Without an Invitation
Victor Palmer gripped a bag of medicine in his hand as his neighbour from two doors down, Auntie Jean, stopped him by the post boxes.
Victor, congratulations, she said, her voice hesitating as if unsure she should continue. Your daughter wellshe got married. Yesterday. I saw it online, in my nieces feed.
At first, it didnt make sense. Congratulations felt like a word meant for someone else. Victor nodded, as if the news concerned some distant acquaintance.
What wedding? he asked, his voice unexpectedly steady, all but business-like.
Auntie Jean already seemed to regret speaking.
Well theyve signed the papers. There were photoswhite dress and all. I thought youd know.
Victor went to his flat, set the bag on the kitchen table, and stared at it for a long while, still wearing his coat. In his head, like in a spreadsheet, a line was missing: invitation. He hadnt expected a big do with two hundred guests. Hed hoped for a phone call, at least a message.
He took out his phone and found his daughters page. The pictures were neat, free of unnecessary detail, as if documenting an event rather than celebrating one. She was in a light dress, next to a young man in a dark suit, the caption reading simply: Us. Comments below said Wishing you happiness, Congratulations. Nowhere was his name.
Victor took off his coat and draped it over a chair. The feeling rising in his chest wasnt quite grief, but a sharp, humiliating anger at being left out. No one had asked him, no one thought it necessary.
He called her number. The dial tone rang for ages. Then, a short Hello.
Whats this, then? he demanded. You got married?
Pause. He heard her exhale, bracing herself, as if for a blow.
Yes, Dad. Yesterday.
And you didnt tell me.
I knew youd say this.
Say what? He stood up, pacing the kitchen. Do you even realise how this looks?
I dont want to discuss this over the phone.
And how would you like to discuss it? he almost shouted, but reined himself in. Where are you?
She gave him an address. He didnt recognise it. A second humiliation in under a minute.
Ill be round, he said.
Dad, you dont have to
I do.
He hung up without saying goodbye, then stood there, clutching the phone as if it were proof. Everything inside him demanded to restore order. In his mind, order was simple: family didnt hide these things. You did things the proper way. That was what hed clung to his whole life.
He packed quickly, almost mechanically: the apples hed bought earlier from the market, and an envelope of cashmoney saved away for emergencies. He wasnt sure why he brought the envelope. Perhaps to avoid seeming empty-handed, to somehow reclaim his part in her life.
On the train, Victor sat by the window. Garages, warehouse fences, and the odd tree slid past outside, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
He remembered how, in her final year at school, shed brought a boy home, grinning far too widely, as if to defend herself. Victor hadnt raised his voice. Hed just said, School first, then nonsense like this. The boy left. His daughter locked herself in her room. An hour later, Victor had knocked, wanting to talk, but shed replied, Dont. He truly thought hed done right. Parents are meant to draw the line.
Then there was her leaving do. Hed picked her up at the school gates, seen her laughing with friends and some lad. Hed strode over, and without so much as a greeting, asked, Whos that? Shed blushed, and hed barked, I asked youwhos this? Are you listening? The boy had edged away; her friends buried their faces in their phones. She didnt speak for the rest of the night. Victor had believed he was setting the boundaries.
He thought of her mother, too. Once, at a family party, with all the relatives watching, hed said, Youve mixed everything up again, as usual. Cant do anything right. Not out of cruelty, but from exhaustion, trying to keep everything together. Her mother had managed a forced smile, then later hed found her crying in the kitchen. He hadnt gone in. Hed thought shed brought it on herself.
Now, these memories slipped through his mind, like old receipts in a pocket he couldnt throw away. He tried to piece them together but clung to the thought: he hadnt beaten anyone, hadnt been a drunk, always worked hard, paid every bill, helped out. He only wanted what was best.
Outside her new place, Victor stopped to look at the intercom, punched in the flat number. The door buzzed open. The lift crawled upward. His palms grew clammy.
His daughter opened the door. Her hair was thrown up hurriedly. Shadows beneath tired eyes. She was wearing a homely jumper, nothing special. Hed expected her to glow. Instead, she looked drained, tense.
Hi, she said.
Hello, he replied, passing her the bag. Brought some apples. And he raised the envelope. This is for you both.
She took it without a glance, as if it was something that couldnt simply be dropped to the floor.
There in the hall were two pairs of shoes, a mans boots and her trainers, another coat hanging by the door. Victor took all this in as habit, noting the traces of a life now foreign to him.
Is he in? he asked.
In the kitchen, she replied. Dad, lets keep it calm, yeah?
Keep it calm sounded like both a plea and a command.
In the kitchen sat a man of about thirty, wary but composed. He stood up when Victor entered.
Hello, he said. Im
I know who you are, Victor cut in, at once realising hed gone too far. The truth was, he didnt knownot even his name.
His daughter shot him a quick warning look.
My names Oliver, the man said quietly. Nice to meet you.
Victor nodded but didnt immediately offer his hand. Then, awkwardly, he did. The handshake was quick, dry.
Well, congratulations, Victor said, though the word congratulations hit his ears like a foreign phrase.
Thank you, his daughter replied.
On the table stood two mugs, one half-finished with coffee. Next to them, some paperworkregistrar forms, he guessedand a box of cake, now stale around the edges. The day after the wedding looked less like a celebration, more like tidying up after one.
Take a seat, his daughter said.
He sat down, hands on his knees, desperate to begin with what matteredyet no words seemed to fit without sounding feeble.
Why? he managed at last. Why did I have to hear it from the neighbour?
His daughter looked at Oliver, then back to him.
Because I didnt want you there.
I gathered that, Victor said. What I want to know is why.
Oliver shifted his mug aside, as if clearing space for conversation.
I can go, if youd prefer, he offered.
No, his daughter replied. You live here. This is your home.
That stung. Your home. Not his. He realised with a jolt that this wasnt a visithe was an intruder.
I didnt come to cause a row, he said. I just Im your father. Thats
Dad, she interrupted. You always start with Im your father. And then comes the list of things I owe you.
Owe me? he raised a brow. Is inviting your father to your wedding a debt to be collected?
Its not about owing. Its that youd have turned the whole thing into a test. An exam. And I I couldnt face that.
A test of what? He leaned forward. Id have only come.
She smiled, but without warmth.
Youd have come and scrutinised how everyone dressed, what people said, which of his relations looked at you. Youd have picked something wrong. And then remembered every detail for the next year.
Thats not true, he protested automatically.
Oliver coughed softly, staying silent.
Dad, his daughter went on, softer now. Do you remember my leaving do?
Of course, he replied, stiffly. I picked you up.
Do you remember what you said? In front of everyone?
He tensed up. He remembered, but didnt want to admit it.
I asked who that boy was. So what?
You asked as if Id stolen something. There I was, in the dress Mum and I picked out together, happy as anythingand with a few words you made me want the ground to swallow me up.
I wanted to know who you were hanging round with, he said. Thats what parents do.
They doat home, afterwards. Not out in front of everyone.
He wanted to argue, but suddenly, in her expression, he saw not the hurt of a teenager but the fear of an adult who knows just how easily their footing can vanish.
So you didnt invite me because of the leaving do? he pressed, trying to wrestle the discussion back into reason.
Its not just that. Its every time.
She stood, moved to the sink, turned on the tap to keep her hands busy. The sound of water filled the thick silence.
Do you remember how you spoke to Mum at Aunt Mays birthday? she asked, her back still turned.
He remembered. The dinner table, the salads, the family, and then the words he’d said. Hed been convinced he was right then.
I said she got things muddled, he admitted, cautiously.
You said she couldnt do anything properly, in front of everyone. I was twenty-two. I realised then that if I brought someone important to meet you, if anything big happened in your presence, at any moment you could say something similar. And you wouldnt even notice.
A hot flush rose in Victors throat. He wanted to say, I made it up to her later. But he hadnt. Hed just told her not to make a fuss, that he was only being honest.
I didnt mean to humiliate anyone, he managed.
She turned round, water still running.
But you did. And not just once.
Oliver quietly walked over, turned the tap off, and returned to his seat. The gesture was simple, yet Victor noticed ita knack for softening daily chaos.
You must think Im a monster, Victor said.
I think you dont know when to stop, she replied. You work, you manage, you push. But when theres someone flesh-and-blood in front of you, you dont notice their hurt. Only whats wrong.
He wanted to argue that without his standards, they wouldnt have got by. That hed held the family together when his wages were late, when rent was due, when Mum fell ill. He wanted to recite everything hed done. But he realised that now, it would sound like paying for affection.
I came because Im hurting too, he said, voice low, after a pause. Im not made of stone. I found out from a strangerdo you know what thats like?
I do, she murmured. It hurt me too. I knew youd be angry. I havent slept for a week. Still, this felt the lesser evil.
Lesser evil, he echoed. So Im the evil.
She didnt reply at once.
Dad, she said finally, Im not looking for another fight. I just want to live without waiting for you to ruin my big day. Im not saying you do it on purpose. But you somehow do.
He turned to Oliver.
And what about you? Youve hardly said a word.
Oliver sighed. I dont want to get in the middle. But I saw how scared she was. She feared youd turn up and question everythingin front of everyone. My job, my parents, our flat. She thought itd haunt her for years.
And am I not allowed to ask? Victor felt his old resolve stir. Should I just be glad without knowing a thing?
You can ask, Oliver replied. Just not in a way that feels like an interrogation.
His daughter sat back down, resting her hands on the table.
You know what else you did? she asked.
Victor tensed.
When I told you two years ago that Oliver and I were together, you said he should come over for a chat. He did. You sat him down and asked him how much he earned, why he didnt have a car, why he rented. You were calmbut it was like he had to prove he was worthy of me.
I wanted to know what sort of man he was, Victor said.
You wanted to put him beneath you. And me too. If he wasnt good enough, then Id made a poor choiceso youd be right, once again.
He remembered that evening. He’d really thought it was carehis duty to check. At the time, it felt like protection.
I never, he began.
Dad, she cut him off, you always say I never meant to. But you do it. Then I have to live with it.
Victor felt his knee shaking. He clenched his hand to hide it.
So what now? he asked. Youve decided you dont need me?
I need youat a distance. I want you in my life, but not running it.
I dont run it, he said, but his certainty was already gone.
You do. Even now. You came, not to see how I am, but to put me in my place.
He wanted to protest, but knew there was truth in it. Hed come with arguments, as if to a meeting where he had to prove he was right. He hadnt come to wish her happiness. Hed come to claim his part.
I dont know any other way, he said quietly, surprising himself.
He was used to speaking with authority, like a boss on site.
His daughter studied him carefully.
There. Thats honest at least.
Silence settled again, but this time less angry, more weary.
Im not asking you to disappear, she continued. Just dont come round without being asked. Dont start investigations. Dont force a scene in public that cant be forgotten.
And if I want to see you?
Then ring. Arrange something. And if I say no, it means no, she said gently. Not because I dont love you. But because I feel safer that way.
The word safer hit harder than hurt. He realised, with a chill, that she was building her life not around his hopes, but around defences from him.
Oliver stood up.
Ill put the kettle on, he said, moving to the stove.
Victor watched, catching himself judging: how Oliver held the mug, opened a cupboard. The old analyst in him was hard to suppress.
Dad, his daughter said, I dont want you thinking youve been thrown out. But I also wont pretend nothings happened.
So what do you want? he asked.
She paused to think.
I want you to say you understand, she replied. Not I meant well. Just that you understand.
He stared at her, fighting new, uneasy feelings. To admit it would mean surrendering his footing. But hed already lost more.
I understand that he stumbled, that I may have made you ashamed. And youre afraid of that.
She didnt smile, but her shoulders finally relaxed, as if the blow had passed.
Yes, she said.
Oliver set the teapot on the table, laid out cups. Victor noticed the teapot was new, spotless. For the first time, he realised this house would always be different, and hed have to learn to be a guest.
I dont know how to go on now, he admitted.
Heres what well do, his daughter replied. Next week, well meet in townin a café. An hour. Just talk. Without Oliver, if thats easier. And without your checks.
And not at your place? he asked.
Not yet, she answered. I need time.
He wanted to object, but swallowed it. Instead, a mixture of bitterness and strange relief rose inside him: at least the rules were clear.
All right, he said. Café it is.
Oliver slid a cup towards him.
Sugar? he asked.
No, thanks, Victor replied.
He took a sip. The tea burned his tongue. He looked at his daughter, realising that yesterday could not be clawed back. He couldnt demand it, as if it were his right.
I still believe you oughtnt to have left me out, he said quietly.
And I still believe you cant humiliate someone, either, she replied, just as softly. We both believe something.
He nodded. This wasnt reconciliation. It was an acceptance: each of them had their truthhis was no longer the main one.
When it was time to leave, his daughter saw him to the door. In the hall, he put on his coat, adjusting the collar. He wanted to hug her but didnt dare.
Ill call you, he said.
Do, she replied. And Dad if you come by without an arrangement, I wont answer the door.
He looked at her. There was no threatjust weary calm.
I understand, he said.
In the lift, he stood alone, listening to the hum of the mechanism. Outside, he headed to the bus stop, hands thrust deep in his pockets. The envelope and apples were left behind, traces of his visit sitting on that unfamiliar kitchen table.
His journey home took ages: first the bus to the station, then the train. Out the window, those same garages and fences flickered by, only now in twilight. Staring at his own reflection, Victor pondered that the family hed built like a fortress was no fortress at all, but a set of separate rooms, each with its own key and lock. He didnt know if theyd ever let him past the threshold again. But he knew hed have to knock differently now.
