The Deadest End

1:18am

It has been a long day. I need to get this out and then I’m going to bed.

There were a few reasons why I didn’t want to ask Jo about Monica.. I didn’t want to let her know about the girl firstly, there’d be no way around having to explain everything to her. So I guess I’m embarrassed, but you can’t talk to people about stuff like this can you. The other reasons for my reluctance were more personal.

Anyway I figured I had an alternative. If Jo had invited Monica to her party all those years ago, she would’ve had her address and phone number, simple enough, they were friends. I checked our family phone book.. It took a frustrating while to find, but eventually it turned up, in Jo’s bedside table drawers.

Of course it was only when I started looking through it that I realised I didn’t know Monica’s last name, and in a book that is alphabetised according to surname I was easily lost. So I went through the entire list. Somehow this didn’t bother me, I felt like I was at least doing something worthwhile and I couldn’t stop anyway, even if I did feel that background pang of guilt that I should be doing something else. I looked through every entry, even the ones that were crossed out, most of the people in it I’d never heard of, and there are only a few entries in my handwriting; mum, dad, george. I didn’t recognise their phone numbers.

I found one Monica straight away; Butt. My heart leapt. Nervous to call the number, I went through the rest of the phonebook, a second Monica appeared before I could finish; Teplitzky. Damn. One of them must be the wrong person. What would I say when I rang that person? What would I say when I rang the right Monica? I took down both the numbers and sat on my bed with the phone in my hand, staring into space. My pulse was drumming in my ears. Maybe I had remembered her name wrong, it had been a long time.. But I was so damn sure. I couldn’t think of what to say when I rang, I hate phone calls.

I thought of the girl, this made it a little easier. If there was any chance of me seeing her again, here it was. I dialled the first number, without a clue as to how this would work out. What would I say?..”Hi, do you happen to be the mother of the most amazing child I’ve ever met?” I called the first number, it was a mobile. A slightly croaky female voice answered the phone, she sounded like an old woman, not a good sign. She must’ve been one of Jo’s clients, as she recognised that I was calling from the number of her lawyer straight away. After I explained that I was not my wife, having to repeat myself a number of times, I deduced that this woman must be hundreds of years old. I hung up on her, feeling guilty and embarrassed.

It had to be the second number, I braced myself. A man answered, his voice was strong with an edge of impatience. “Hello, could I please speak to Monica?” I asked politely, so this must be the man she married. The drumming in my ears grew louder. “Yes hang on. May I ask who’s calling?” He said it more as an order than a question, and it took me completely off guard. What could I say? This was them! The girl was probably in the same house at this moment! I suddenly realised I hadn’t said anything, I mumbled something incoherent into the phone, hoping he’d ignore the reply and pass on the phone. He didn’t, and what he said next almost killed me. “Why do you want my daughter?”

I was terrified. How could he know? How could he know I wanted to see his daughter? Did Monica see us in the store together after all? Did they know the number I was calling from? I was about to hang up when I heard a voice in the background. “Dad? Who is it? It’s for me isn’t it? Give me the phone.” It was a young girl’s voice, but she didn’t sound 6 years old. The phone was pinned to my ear, I didn’t want to miss any of this. There was some cluttered noise, the sound of phone switching hands. A loud voice made me take the phone away from my ear, “Helloo Monica speaking! Sorry about dad, who’s talking?”

What was this? I was so confused. My mind raced. This was Monica. This was the man’s daughter. So the man must be the child’s grandfather, not her dad. I had to be sure. “Hi, I’m just doing a survey,” great way to start idiot, now she’ll hang up, “and I was just wondering… how old you are.” I’d come this far and I’d messed up my alias. But, for better or worse, she replied anyway “Ummm, what? I’m 13, what are you-” I hung up.

I sat on the bed for a while thinking about what had just happened. It took me this while to work it out. It was only when I saw the letters ‘GD’ next to the name in the phonebook, and vaguely recalled Jo having been made godmother to a girl named Monica about 4 years ago, that I understood. I believe it was at this point I punched a lampshade – the lamp fell over and I had to stand it back up again, hope it isn’t broken. I remember the christening, who christens a girl who’s 9 years old? Thought that only happened to babies.. the service was very boring, and I didn’t know anyone there. The dad was some old friend of Jo’s from high school, I haven’t seen the couple since, I guess that was him on the phone. The whole thing is stupid, and I never understood why she was made godmother anyway, just because her family is Christian.. she doesn’t even like kids.

I was thinking about this to distract myself from what I didn’t want to face. I hadn’t found the child. No clues, nothing. Why wasn’t Monica in the phonebook? Jo must have severed ties with her a long time ago. A Long time ago, the book is very old, I don’t remember ever having had another phonebook, this one has been with us since we married.. about 6 years ago. She couldn’t have simply forgotten to put in her name, at least not if they had stayed friends. So they must’ve had a fight or something between the time of the party and our wedding. I have a few theories about that. Gah, why is looking back on these things so nauseating?

My only alternative then was to ask Jo herself when she got home from work. And now I knew this would be an even touchier subject than I had originally thought. It was around 3pm, I had spent most of the day, but I’d still have to wait at least another 7 or more hours until she got home. The knot in my stomach that had been growing over the last few days had just become painful. I remembered then one of the reasons I had been feeling guilty earlier; I hadn’t done the budget.

My wife likes to have a budget planned annually and for every individual month, I guess to make sure I don’t waste her money.. Normally she’d do it but apart from other reasons, I thought this time it would give me something to take my mind of everything until she got home.

It didn’t take me long to remember why I never do this. After a few hours of sitting at a table with a blank piece of lined paper in front of me, making frequent trips to the fridge, this was the result.

 

Maths has never been my strongpoint and I was terrible at it in school.. parents made me keep at it though, instead of art. Also I just realised I’ve misspelt budget.. I wasn’t too good in English either.

I’m embarrassed by this image, for so many reasons. For everything that it implies. And I’m ashamed that I felt the need to put it up here too. That’s what she looked like in the bookshop that day.

My wife arrived home around 11pm, she was tired. We greeted each other and I watched her silently for a few minutes while she settled herself into the house. I knew she wouldn’t waste much time before she went to bed so I had to ask her soon, she’d be gone again by the time I woke up tomorrow. I followed her into the bedroom, I had put away the phonebook back where I’d found it, she wasn’t to know I was doing anything out of the ordinary.

Eventually (and my heart must have felt like it’d run a marathon after today) I put all my reservations behind me and casually asked if she remembered having a friend called Monica.. dangerous waters. She was getting into bed, “Might’ve, at one stage? I don’t know, why? I’m really tired.” she said something like that. “Oh no reason really, just had a silly thought. Goodnight.” I said something like that. And that was it.

She didn’t know or she didn’t want to tell me. Either way I wasn’t going to get a conversation out of it, let alone a phone number or address. I then went to the computer, to find some way to deal with my defeat. I had realised after the phone calls that there was little hope, and now there is none.

I may never know this girl. You would think with the coincidence of recognising her mother I would be allowed a chance, but there it is. She’s as out of reach to me as anyone, and I’m feeling again the way I did a few days ago, as if the one person I could talk to in the world, the one person who mutually completes me, has been cut off from me forever. It’s almost like the world is conspiring to keep us apart, a world that laughs at me while holding her above its head.

It’s been more than 2 hours since my wife went to sleep, and I’m getting quite tired. Wow I wrote a lot, I really did need to get that out, I guess I feel a little better. But this is the end, this is all, I don’t know how I could have more to say after this, she’s gone and I’m back where I started. Though I’m probably better off this way, maybe I can stop thinking about her, forget all of this and start sleeping properly again. So I wont post any more, there wouldn’t be any point if I did and it wouldn’t help me. That said, I don’t see how I’m going to forget, I may heal one day, but I surely wont forget.

Parr

Advertisement