feeling nothing at this point. I am just numb.