Free The Way We Were by Sinéad Moriarty Page B

so much love to give and only one child to give it to. He was twenty-six when she received a diagnosis of ovarian cancer. Ten weeks later she was dead.
    Ben had simply disappeared into studying and working while his father – a stalwart of the stiff-upper-lip generation – pretended everything was fine. Alice had been there to comfort Ben and she’d been wonderful. With Alice, he could cry and talk about how much he missed his mother.
    Ben, in his naïveté, thought his father was actually fine. Until one day he’d come back early from the hospital. They’d sent him home after he’d cut his hand open with a scalpel. When he’d opened the front door, he’d heard a noise coming from the kitchen. He’d gone in through the open door and had seen his father sitting at the table, sobbing over his wedding photos.
    Ben had never seen his father cry, not even at his mother’s funeral. Everyone kept saying how brave Harold was, how strong. They said it was his army background. He had fought in the Falklands war and been awarded a medal for bravery.
Ben always thought his father was invincible. He knew his father loved him, but he had never been demonstrative. Like so many sons and fathers, there was a physical awkwardness between them.
    The sound of his father’s sobs ripped through Ben’s heart. He froze. He didn’t know what to do. Should he tiptoe by and leave him to grieve in peace, or should he go over and put an arm around him?
    Taking a deep breath, Ben said, ‘Dad?’
    Harold’s back went rigid. Ben approached his father tentatively and laid a hand on his shoulder. Looking at the photos, he said softly, ‘I miss her too.’
    His father nodded stiffly. He stood up, shrugging Ben’s hand off, and wiped his eyes roughly, then packed away the photos. Still not facing his son, he said, ‘Well, that’s enough of that. I was tidying up and … well … there you are. Right, I’ll just put them away.’ He’d brushed past Ben and the moment was lost.
    That was probably the closest they’d got to grieving together. One of the things Ben loved most about Alice was her freedom with her emotions. She didn’t hide them or keep them in, she let them out. When something moved her, she cried, not like a Disney princess but in a loud, werewolf kind of way.
    Strangely, though, when Alice’s parents were killed, she hadn’t cried that much. She’d got very low, and Ben had been really worried about her.
    The tragedy had toughened Alice, though. She rarely cried at films any more. She was stronger and less emotional – except when it came to the girls: she worried about their whereabouts all the time. She liked to have her family close. Ben understood that, but sometimes it felt a little claustrophobic. If he didn’t answer her phone calls quickly, she’d
panic. She had got better over the years but still had a tendency to believe the worst was going to happen.
    Thinking about her now, Ben felt bad about not calling that morning. He knew she’d be worried. He’d try to call her from the landline at the clinic.
    ‘Ben?’ Declan waved his hand in front of Ben’s face.
    ‘Sorry, I was miles away. Yes, I do like Helen. She’s a nice lady and she looks after my father well.’
    ‘You’re lucky. I’d really like my dad to meet someone. He deserves a bit of love. We tried to set him up with a few local women, but it didn’t work out. The first date was when Eddie lined up Marion from the bookie’s, but it was a disaster. She’s known as the local bike. She’d ride anything. Eddie said he was just trying to get Dad laid. But sure Dad wasn’t able for her at all. When she pulled out a pair of handcuffs he locked himself into the toilet and called Eddie to come and get her out of the flat.’
    Ben laughed. ‘Maybe he should have started with someone a bit less … enthusiastic.’
    Declan grinned. ‘You English public-school boys, you make everything sound really nice and tasteful. I would have said “slutty”