Conversations with fatherA Story by alanwgraham a very black and humorous look at family relationships Conversations with father
The two middle aged brothers sat in the front room with their aged father. It had been a long day and more pints of the black stuff had disappeared down their throats than were needed for thirst quenching. Their father was well past the stage of needing more drink and sat slumped in the chair beside the fire. The curtains were drawn against the gathering darkness - and any nosy neighbours! Fergus and Tommy were on the cusp of the ‘saying what should remain unsaid’ stage of alcohol consumption!
‘Fergus, get off your backside and pour me another pint.’ ‘Get off your own fat a*se Tommy! Don’t play the big brother card with me. Anyway, how about starting on that bottle of malt?’ ‘Go on then Fergie. That old b*stard will not miss it - he’s too far gone!’ ‘I gave it to him for his seventieth birthday - not that he deserved anything.’ ‘There you go Tommy - there’s a man’s dram for you!’ The brothers raised their glasses to their father who was out to the world. ‘Up yours father!’ ‘You wouldn’t have said that to him a few years ago, Tommy.’ ‘You were scared too, Fergie!’ ‘Twisted old scrooge!’
‘Fergie, do you remember the time Uncle Jim gave me a bike for my birthday. When dad saw it he threw it in the canal.’ ‘How could I forget, Tommy. I remember the belting you got when you wouldn’t stop crying. Then, the next month, dad’s pal Alex gave me a Celtic strip. Dad went mental. He cut the top up and burnt it on the fire. What the f**k was all that about?’ ‘F**k knows Fergie - you could understand it if he was a Rangers man! Time for another Glenlivet, Fergie!’ ‘Go on then Tommy - see if dear father wants to join us.’ ‘Would ye like a wee dram 'pater'?’ ‘What’s wrong father - are you lost for words?’
‘You know, Fergie - it’s only just occurred to me, before that trouble with the bike, dad was quite good to us. He used to read us stories and remember how he took us to the park to play football.’ 'Aye, I do, and remember the trips to the fairground in Kirkcaldy and the beach at Leven.’ ‘You’re right Tommy; he’s been a s**t for so long I had forgotten what he was like before.’ ‘It was almost like something happened just then. It was almost like a personality change! I don’t suppose we’ll ever know. Of course mother bore the brunt of it. She never deserved that twisted and bitter b*gg*r.
‘These things can scar a young lad for life Fergie!’ ‘So I can see Tommy, so I can see!’ ‘B*gg*r you Fergie - you’ve ended up nearly as twisted as him! You know what they say about the sins of the fathers.’ ‘Visited on the sons, you mean, specky.’ ‘Specky?’ ‘Apologies dear brother, that just slipped out.’ ‘You’re thirty years too late, fatty! Remember I used to say that at least I could take my glasses off - ha ha - and now I’ve had laser surgery, so I don't even need to take my specs off! ‘We always ended up fighting on the floor and then dad would come in and give us a good thrashing.’ ‘At least I just got one thrashing, Tommy.’ ‘What the hell does that mean?’ ‘You know fine what it means - a thrashing from me and then a thrashing from dad!’ ‘Watch what you’re saying Fergie, I think you’ve got early onset dementia. Most of the time you cried for mum to save you. Crybaby - that’s what they all called you.’
At this point the conversation between the brothers spiralled out of control. When Fergie heard the old humiliating insult of ‘cry-baby,’ he jumped up and hurtled himself at his brother. The two, middle aged and out of shape men, rolled about on the floor in a poor imitation of a Big Daddy versus giant Haystacks wrestling bout that their long departed granny McKay might have watched on a Saturday afternoon. Incredibly the two of them reverted to the ritualised ‘play fighting’ of three decades before. It was like ‘muscle memory’ but now there was just flab!
‘Ow, ow, stop Fergie - my hernia!’ ‘I’ll stuff your hernia up your ... eeeee ow, Tommy you’re going to break my f***ing arm!’ ‘I’ve got you now Fergie - you remember this move don’t you - legs over your shoulders, backside ready for a skelp. You can’t get out of this now. Give in! Give in!’ ‘I won’t, I can’t breath, I ca…….’ ‘Aaaah, what the f***, oh no Tommy! You’ve knocked dad out of the chair.
The two brothers disentangled from their father who had landed on them like a dead weight and then they struggled together to manoeuvre him back into his chair. ‘Did you enjoy the fight wee man - it took me back to the good old days!’ ‘We’ll call it quits then.’ ‘Aye, ok, but we both know who won!’ ‘Very smart Fergie - magnanimous in defeat as always!’
‘At least father didn’t wake up Tommy.’ ‘That would have been a big surprise, Fergie!’ ‘Aye, the state he’s in he’ll not be waking up for a while.’ ‘Fergie, there’s something in his jacket pocket.’ ‘What is it? - I bet it’s a slip for the Grand National! Maybe a parting gift, ha ha.’ ‘Give me a minute to look at it.’
Fergie watched Tommy take what looked like a letter from their father’s top jacket pocket. As Tommy read it, Fergie could see the blood drain from his brother’s face and he looked as if he might collapse.
‘What is it Tommy?’
Tommy seemed to be incapable of speech. As Fergie watched, he saw an extraordinary range of emotions cross his brothers face. First disbelief, then anger, then confusion, followed by deception (as he looked long and hard at Fergie), then doubt, then decision and finally resolution. Without saying anything, Tommy stepped forward and hugged his brother, an act of affection that had never occurred in his family before. He then passed the letter to his brother and stood back.
Dear Fergus and Tommy. This has been a hard letter to write. When I knew I was on my way out I decided I had to set this right. To be honest I was too scared to tell you face to face. When I’m gone I hope you’ll remember the good fun we had when you were both wee - the football, the bedtime stores and the trips to the fair and the beach. I did love you both, I mean I still do but something happened. Your mum and I had a big fight and she told me something to hurt me. I was too weak to deal with it and I ended taking it out on you. She told me that Uncle Jim is your real father, Tommy, and my so called friend Alex is your real dad, Fergie. That’s it boys! I can only say how sorry I am and help yourselves to the bottle of Glenlivet.
Earlier in the evening, when the last guests had left after the viewing of their father’s body the boys had shut the coffin. It lay along the sideboard in the corner of the room. Tommie and Fergie continued drinking. As it often happens on these occasions the conversation started to touch on family history and relationships. The two boys, being very close in age had always had a very competitive relationship. Light hearted banter acquired an edge which additional pints only sharpened.
‘Do you remember that time you asked our teacher which of us had the highest IQ?’ ‘Yes, Tommy, she wouldn’t tell us but we both know the answer, don’t we.’ ‘You’re surely not thinking that a Doctorate in Astrophysics is any mark of intelligence?’ ‘Very amusing Dr Spock. I’ll remind you that I was the first to assemble an Ikea flatpack wardrobe in less than three hours. Now that is a mark of intelligence.’ ‘Very droll! I’ve an idea, Fergie. If we are going to talk about dad we may as well get him out where he can hear us!’ ‘Don’t be ridiculous - well perhaps - let’s do it then! We’ll sit him in that chair.’
Back to later in the evening and the letter.
Fergie looked at his brother and all the fraternal rivalry paled into insignificance beside this seismic shift in their lives. Just at that moment they could hear a noise in the hall and the living room door opened. Their mother appeared at the door and looked at Fergus and Tommy. ‘Is that another sympathy letter you’ve got there Fergie?’ The two brothers looked at each other open mouthed. Something made mother turn towards the fire and when she saw who was sitting in the chair she let out a piercing scream. Tommy then nodded to Fergie who stepped forward and handed her the letter. © 2016 alanwgrahamFeatured Review
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3 Reviews  Last Updated on October 1, 2016 Author
alanwgrahamScotland, United KingdomAboutMarried with three kids, I retired early from teaching physics but have always enjoyed mountains. In my forties I experienced a manic episode which kick-started a creative urge. I've written a novel .. more..Writing
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