pastries from a charcuterie that he passed on the way to the hospital from his hotel. We share them as he tells me how excited my sisters are to be coming to visit at the end of October. My stepmother’s already booked the Eurostar tickets. ‘They miss you, you know, Harriet. They’re looking forward to spending some time with you. We all are.’
He takes my hand in his and holds it tightly. ‘I owe you an apology,’ he says.
‘What for?’ I ask, genuinely taken aback.
‘For not handling anything very well when you most needed me to. I’m so sorry, I could see how badly you were grieving when Felicity . . . well, when she died. I was so consumed by my own sense of guilt, of having failed you, that I just couldn’t find the words that needed to be said to help you get through it. I should have reassured you, kept you with us instead of sending you away to boarding school. I thought it was the right thing to do at the time, giving you your space, not forcing a new family and a new home on you. But now I think it was probably the last thing you needed. We should have stuck together and muddled through. Worked things out a bit better. I should have been there for you.’
I give his hand a squeeze. ‘It’s okay, Dad. I think we were all trying to make the best of a horrific situation. I know you wanted what was best for me – I just don’t think any of us knew what that was, though. I can see, now, how hard it was for you as well. For all of us. But we’ve come through it. Older and wiser, eh? And I think we’re all ready for a new beginning.’
I can see now, with the benefit of hindsight and a large pinch of perspective, that it really was tough for him as well as for me. It must have been hard for my stepmother, too, but now I realise how hard she tried to care for me and to make me a part of the new family into which I’d been catapulted.
Dad gently touches the charms on the bracelet around my wrist. ‘Felicity always loved that bracelet, wore it all the time. It was her link to her own mother. It’s good to see you wearing it too. She would have been happy to know you’ve carried on the tradition.’
Then his eyes fill with tears and I pull him closer so that we can hug each other. He strokes my hair, like he used to do when I was a little girl and, through his tears, he smiles. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose you, you know, Harriet. It would have been too much. I love you and I’m so proud that you’re my daughter.’
After he’s gone, I reflect on what I’ve learnt about the paradox of love: when the price of losing it is too high a risk to take, we draw back and protect ourselves from that loss, even though that means we stop ourselves from loving wholeheartedly. After Mum died, I think Dad and I were protecting ourselves from ever feeling that way again. But maybe now, at last, we can both put the burden of our grief aside and walk on, together. Bringing comfort to one another.
The father and daughter who were left behind.
Harriet
Staying in south-west France with Simone’s family is like being swept into a fast-flowing river of noise and love and laughter. Her parents envelop me in hugs that last almost as long as those they bestow on their daughter. Her mother, Josiane, weeps tears of joy and relief over us both and thanks me over and over again for saving Simone’s life. Her father, Florian, is a man of few words, a stonemason like his father before him, who works in the family firm with his three brothers. But he, too, enfolds me in a bear-hug which speaks volumes and leaves me gasping for breath.
Simone’s older sisters are a little shy at first, but quickly relax over the supper that gathers us all around a long table outside under an arched trellis hung with jasmine and fairy lights. At first the evening is filled with laughter and chatter as the family catches up with local news. Later, though, we talk more sombrely about the accident and how lucky we both were.