FAIR COMMENT?

Do I know you Mr Adams? Are you, perchance, a friend of my father’s? You share the same abrasive, not to say coarse mode of delivery. I remember him speaking of a chap he met whilst working on the trawlers (gathering material for a novel). According to my father, he befriended this person (it was his first time at sea), took him under his wing, showed him the ropes (and how to tie them!). Then the ungrateful bounder jumped ship in Aberdeen. That was the last father saw of the man – and his best reefer jacket.
But, like so many of my father’s stories, it could be a complete fabrication.

But enough of this idle speculation – I have my own story to tell.

I asked father was it true that he had given power of attorney to Anastasia – our ex au pair. It was, he said, and what of it?
I replied that I thought it a bit thick to do such a thing when he had his own flesh and blood on hand to carry out such duties.
He laughed; that dry, bitter laugh I remember so well.
‘If you mean the lesbian’ He almost spat out the word. ‘You know what she can do!’
I did not care to consider the possibilities. Instead, I said ‘Father, you can be so obtuse at times. I said flesh and blood. I was speaking of myself: your son, and heir’ I raised my voice slightly at the end of the sentence; a somewhat irritating habit I picked up from an Australian. It makes a statement sound like it might be a question. I wished I hadn’t.

Father doubled up. I thought it was an attack of stomach cramps, perhaps brought on by the insulin shock treatment. But no, he was wracked with mirth. It was minutes before he could speak.
‘You? You? You are joking? Tell me you are joking.’
I must admit that I was taken aback by his reaction, and for a moment was rendered speechless.
‘Well, I am your son – you’re only child.’ I retorted, indignantly.

This information seemed to bring him to his senses. At least he stopped laughing.
‘Sydney, that is something I have never been really sure of. I wanted to have a DNA test done when you were six months old, but I didn’t have the money. And then, as you grew up, well, I suppose I bonded with you. And when your dear mother left us…’ He rolled his eyes skywards, and I felt bound to point out that my natural mother was not dead but living in Brighton with an amusement- arcade proprietor.
‘Do not mention that man’s name in my presence.’ He shouted.
‘But father, I don’t know his name, you would never tell me.’

Silence. He stared at the floor.

Suddenly, he looked up, and gave me a crafty smile. ‘Besides, you’re not my only son and heir’.
‘What do you mean?’ I was bemused.
‘You may be my only son but you’re not my only heir.’
‘Father, please explain yourself.’ Now I was truly alarmed.
‘Sydney, you have a little sister.’
‘WHAT!’
‘Well, technically a half-sister: Georgette. She’s the image of her dad.’
I was stunned.
‘Aren’t you happy for me?’
Words failed me.
‘Don’t just sit there with your mouth open – say something.’ he prompted.
I heard a voice – it surely wasn’t mine? - ‘Father, what the fuck have you done now!’