Grace Beneath the Frost

Chapter 4

4

Lauren did most of the cooking when she and Ben came over. Paul had protested at first, but she’d said that once she learned a new recipe, she wanted to use it. So he’d relented. Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to win that argument. He recognised Wendy’s recipe of fettuccine carbonara.

When Paul had driven over to collect Ben and Lauren, he’d intended to ask Wendy if she’d talk to him about Lauren’s eighteenth birthday celebrations, but somehow it seemed easier to come home and phone later. Wendy had never shown the slightest interest in seeing him. He hadn’t even caught a glimpse of her for over a year.

“Great dinner, Lauren,” he said after the meal. “C’mon Ben. Your sister cooked, so you and I are on dishes.”

“Do I have to?”

“I’d prefer to have self-washing dishes too, but that’s not how it works.” Paul gathered the plates as Lauren plopped onto the couch.

“Why doesn’t he get a dishwasher that works?” Ben muttered behind Paul.

After the dishwasher broke down, Paul had never bothered to replace it. In the kitchen, Paul turned on the hot water tap. A minute later, Ben dragged himself in and reluctantly armed himself with a tea towel. Phew. Looked like he’d won this round, but what was eating at Ben?

“Shall I make some popcorn to go with the movie?” Lauren said, coming into the kitchen.

“I’m full from your delicious meal, honey. Why don’t we make popcorn later? You sit down.”

“Sure. I’ll get the movie ready,” Lauren said.

Ben snorted. “Crawler,” he said under his breath.

Should Paul say something or not? Being an only child, he never knew what was considered a normal amount of bickering. Attending a British-style boarding school hadn’t helped.

“Your sister isn’t a crawler.”

Ben glowered and turned away.

What did a parent do in situations like this? Paul kept washing the plates. Help. He didn’t know who he was asking for help and didn’t expect to receive any. Was that why people became Christians? Because they needed help? If people didn’t have the answers, a divine answerer made sense. But it only made sense if God, or whatever divine power, knew about parenting and was wise, good, and willing to share. Paul wasn’t sure God existed, and if he did, was he good? The state of the world suggested he was a hands-off kind of being, perhaps even some sort of sadist.

“How was your week?” Paul asked.

“Okay, I guess.” Ben attacked the plate with a tea towel.

Paul wanted to tell him to be careful, but it wasn’t worth it. Ben was obviously looking for a fight, and Paul didn’t plan to give him a reason to start one.

Talking to Lauren used to be hard work until he’d begged Wendy for some hints about asking good questions. He tried again.

“What was the best thing about your week?”

Ben sighed as though he was faced with a major world crisis. “PE, I guess.”

Did Ben have any idea how lucky he was to have a father around at all? Back when Paul was at high school, he would have given anything to wash dishes and chat with his father.

Every birthday, Christmas, sports match, graduation, and especially his wedding, had made the hole grow deeper. To this day, Paul didn’t know how tall his father had been, his eye colour, or even his name.

Even when he’d heard his father was dead, the questions hadn’t been stilled. Since they’d never meet, the most precious gift in the world would have been a photo. One photo. Surely his mother had a single photo somewhere. Or could she have destroyed every bit of physical evidence that her husband had ever existed?

Even if conversation was hard work at the moment, Paul wasn’t giving up. “Is there any subject beside PE that you enjoy?”

“Not at the moment.” Ben grabbed the cutlery, drying it before shooting it into the drawer with a loud clatter.

Paul was tempted to add his own world-shattering sigh to the situation. He didn’t remember being this moody as a teen. He’d worked hard, and enjoyed most subjects. “What experiments have you been doing in science?”

Ben mentioned dissecting a frog and playing with dry ice. For the first time in ages, there was some animation in his voice.

Perhaps his usual indifference was just pretence, but how did a father go deeper with a soon-to-be sixteen-year-old son?

As Paul came through his front door, the red light on the phone in the entrance area flashed to let him know there was a message. He pushed the button and listened. It was from Rob, not only agreeing to meet but suggesting a time and a café near both of their workplaces.

Paul let out a gusty sigh. He hadn’t expected Rob to agree so readily. Now there were no excuses. He found a piece of paper and wrote down the details, then took another deep breath as he picked up the phone to call Wendy.

This call would be more than simply business, which was the only type of interaction they’d had for a good long time.

Once he’d identified himself, she greeted him in return. Even hearing her voice say his name made his heart race.

“Wendy, how’s work?”

“Fine, thank you.”

He hated the blandness of their conversation.

“You didn’t call me to talk about work,” she said.

“N-no.” Pull yourself together, Paul. “Did Lauren mention that we talked about her eighteenth?”

“She did.”

“I’d like to do something special, but she’s worried about things being awkward.”

“Yes, I can understand that.” Her voice was flat, emotionless.

He longed to elicit any measure of emotional reaction. “Have you got any suggestions?”

“An extended family dinner won’t be much fun.”

Paul appreciated that she didn’t come right out and say his mother was the main problem. One of his many regrets about their separation was no longer having a reason to see Wendy’s parents. They’d always treated him as an extra son.

“What if I took you and the kids out for something more classy?” he asked.

“Let me think about it, okay? Lauren might enjoy going somewhere special with you on your own.”

That would solve all Wendy’s problems. She could avoid Paul and avoid offending his mother, who oscillated between ignoring them and being highly offended if no one had been in touch.

“I’ll choose a restaurant that suits two or four,” Paul said.

“Can I let you know in a week?”

“That’ll be fine.”

After Wendy hung up, Paul cradled the phone in his hand. If he could rewind the last decade, he would. He’d been blind not to see how his desire to be the best cancer specialist possible had stolen too much time from his family. Since when had he needed to be the best instead of merely excellent? He sighed. Probably since kindergarten, when his mother had insisted he keep away from the other children because their parents weren’t what she considered suitable.