Uninvited
Victor Evans was standing by the postbox clutching a bag full of medication when his neighbour, Aunt Nora, stopped him with a knowing look.
Victor Evans, congratulations, she began, then hesitated as if checking whether he might bolt. Your daughtershes well, shes married now. Saw it yesterday. On the internet, you know, my nieces news feed.
He took a moment to process the words. Congratulations sounded misplaced, like someone else’s post. He nodded, managing a polite, distant smile.
What wedding? he asked. His tone came out flatpractically managerial.
Aunt Nora looked like she regretted starting the conversation.
Well registered it, they say. Photos… white dress and all. I thought youd know.
Victor made his way upstairs, put the bag on the kitchen counter, and stared at it without even taking off his coat. Some essential column was missing from the spreadsheet in his head: invitation. He wasnt expecting a grand do with ice sculptures and a string quartet. Just a phone call at least. Maybe even a text.
He scrolled through his daughters page on his phone. The photos were beautifully stagedalmost clinical, as if theyd photographed a tax audit. She in pale cream, a young man in a pressed suit beside her. The caption: Us. Comments everywhere: Wishing you happiness! Congratulations! Not a single mention of his name.
He finally shrugged off his coat, hung it on the back of a chair, and sat down. Inside, a sharp, awkward annoyance flared rather than sadness; hed been erased. Not consulted. Apparently not even worth an afterthought.
He dialed her number. It rang, and rang. Then a clipped Hello.
Whats all this? he asked. Youve gotten married?
Pause. He heard her breathing, bracing for impact.
Yes, Dad. Yesterday.
And you didnt say a word.
I knew youd react like this.
Like this? He started pacing. It isnt like this. Do you understand what this is like for me?
Im not discussing this on the phone.
How would you like to discuss it then? He raised his voice, just catching himself before shouting. Where are you?
She gave him the address. He didnt recognise it. That was insult number two inside a minute.
Ill come over, he said.
Dad, please dont
I will.
He hung up without saying goodbye, left standing there with his phone as evidence. Everything inside demanded restoring order. In his head, family was simple: you didnt hide the big things. You did what was proper. It was his gospel, as dependable as rubbish day.
He packed in a hurry, almost robotically. Tossed in a few appleshed picked them up in the morning from the market, before the chemistplus an envelope with some cash. Extracted from his emergency box in the wardrobe. He wasnt sure why the envelope. Maybe it made him look less like an uninvited ghost.
On the train, he stared out the window. Garages, chainlink fences, the odd horse chestnut going by. He saw it, but thought of something else.
He remembered the day she brought a boy home back in school, grinning as if bracing for battle. He hadnt shoutedjust said, Education first, silly things later. The boy left; she locked herself in her room. Hed knocked later to talk, but got Dont. He congratulated himself for being firm. A dad had to police the boundaries.
Then her leavers do. He collected her from the school gates, saw her chatting with friendsand some lad. He marched over and, without so much as a greeting, barked, Whos that? She flushed red. I said, who is it? Are you listening? The lad backed away. Her mates pretended to be glued to their phones. She was silent all evening. Victor thought he was just drawing the line.
And then her mum. That family gathering, years ago, when hed quipped, Mixed it up again, have you? Cant do anything properly. It wasnt out of cruelty, just sheer knackered frustrationa craving to keep things as they should be. His wife forced a smile, but he found her crying in the kitchen that night. Hed left her to it, convinced it was her own fault.
These scenes now bobbed up like old receipts from coat pockets. He tried to assemble them into something whole, but always came back to the fact: hed never hit, never drank, always worked, always paid, always rescued. He only meant well.
At her new block, he squinted at the intercom panel and buzzed the flat number. The door clicked open. The lift creaked up slowly enough for his palms to break out in a sweat.
His daughter answered, hair hurried into a band, shadows under her eyes. She was wearing her old jumper, nothing ceremonial. Hed pictured radianceshe just looked exhausted.
Hello, she said.
Hello, he replied, handing over the bag. Apples for you. And He lifted the envelope. This, too.
She took them without looking, as people accept things they cant just drop.
Two pairs of shoes in the hall: mens brogues, her trainers. Another blokes jacket hanging up. Victor catalogued the evidence by practiced habit.
Is he in? Victor asked.
In the kitchen. She gave him a lookboth a plea and a warning. Dad, lets keep it calm.
Calm sounded less like a suggestion, more a ceasefire.
In the kitchen sat a young man, close to thirty, drawn but self-possessed. He stood.
Good afternoon, he began. Im
I know who you are, Victor interrupted. Obviously a lie. He didnt even know his first name.
His daughter shot him a glancebrief, but barbed.
Im Simon, the man said, quite coolly. Nice to meet you.
Victor nodded, not shaking hands at first, then awkwardly offered his. A swift, limp handshake.
Well, congratulations then, Victor said, and the word congratulations landed as flat as a failed soufflé.
Thank you, his daughter replied.
Two mugs on the table, one still half full of cold coffee. Edges of paperwork, probably the registrars’, and a cake box with hardened slices. The post-wedding day had all the splendour of a Sunday clear-up.
Sit down, she said.
He sat, hands folded over his knees. How do you start with the main point and not come off pitiful?
Why? he finally managed. Why do I hear from a neighbour?
She turned to Simon, then back to her father.
Because I didnt want you there.
Id gathered that, he said. But why?
Simon nudged his mug aside, as if granting space for an inquest.
I can step out, Simon offered.
No, she replied. You live here. Its your home.
Victor felt a knife-twist at your home. Not his. He realised he wasnt a guest; he was trespassing.
Im not here for drama, he insisted. Im justwell, Im your dad. That has to count for something.
Dad, she interrupted, You always say, Im your dadand then comes the scroll of everything I owe you.
Owe you? He shot up an eyebrow. You think inviting your dad to your wedding is some sort of debt Im force-collecting?
I think youd turn the whole thing into a test. An inspection. And I just couldnt face it.
A test? Of what? He leaned in. Id simply have turned up.
She gave a dry smile, devoid of warmth.
Youd turn up and start scanning everyones clothes, every word said, every sideways glance from his family. Youd find something to pick at. Wed all hear about it for a year.
Thats not true, he said automatically.
Simon stifled a cough, but stayed silent.
Dad, she said, voice softening, You remember my leavers party?
Of course. I picked you up.
Do you remember what you said, in front of the lot of them?
He tensed. He remembered. Just didnt want to.
I asked who that boy was. And?
You asked like Id been caught pilfering. There I was, all dolled up in the dress Mum chose, happyand you killed it. I just wanted the floor to swallow me.
I wanted to know who you mixed with, he defended. Thats normal.
Whats normal is asking later. At home. Not making a scene.
He wanted to argue but noticed, suddenly, a new look in her face. Not a sulky teenan adult afraid theyd lose their footing, again.
So thats why you didnt invite me? he tried, groping for logic.
Not just that, she replied. Its every time.
She stood, filled the kettle, running the tap just a moment too long. The waters rush built a thick pause.
Do you remember what you said to Mum, at Aunt Sallys birthday? She kept her back to him.
He did. Tables, salads, the whole clan, his remark.
I said shed mixed things up, he offered, cautiously.
You said she was hopeless at everything. Everyone heard, his daughter corrected him. I was there. I was twenty-two. Thats when I realised that if I ever brought anyone to you or did anything important, you could pull that trick anytime. And you wouldnt even notice.
Victor felt a hot lump wedging in his throat. He wanted to say, I apologised, but he never did. He said Stop being dramatic. Said, Just being honest.
I never meant to belittle you, he mumbled.
She turned around. The tap still gushed.
But you did, she said. More than once.
Simon came over silently and switched off the tap, then returned to his seat. That small gesture said more than wordsat least someone here could put a stop to unnecessary noise.
You think Im a monster? Victor asked.
I think you dont know when to stop, she replied. Youre always solving, fixing, pushing. But when someones hurtyou dont see it, only that somethings wrong.
He wanted to reply, to list the times hed carried the family: the pay cuts, late rents, the time Mum was ill. He wanted to tally up his sacrifices, but suddenly, it seemed dangerously close to charging for affection.
I came because Im hurt, he admitted after a beat. Im not made of stone. I found out from someone else. Can you see what thats like?
I do, she whispered. It hurt me, too. I knew youd take it badly. I havent slept all week. But I had to choose the lesser evil.
Lesser evil, he repeated. So Im the evil.
She didnt answer right away.
Dad, she said at last, I dont want to fight you. I want to live without bracing myself for you to ruin my big day. Not on purpose. But you do know how.
He looked at Simon.
And you? Youve nothing to say?
Simon sighed.
I dont want to get in the middle, he said. But she was terrified youd turn up grilling everyone. About my job, my parents, our flat. And then rake it over for years.
So Im not allowed to ask questions? Victor felt his old stubbornness stirring. Im to just cheer in the dark?
You can ask, Simon replied. But not like its a police interview.
His daughter sat again, palms flat on the table.
Do you know what else you did? she asked.
Victor tensed.
When I told you about Simon two years ago, you summoned him for a chat. He came. You sat him in the kitchen and interrogated him about his wages, why he doesnt have a car, why we rent. You were calm, but it was like he had to beg for the right to exist near me.
I wanted to know what sort of person he was, Victor defended.
You wanted him to feel small, she corrected. And me too. Because if he wasnt good enough then, once again, Id chosen wrong. And youd be right.
He recalled the eveninghe really had asked those things. He called it protecting her. He thought it was his duty.
I didnt mean he started.
Dad, you always say you didnt mean, she cut in. But you do. And then I’m left cleaning up.
Victor noticed his leg shaking. He clenched his fists to hide it.
So what now? he said. You decided you dont need me?
I need youat a distance, she replied. I want you in my life. I just dont want you running it.
I dont run your life, he muttered weakly.
You do, she said firmly. Even now. You didnt come to see how I am. You came to put me in my place.
He wanted to disagree but knew she was right. Hed arrived armed with talking pointsa council meeting, not a catch-up. Not to give congratulations, but to reclaim his title.
I dont know any other way, he said, surprising himself with the honesty.
His daughter studied him, her expression softening.
There, she said. Thats honest.
A hush lingeredcharged less with anger than with the tired weight of truth.
Im not asking you to disappear, she continued. Just stop coming round unannounced, stop the showdowns, stop saying things in company that linger forever.
And if I want to see you? he asked.
Phone ahead. Arrange it. And if I say no, it means no, she said. Not because I dont love you. Because I feel safer that way.
The word safer hit harder than any complaint. He realised she was building her entire lifenot around pleasing him, but protecting herself from him.
Simon stood.
Ill put the kettle on, he said, and left for the hob.
Victor watched as he filled the kettle, reaching for the cupboard. Even now, he was assessing: how did Simon hold the mug, where did he keep the teabags? That urge to judge was as natural to him as breathing.
Dad, she said quietly, I dont want you to leave thinking youve been thrown out. But Im not pretending nothing happened.
What do you want? he asked.
She thought for a moment.
For you to say youve understood, she answered. Not I meant well. Just that you understand.
He studied her, feeling the old resistance keep fighting something uncomfortably new. To admit this was to forfeit his battlementsbut hed already lost much more.
I understand that that I could have made you feel ashamed. And that youre scared of it, he said, voice wobbling.
She didnt smile, but her shoulders lowered, as if she could finally breathe out.
Yes, she said.
Simon set the kettle and cups on the table. Victor noticed the kettle was new, no limescale. He thought, for the first time, that he’d have to get used to being a guest in their house, not the host.
I dont know what to do now, he admitted.
How about this, his daughter said. Next week, lets meet in town. Just for an hour in a café. Just you and me. No Simon, if thats easier. And no inspections.
What about here? he tried.
Not just yet, she replied. I need time.
He nearly protested, but held it back. Bitterness bubbled, but with it came a strange relief: the rules were finally spelled out.
All right, he said. Café it is.
Simon set a mug in front of him.
Sugar? Simon asked.
No, thank you, Victor replied.
He took a sip. The tea scalded his tongue. He looked at his daughter, realising yesterday was gone. Irretrievable, whatever his rights.
I still think its wrong, not inviting your father, he said quietly.
And I think its wrong to make people feel small, she matched him softly. Thats where were at.
He nodded. It wasnt reconciliation. More a recognition that his truth was no longer the prevailing one.
When he left, his daughter saw him to the door. In the hall, he shrugged on his coat and fiddled with the collar. He wanted to hug her, but didnt.
Ill ring you, he promised.
Do, Dadand if you turn up unannounced, I wont open the door.
He looked at her. There was no threatjust weary calm.
Understood, he said.
In the lift, he stood alone, listening to the hum of the gears. Out in the road, he made for the bus stop, hands deep in his pockets. The envelope and apples stayed on their kitchen tableevidence of his visit.
The journey home dragged: a bus ride to the station, then a train among the same garages and fences, but now in dusk. His reflection in the window looked like a stranger. The family hed built up as a fortress turned out to be separate rooms, each with its own door and lock. He didnt know if they’d ever open up to him beyond the hall again. But at least, this time, he knew how to knock.
