Annemarie Allan's story about Unknown

The Day My Father Died

Dad was back in hospital again, Mum distracted. We didn’t question the fact that money was suddenly available to go and see a film – we just thought it was a rare stroke of luck.

Whatever film it was is gone from my head. What I do remember is our surprise when we clattered down the steps of the bus to see Auntie Annie getting off at the same stop. It seemed she was coming to visit. We made polite conversation all the way down Dean Street, along Cheyne Street, into the stair and all the way up to our front door. It was a total surprise to find the house was full of relatives – aunts, uncles, in-laws, cousins…

Mum was in the living room, surrounded by people. My brother began to work his way towards her. I stayed where I was. I didn’t know exactly what was happening, but I was absolutely sure I didn’t want to go in there. I didn’t want to know.

When my brother came back, his body was stiff, as though someone had punched him in the stomach and he couldn’t get a proper breath. His words came out all in a rush.

“He’s dead, Anne.”

If he had been punched, then I was frozen. I couldn’t hug him, though I think that’s what he wanted. I couldn’t go to my mother. Instead, I went looking for my book. I hid in the hall cupboard. It was the only private space I could find. I sat down on a pile of shoes, opened my book and read for the rest of that day and deep into the night.

I don’t remember the name of the author, or the title. I have no memory of the plot. I remember only one thing - that book gave me a way out, into another world, on the worst day of my life.