Dear Fatty (40 page)

Authors: Dawn French

BOOK: Dear Fatty

6.81Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

It feels difficult to finish these letters. Even the simple act of writing ‘Dear Dad’ at the start of a letter has been comforting and has given me a closeness to you I have missed so much. Dad. It’s such a short, dapper word. Just like you. The palindromic perfectness of it is beautiful. Dad. A little word that contains a whole world of meaning. Like ‘Mum’. I use that word often, I use it on the phone to her, I call it out when I’m with her, I use it to check if she wants a coffee, or to see how her day is. I use it to write in my diary about her, or to include her in a list of things to do, or an invite, or on a note that goes with flowers, or a card at Christmas or on her birthday. Or for a thousand reasons. I’ve written that word ‘Mum’ so often. But I haven’t written ‘Dad’, I don’t think, for about 30 years when it’s directly to you. I write it now – ‘Dad’. There, with such tenderness. It’s
a
treat to write it, an excellence. I want to keep on writing it, ‘Dad Dad Dad’. It’s like a jewel, a precious thing. I don’t want it to stop ...

But it must. It must stop because it’s time to properly say goodbye, isn’t it? After your funeral, when I was 19, I stood on the shoreline at Rock, feeling entirely bereft without you, feeling that you were gone with the waves sinking back into the ocean. Writing these letters to you has helped me to wade out a little way, and dive in. That’s all I needed, to swim about and play for a while. To connect with you and feel your nearness again. I’m surprised how easy it is to do. I didn’t know how near you are. You are close by, aren’t you?

About five years ago I went to Skibo Castle and one evening a medium from the Black Isle came to tell us our fortunes and read our tarot cards. It was all for fun, a light hearted distraction. I went in, a little worse (or maybe better) for whisky and sat down. She was quiet, and then she looked at me and said, ‘Oh, I see your dad is with you!’ This shocked me. Just for her to say such a thing shocked me. ‘Yes, there he is, standing right behind you with his hand on your shoulder. I hope you’re not offended by this but he’s calling you “Dumpling” and “Moo”.’ I had to leave. I wasn’t offended, I was heart-thuddingly touched. How did she know? Was this trickery? I went for a walk outside and sat on a bench in the clear moonlight. I don’t know if you, or some form of you, was there, I don’t really hold with ‘all that’ ordinarily. Actually, it doesn’t really matter what she said or saw, her words to me transcended the rational. What mattered that night, as it has mattered to me through this whole book, is that we are always connected, you and I. Always. It’s the memory of
you
and the love you gave me that remain. Death is merely the horizon, the love is eternal. Undoubtedly.

There’s an astronomical term, ‘syzygy’. It means the alignment of celestial bodies in the same gravitational system along a straight line. The celestial bodies are actually stars and planets and stuff, I think, and apparently it’s rare when it happens. That’s how I think of what has happened between you and me in this book. For a brief, excellent moment, we have aligned in the same gravitational pull, and we’ve been together. But now it’s time to go about the rest of my life. I don’t know what you’ll do. I like to imagine you in a sort of five star dead men’s dorm with Eric Morecambe and Elvis and Kenneth Williams and Tommy Cooper for company. For God’s sake, don’t let Bernard Manning in if he comes a-knockin’!

As for me, I pootle on, with you in my heart for warmth and fortitude, and I do all I can to have a good life. And it is a good life … with knobs on. And then some … Some more knobs!

Chio then, Dad.

Dear Fatty,

QUICKLY NOW, I
need to tell you about a phone call I just had with an actor friend of mine who works in LA. I wouldn’t work in LA, would you? I don’t think I could be bothered any more to pack everything up to move there, to be honest. And what about my geraniums? They’re just starting to take, so I wouldn’t want to abandon them for a life of glitter and gloss and enormous wealth beyond my wildest dreams. Would you? Besides which, frankly, no one’s asked.

Anyway, anyway, anyway, my friend – it doesn’t matter what his name is, you don’t know him – was hanging around with a load of old
Star Trek
actors and found out something he couldn’t wait to tell me, something really shocking, something I need to impart to you immediately. Get this. Why do you think Lieutenant Uhura smelt so strange? Because William Shatner … The dirty dog. Can you believe that?

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

So many huge thanks to the following, they know why.

Len and Billie, big love

Sue Hunter for everything

Hannah Black for everything else

Abi Wilson for all the other stuff

Maureen Vincent, Chris, Ruth, Robert and all at United Agents

Mr Finkle

All the Frenchies

All the O’Briens (especially Keej and Ellie)

Brian Nicholson

Ray Faulkner