Without an Invitation
John Hargreaves was clutching a paper bag of medicine when his neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins from the flat opposite, stopped him by the mailboxes.
Mr. Hargreaves, congratulations are in order. Your daughter She hesitated as if searching for the right to go on. Shes married. Yesterday. I saw it onlinein my nieces feed.
He didnt immediately grasp what didnt add up. Congratulations sounded like a word for someone else, not for him. He nodded, as if shed mentioned a distant acquaintance.
What wedding? he asked, his voice coming out even, almost businesslike.
Mrs. Wilkins immediately regretted speaking.
Well signed the register, so they said. There were photographs a white dress. I thought you knew.
John Hargreaves climbed the stairs to his flat, set the paper bag on the kitchen table and stared at it for a long while, not even taking off his overcoat. In his mind, as if in an old ledger, a line was missing: invitation. He wasnt expecting a grand feast for two hundred; he had expected at least a call. A message, at the very least.
He took out his phone and found his daughters page. The photographs were neat, unfussyas if it was a report, not a celebration. She in pale, beside a young man in a dark suit, the caption simply: Us. Comments: Wishing you joy, Congratulations. His name nowhere.
John sat down, slipped off his coat and hung it over the back of a chair. In his chest rose not grief but a sharp, shameful anger; he had been left out. Not asked. Not thought necessary.
He dialled her number. The line rang a long while. Then a short Hello.
Whats going on? he asked. Youve got married?
A pause followed. He heard her exhale, like someone bracing themselves for a blow.
Yes, Dad. Yesterday.
And you didnt tell me.
I knew youd respond like this.
Respond like what? He got to his feet, crossing the kitchen. This isnt about my responseIts Do you understand how this looks?
I dont want to discuss this on the phone.
How would you rather? He almost shouted, but caught himself. Where are you, anyway?
She named an address. Hed never heard of it. That was the second humiliation in as many minutes.
Im coming over, he said.
Dad, please
I need to.
He hung up, not saying goodbye. Then, phone still in hand, he stood as if holding evidence. Inside, everything demanded things be put right. In his world, order was simple: family meant not hiding what mattered. Doing things as they should be. Hed clung to that idea his whole life, like a handrail.
He got ready quickly, almost mechanically. In his bag he placed apples hed bought that morning at the market, before the chemist, and an envelope with money. Hed taken the money from a box in the wardrobeemergency savings. He wasnt even sure why he brought the envelope. Perhaps not to arrive empty-handed. To try to reclaim his role, any way he could.
On the train, he sat by the window. Fields, garages, industrial yards and sparse trees slipped by. He watched them but his mind drifted elsewhere.
He recalled her at sixteen, arriving home from school with a boy, smiling too widely, as if already defending herself. John hadnt raised his voice then. Simply said, Focus on your studies first, leave the silly business for later. The boy left. She locked herself in her room. An hour later he knocked, wanting to talk, but she answered, No need. He believed hed done right. A parents duty is to hold the line.
Then her school leavers ball. Hed come to collect her, found her outside with friendsand a boy. Hed strode straight over, ignoring greetings, and demanded, And whos this? She went scarlet. He said louder than he meant, Im askingwhos this? Dyou hear me? The boy backed away, friends pretended to check their phones. She was silent the entire ride home. John insisted he was drawing boundaries, as any father should.
And he remembered her mother. How, at a family party, hed said in front of everyone, Youve mixed it all up again, as usual. Cant you do anything properly? Not out of cruelty, but because he was tired of bearing all the load, desperate for things to be done right. Her mother had forced an awkward smile, and wept alone in the kitchen that night. Hed seen it, and hadnt gone after her; he told himself it was her own fault.
Now, these memories surfaced, like old receipts you never threw away. He tried to fit them into a single picture but clung firmly to, I never beat them, never drank, always worked hard, kept us afloat. Hed always meant well.
Standing outside the new building, John paused to consult the intercom, pressed the buzzer. The door clicked open. In the lift, his palms began to sweat.
His daughter answered the door. Her hair was caught up hastily, dark circles under her eyes. She wore an ordinary jumper, not finery. He expected radiance, and saw only tired uncertainty.
Hello, she said quietly.
Hello, he answered, proffering the bag. Some apples. And he raised the envelope, this is for you both.
She took them, not really looking, as if they were things she couldnt bring herself to drop.
In the hallway, two pairs of shoes sat on the mat: mens boots and her trainers. A strangers jacket hung on a hook. John clocked all these things unconsciously, the habit of noting other peoples spaces.
Is he home? he asked.
In the kitchen, she replied. Dad, can we keep this calm, please.
Calm sounded both like a request and a warning.
In the kitchen sat a young man, thirty or thereabouts. His face looked drawn, self-possessed. He stood as John entered.
Hello, sir. Im
I know who you are, John interrupted, immediately realising he didnt. Not even his name.
His daughter flashed him a warning look.
My names Michael, said the young man, evenly. Pleased to meet you.
John nodded, not offering his hand at first. Then he did. The handshake was brief and formal.
Well, then. Congratulations, John managed, and again, congratulations sounded foreign in his mouth.
Thank you, said his daughter.
On the table were two mugsone still half-full with cold tea. Some paperwork lay nearby, perhaps from the registry, and a cake box with slices gone stale at the corners. The day after the wedding looked less celebration and more aftermath.
Take a seat, his daughter said.
He complied, resting his hands on his knees. He wanted to start with the main thing, but couldnt find words that didnt sound pathetic.
Why? he asked at last. Why did I have to find out from the neighbour?
His daughter looked to Michael, then back to her father.
Because I didnt want you there.
Well, I gathered that, John replied. Id like to know why.
Michael gently slid his mug to one side, clearing space as if for the discussion to unfold.
I can leave, if you prefer, Michael offered.
No need, she replied. You live here now. Its your home too.
Something pricked Johnyour home. Not his. He realised, suddenly, that he wasnt really a guest; hed wandered onto someone elses ground.
I didnt come to create a scene, he managed. I just Im your father. Isnt that?
Dad she interrupted, you always begin with Im your father. Then comes the list of things Ive got to do.
Must? His eyebrows rose. Is inviting your father to your wedding just another duty, one I have to demand?
I think youd have turned it into an inspection. An exam. And I couldnt face that.
Inspection of what? He leaned forward. Id have only come
She gave a bitter, mirthless smile. Youd come, looking everyone up and down, finding fault with someones outfit or the way they spoke; how his relatives looked at you. Thered be something, always. Then youd dwell on it for a year.
Thats not true, he replied, automatically.
Michael cleared his throat but didnt add anything.
Dad, she said, her voice now lower, do you remember my Leavers Ball?
Of course, he said. I picked you up.
Do you remember what you said, in front of everyone?
He stiffened. He remembered, but did not want to.
I asked who that boy was. So what?
You asked as if I were a thief, she told him. I was in the dress Mum and I picked out. I was happy. Then you arrived and made me want to vanish.
I wanted to know who you were seeing. Thats normal.
Its fine to ask. Later. At home. Not in public.
He wanted to protest, but now saw something different in her face. Not a teenagers sulk, but the fear of an adult, who knows just how quickly ground can be lost.
And so its all because of that Ball? You didnt invite me because of that? He tried to frame it logically.
Not just because of the Ball, she said. Because its always like that with you.
She got up, crossed to the sink, let the tap run, as if needing something to do. The water rushed, making the pause grow dense.
Do you remember how you spoke to Mum at Aunt Marions birthday? she asked, facing away.
He remembered. He remembered the dining room, the salads, the relatives, and how hed said what he did. Hed felt justified.
I told her shed got things mixed up, he answered, carefully.
You said she never did anything right, his daughter corrected. And everyone heard. I was twenty-two. I realised thenif I ever brought someone to you, did something important in front of you, you could do the same at any moment, and not even notice.
John felt something burning in his throat. He almost said, But I apologised after. But he hadnt. Hed said, Dont be so dramatic. I was only being honest.
I never meant to humiliate her, he said.
She turned towards him. The water still flowed, the tap left open.
But you did, she replied. Not just once.
Michael rose, quietly closed the tap, then sat again. The small act struck John: here, even noise was gently managed.
You think Im some sort of monster, sighed John.
I think you dont know how to stop, said his daughter. You work hard, you sort things out, you press and press. But when theres another person, someone with feelings, you dont seem to notice the painjust whether its not right.
He wanted to say: without my right youd never have got by. He wanted to list the bills paid, the rent met, the way hed kept things ticking through sickness and late wages. But he realised just in timelisting these things now would sound like sending in an invoice for love.
I came because Im hurting, he said at last. Im not made of stone. Learning about this from a strangeryou cant know how
I do know, she replied gently. It hurt me, too. I knew youd be hurt. I didnt sleep properly for a week. But I chose the lesser evil.
The lesser evil, he echoed. Thats me, then. The evil.
She didnt answer at once.
Dad, she spoke softly, I dont want to fight you. I want to live my life, not wait for you to ruin my important day. Im not saying youd do it on purpose, just it always happens.
He turned to Michael.
And younothing to say?
Michael sighed. I dont want to get in the middle. But I saw how afraid she was. She thought youd come and start questioning me, in front of everyone. My job, my parents, my flat. Then wed all be talking about it for years.
And what, am I not allowed to ask? John felt the urge to brace himself return. Should I just clap along, knowing nothing?
You can ask, Michael replied. But not so it feels like an interrogation.
His daughter returned to the table, laying her hands flat.
You know what else you did? she asked.
John tensed.
When I told you two years ago about Michael, you asked him to pop by for a chat. He did. You sat him down in our kitchen, and started asking about his money, about not having a car, about renting. You acted like he had to prove himself to be with me.
I wanted to know what sort he was, John replied.
You wanted to make him feel small, she said. And me, too. Because if he wasnt good enough, that proved Id chosen wrong againand youd be right.
He recalled that eveninghe really had grilled him. Hed thought it caring, necessary. His duty to check her choices. It had felt, at the time, like protection.
I didnt mean he began.
Dad, she cut in, you always say I didnt mean to. But you still do it. And Im the one left living with whats done.
John realised his knee was trembling; he gripped his fingers together to hide it.
So, what now? he asked. Youve decided you dont need me anymore?
Ive decided I need youfrom a distance, she replied. I want you in my life, yes. But not steering it.
Im not steering, he said, but with no conviction.
You are. Even now. Youve come here not to see how I am, but to put me in my place.
He wanted to protest, but sensed the truth. Hed come prepared with points, like to a meeting where he must prove himself right. He hadnt come to give congratulations. Only to reclaim his former role.
I dont know how to do it any different, he admitted softly, surprising himself. Hed always spoken in commandlike a foreman.
She studied him more closely.
There, she said, at least thats honest.
Another pause, not as heavy as before, more tired.
Im not asking you to vanish, she continued. Just dont come uninvited. No interrogations. Dont say things in front of others that cant be forgotten.
And if I want to see you? he asked.
Call, make plans. And if I say no, it means no, she said. Not because I dont love you. Because its safer for me.
The word safer stung sharper than offended. He understood nowshe was building her life not around his wants, but around shelter from him.
Michael got up. Ill put the kettle on, he said, moving to the hob.
John found himself observing: how he held the cup, opened the cupboard. The habit of assessing was ingrained in him.
Dad, his daughter said, I dont want you to leave feeling thrown out. But I wont pretend nothing has happened.
So what do you want? he asked.
She considered. I want you to say you understand, she answered. Not that you meant wellthat you understand.
He looked at her, feeling inner resistance stirring against something new and unpleasant. Admitting fault meant losing ground. Yet hed already lost more than hed ever imagined.
I understand that he faltered, that I could make you feel ashamed. And thats what youre afraid of.
She didnt smile, but her shoulders lowered a little, as if a weight had been set down.
Yes, she said quietly.
Michael set the teapot and mugs on the table. John noticed the teapot was newno stains. It dawned on him: in this house, everything would run differently. Hed have to learn how to be a guest.
Im not sure how to go forward now, he said.
Lets do this, his daughter replied. Next week, well meet in town, at a café. For an hour. Just talk. Without Michael, if thats easier. And no more interrogations.
And to your place? he asked.
Not yet, she replied. I need time.
He wanted to object, but held back. Bitterness welled up inside him, mixed with an odd relief: the rules were finally said out loud.
All right, he agreed. The café it is.
Michael set a cup in front of him.
Sugar? he asked.
No, thanks, said John.
He took a sip; the tea was hot, burning his tongue. He looked at his daughter, knowing he could never reclaim yesterday. Couldnt demand it simply because he was owed.
I still think it wasnt right, he said quietly. Not inviting your father.
And I think humiliating people isnt right, she replied just as softly. We both have our truths.
He nodded. It wasnt reconciliation. Just the admission that everyone had their own truthand his wasnt the only one anymore.
When he left, his daughter saw him to the door. In the hallway, he put on his coat, straightened the collar. He wanted to hug her, but didnt dare.
Ill ring you, he said.
Do, she answered. And Dadif you come without checking, I shant answer the door.
He looked at her. There was no threat in her voice, only exhausted calm.
Understood, he said.
In the lift he stood alone, listening to the old machinery hum. Out in the street, walking to the bus stop, hands deep in his pockets, he realised hed left the money and the apples behind, their traces left in someone elses kitchen.
The journey home was slow: bus to the station, train back toward his end of town. The same garages and fences flickered past the window, this time under dusk. Looking at his reflection, John thought of the family hed tried to build as a fortressand saw now it was nothing of the sort. Only rooms, each with its own door and lock. He didnt know if hed ever get past the hall again. But he understoodhed have to knock differently, now.
