my inspiration

When I ask my Dad for advice even though he is no longer here: ‘should I do it Dad? leave my job to write books?’

‘So Dad, how old were you when you took that risk?’

’48’     my age

‘and the three of us were, what, all under the age of 10?’

‘well your sister was a teenager, but you and your brother would have been little yea’

I love how he says ‘yea’ – it’s breathed in instead of breathed out. It’s an Irish thing – all my relatives do it. How they annunciate an ‘h’ at the beginning of words with a sharp inhalation  – hwhat? hwhy? hyea…

‘weren’t you scared?’

 ‘aah sure not really, I couldn’t have kept going at the bank – I wasn’t treated well. I knew I could do more. Your mum was more anxious about it, but I knew it would all work out. I mean – what’s the worst that could happen…?’

 pause – he’s very comfortable with silence.

 ‘…more tea?’

 ‘that’d be grand, aye’     

of course he’ll have more tea, he’s never said no to a cup of tea my whole life

‘so how did it feel?’

‘hwhat, walking out of the bank…? haha, just great’

the soft chuckle, the wry smile – I miss that so much

‘no regrets then?!’

‘there’s no point in regrets – they don’t serve anything’

that gentle twinkle in his eye reminding me nothing can go wrong when he’s here

‘so what do you reckon – do I take the leap? Do I walk away from my crappy boss and my career of 20 years and give this a punt? Can you imagine little me being an author??!?!’

‘well jeez you’re so damned persistent I reckon you’ll make it happen – whatever you turn yer hand to…’

‘you really think so?’

smiles, drinks his tea when it’s still nuclear – how does he do that?

pause

‘mum showed me some newspaper clippings last week – she’s in her 2^nd house now since you’ve been gone, I think she’s really happy – well as happy as she can be without you. The paper cutting said your business was the most successful distributor of Irish music in the UK in the 1980s!! Why didn’t I ever know that? Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘aah well….what’s to tell’.

I remember the distribution warehouse in Kilburn High Road; cold, wall to wall LPs, shrouded in cigarette smoke cut through with constant chat as deals were made and partnerships forged.  Spiders in the bathroom out back and a broken loo seat. Terrifying for a child, but it never felt like that because dad was in the next room. There was a £1 note pinned to the wall for posterity. It felt safe. It felt like home.

‘she’s doing well you know… you’d be proud of her.’

‘aye’

he looks sad – he loved her so. We had all just celebrated their 50^th wedding anniversary – 6 weeks later he went to sleep beside her and never woke up again.

‘I’m collecting memories from mum – stories of your lives, I want to get it published. I wish you were here to tell me your stories in person. I wish that more that I can say’.

‘speak to your Uncle Tom – he’ll know. Ya have any biscuits to go with the tea?’

as if I’d serve you tea without biscuits.

‘So what do I do, Dad, if it doesn’t work out? What if I get it all wrong?’

‘well as I’ve always said, when the difficult times comes, you just wait ten minutes and then they’ll pass. And if they don’t, just wait 10 minutes more.’