I’ll Never Call him Dad Again by Caroline Darian

Author:Caroline Darian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LEAP
Published: 2024-12-17T00:00:00+00:00

Monday, 9th November 2020

I open my eyes at 9am. As soon as I’m up, I feel like crying. I knock back one coffee after another. Around 10am, I do some housework just to keep myself busy. Repetitive tasks help to distract my body and brain.

For a while, I manage not to think. I don’t hear Paul come home, or Marion ring the doorbell. She rushes into the guest room where I’m tidying up. She catches me by surprise and I bury myself in her arms. Given what’s happening she offers to stay with us. That way there’ll always be someone there when I go to sleep, and I shouldn’t feel so scared.

With her around, I feel more optimistic about the day ahead. But I still miss Mum.

A call comes through from my cousin. She has the results of my mother’s initial blood tests. There’s no sign of HIV or hepatitis C, but she tested positive for four different STDs. One of them is human papillomavirus, bringing with it the risk of uterine cancer. From now on, she’ll have to undergo a test every year to check for any signs of cancer and treat them if necessary. A small burden to bear, compared with the hundred or so times she was raped over the last ten years. Since the most recent sexual assault was only weeks before – the 22nd October 2020 – she’ll have to be tested again in three and then six months to be absolutely sure she’s in the clear.

My cousin prescribes a course of antibiotics and regular gynaecological check-ups. She’ll have to wait until the 19th December for a full forensic examination at a special clinic in Versailles. The results of the examination, an assessment of her general and gynaecological health, will be submitted as evidence in court.

You wake me up early in the summer to go cycling along the back roads of Provence. When faced with a tough incline, you egg me on: ‘Keep at it, my girl! You can do it!’ You beam with joy when you crest the ridge between the villages of Bédoin and Malaucène. I come up behind you and hop off my bike. We look around us, almost five hundred metres above sea level. The vista is amazing.

Marion looks after me over the next few days. There are so many things that I could do – cook a favourite dish, go for a run, read a book, watch a film, listen to music without breaking down in tears – but all that belonged to before. The Caroline who could do that was her father’s daughter.

I insist on taking Tom to school in the morning. I know we have to have a talk.

Having lived inside a web of lies, I’m not going to do the same to my son. He has to know where his grandfather is. He’ll find out soon enough, whatever I do. I know that his cousins, only a few years older than him, have found out. There’s no point holding back.

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