The Healing of Broken Souls

Chapter 16

My first reaction was that if the news came as a surprise it must have been an accidental pregnancy and I'd been an unwanted baby.

"So I wasn't planned!" I growled. "That's nice to know."

"No, Michael, the surprise was that we didn't think your mother could conceive. The specialist at the hospital had warned us that conception was unlikely and, if it did happen, that pregnancy would be very difficult and risky for Clara. She wouldn't be able to have a natural birth. Her muscles were too weak. But we both desperately wanted a child and after a few years, Clara insisted she was willing to take the risk so we started trying. But nothing happened. We'd just about given up hope when we found out she was pregnant."

"She risked her life to have me?"

"She did, Michael. The strain of carrying you made her illness much worse. And we were constantly afraid she'd miscarry, so we had to act as if she was made of fine porcelain. Just one fall could have been a disaster for both of you. She spent the last four months in bed but, when you finally arrived, we knew it had all been worth it."

It was a sobering thought to find out that my mother had risked her life to give me mine. In a complete turnaround, it was me who said I'd heard enough for now, and I told my father I could do with a drink.

"Why don't we stop off for a decent meal on the way home," he suggested. "My treat."

"Thanks, I'd like that," I accepted.

The restaurant I chose wasn't far from the finca. I'd eaten there often and the staff knew me. The food was good and inexpensive and came with just what I needed, a bottle of wine shared between the two of us. We took our time over the four-course meal and, after I'd downed a glass of Rioja, I was ready for my father to continue.

"We were lucky," he began. "You were a good baby. After the first few weeks, you hardly ever cried and slept for most of the night. Your mother was very weak for a long time after the cesarean, so I slept with you in our spare bedroom so her nights were undisturbed. She looked after you during the day when I was at work, so it worked out very well.

You were the center of our universe, Michael, and the months seemed to fly by. Before we knew it you were a little boy. But your mother never really recovered her strength. She was gradually getting weaker as more of her muscles were affected. She had short periods of remission, but then she'd relapse and be even worse than before. None of the drugs seemed to work.

As soon as I got home from work I would take you out in your pushchair. We'd go to a local country park, or for long walks along the canal, or through the woods near our house. That's when I started birdwatching. I bought Birds of Britain and Europe and some binoculars and started ticking off the birds as we spotted them. Before you started school you could name all the common birds, and you were as fascinated as I was."

My father paused to pick at his main course and I shared out the last of the wine and reflected on my childhood while he ate. I had vivid memories of birdwatching with him. A day when he lifted me high above his head to peer into a nest with pale blue eggs. Feeding the ducks on a lake in a park and him pointing out a pair of grebes performing their courtship dance. Watching magpies chase the sparrows away from the bird table in our postage stamp of a back garden. 

I asked for coffee in place of dessert and my father did the same, saying he was too full to eat any more. I was more concerned with my waistline. My phone chimed while we were waiting and I surreptitiously read the text message. It was from Helen. She'd emailed me the figures and had made a bank appointment for the following Tuesday. She finished with three x's. I smiled, knowing that was her way of asking if I could please have her spreadsheet ready before then. It was only Thursday so that should be no problem. I texted back 'on it' and added an x of my own.

My father was yawning on the short drive home and said he needed a siesta. He wasn't used to eating large meals with wine at lunchtime. I was disappointed because he was getting ever closer to the events of my seventh birthday and my patience was beginning to wear thin. Everything he'd told me so far had been eye-opening, and often surprising, but it hadn't yet satisfied my need to hear him confess his crime. I resigned myself to waiting one more day.

I went to my writing room and opened Helen's email. Her numbers were a confused mess and I spent hours trying to make sense of them. I took a break and made myself some coffee. My father was still in his bedroom so I left him alone. Three hours later I'd whipped Helen's figures into some semblance of order on a spreadsheet and I was worried. The income from the cruise company was only guaranteed for eight full dive days each month. Based on her last year's statistics with one boat, she was doubling up for two boats and forecasting 30 half-day dives booked by other groups and an additional dozen two-hour training classes. I could see at a glance that, after her costs, the profits would hardly cover the interest on a 200,000 euro business loan. She'd have no income left to live on.

I stared at my screen for ten minutes, trying to come up with a solution, and then thought about everything my father had sacrificed for Clara. That made up my mind. I would put my finca on the market and give the proceeds to Helen. Then I would find some kind of job in Valencia and rent a small flat. She meant far more to me than bricks and mortar.