By the Time You Read This

You, my baby, were a shy little thing. But on odd occasions you’d allow your mum and me the privilege of being a part of your world – especially if you needed our help for something really important, like whether or not you could watch Button Moon – or you’d ask for my opinion on one of your many artistic creations (like that drawing you did of the three of us, with rainbow Mohican haircuts).

Our times together were great, Lowey. Kissing you on the forehead as we slouched on the settee, watching The A-Team (which, by the way, is the best show on earth). You’d giggle up at me and I’d feel this little lump in my throat as well as this surge of strength and then weakness for the cutest little girl I had ever seen. The way your eyes were so trusting as they looked to me – plain old Kevin Bates – for some type of reassurance that I’d always pro¬ tect you. Be there for you. Comfort you.

Wow.

And then I’d kiss you on the forehead again, Lois, just because… just because I could never resist that smile of yours. I’d like to think you’d still let me do that if I were there – you know, kiss you on the forehead as you snuggle up to watch TV. Or would you squirm away and tell me ‘I’m a bit old for that, Dad’? Well, you don’t have a choice because I will be kissing your forehead every night before you go to sleep. For the rest of your life – whether you like it or not.

In a nutshell, I need you to know that your daddy loves you soooooo much. With stars on! And although I’m kind of gone, I will NEVER, EVER leave you. I’ll be there with you, for you and around you. Don’t ask me how, just know I will be and especially through this manual, which I hope you will keep for ever and ever. And as well as your birthdays, I want you to open it up whenever you feel con fused, lost, lonely or even happy! Yes, Lowey, when you are happy too.

I wiped the fresh layer of snot from my nose with the back of a trembling hand, and for a good ten minutes I didn’t move or think of anything. This was all too much to take in. So unexpected. I suddenly felt ancient – at least eighteen. And while I ached to turn the pages, devour everything my dad had ever written to me, I knew doing so would mean nothing left for later. Next week. Next month. Next year. I needed this manual. I needed my dad and nothing would tempt me into jeopardising any of that – even if it meant reading a sentence a day for the rest of my life.

I re-read that first page around a hundred times, ignoring Mum shouting up from the kitchen, ‘What are you doing in there, Lois?’ and ‘Dinner’s ready! Wash your hands first!’

I wasn’t hungry for mere food, but sat down to the meal with the same old plates, same old knives and forks, same everything. Only I had changed. Something inside wasn’t ticking the same any more. I’m not saying I was suddenly a grown-up. I just didn’t feel like a little kid any more. And I certainly didn’t feel like sitting at the table listening to the Bingo Caller and Mum talk about a load of rubbish, while upstairs in a Tesco bag was the bestest, most important thing I had ever read.

‘The fish is lovely,’ enthused the Bingo Caller, carefully tucking into Mum’s trademark snapper and rice.

‘Our first meal as a family! Well, you know…since we got married,’ giggled Mum, sounding like a little girl. Equally, the Bingo Caller gazed at her the way a toddler does at a lollipop.

‘This is a lovely meal,’ repeated the Bingo Caller. Mum smiled, squinted her eyes, then dared to question why I chose to pick at the food.

‘Nothing’s wrong with it. I’m just not hungry, Mum.’

‘Aren’t you feeling well?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘Did someone upset you? Something happen when I was away?’

‘Not really… No, nothing.’ I continued to pick at the food, just desperate for the sensation of my dad’s manual against the surface of my fingers once again.

‘Got a boyfriend?’ asked the Bingo Caller, mouth full of fish.

I quickly and angrily shook my head in response. ‘Of course not!’

‘You don’t have to be rude, Lois. We just want to make sure you’re okay,’ said Mum sternly.

‘Sorry,’ I mumbled.

After dinner, I finally got the chance to escape. I turned to page five of The Manual, butterflies break-dancing in my stomach. It simply read:

As you read The Manual, always remember without doubt and without question, I love you… with stars on. Dad.

I closed my eyes and grazed the top of my forehead with my index finger. An image of Dad gently kissing my forehead appeared along with this total feeling of calm replacing all the stuff I had to deal with at school, Mum remarrying…everything washing away like water down a smelly drain.

That night, just before dropping into the land of nod, I whispered:

‘I love you too, Dad. Goodnight.’

And I knew he’d heard.

* * *

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