The Sacrificial Man by Ruth Dugdall Read Free Book Online Page A

meals on a tray in the front room, watching TV. After Mum cleared my plate away, I left the kitchen and went in to him. As I opened the door he looked up, a piece of greasy beef on his fork and a drop of gravy fell onto his shirt. I was glad I didn’t eat meat. Sights like this had turned me vegetarian long before I developed a moral conscience.
     
“Alright, love? What’s up?”
He assumed that I was there for a reason and I wondered if there had ever been a time when I’d have joined him just for his company, if it had ever been that easy between us. I doubted it.
He watched me as I seated myself in the chair across from his own, the beef still dangling in mid-air. On the TV men in crash helmets and fast cars swooped around a track, the room filled with the whine of revving exhausts.
My mouth was full of gravel. I didn’t know where to begin.
Facts don’t change. What does alter is your perspective on them. What Smith and I were planning would sound, to others, bizarre, brutal. Even murderous. But I needed to portray it for what it was, not how others would interpret it. It was an act of love. Not that I was going to tell Dad that I would help Smith to die, of course. That would be going too far. But I needed to prepare him, somehow.
We both watched the cars screaming around the track, until I sensed Dad’s eyes on me. He swallowed his last mouthful and, clattering his knife and fork on the plate indicating his meal was done, placed the tray on the floor for Mum to collect later, and swallowed again. “Is everything alright at work, Alice?”
Work? It was so many miles from my thoughts that the word jolted me. “Fine. Why do you ask?”
“You just seem a bit distracted.” He was looking back at the screen, but he fingered the remote control, nudging down the volume a tad.
“I guess I am. But not about work. I’ve met someone.”
“Oh. A man?”
Well what did he think? “Yes, Dad. A man.”
He made a sound as if the beef was still caught in his throat. “Serious, is it?” He was staring at the screen as if that would answer him and I wanted to grab the control and throw it at his head.
“Yes, Dad, I think so. He’s very special.”
“Blimey! Will you look at that… ” A red Ferrari had crashed into a crowd barrier, sending spectators dashing for safety.
“The thing is, it’s not like a normal relationship. We don’t plan for the future… Marriage, children, it’s not like that… ”
The driver was being dragged from his smashed-up car, a hand to his crash helmet, as if that was what hurt. Dad looked away from the injured man. “Don’t you want kids, then? Does your mother know?”
“It’s not that I don’t want children, but we don’t have the luxury of time. You see, he’s dying… ”
“Dying!” His jaw dropped, exposing his stained lower teeth. Then his eyes widened, “He’s not got AIDS, has he?”
“No, Dad. God, you always think of things like that.”
“Well, how do you know these days? They don’t wear a sign, you know.”
“It’s not AIDS. But it is terminal.” I watched him cave back into his worn armchair, a pained look on his face as if it was him that had crashed through the barrier.
“Well, that’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? Finally meeting a bloke and he’s sick. Cancer, is it?”
I hadn’t mentioned a specific disease but I didn’t contradict him. It was easier for him to assume illness. It would make death more acceptable.
“Will we get to meet him?”
I shook my head. “I think it’s best you don’t. Under the circumstances.”
“No point, I suppose. Well, it’s a shame, but there’s plenty more fish in the sea, love. I’m sorry, though. You’ve never had any luck when it came to blokes, have you?” He pressed the remote control, drowning out his own words.
We watched as the injured driver was strapped to a stretcher by paramedics, and managed to give the camera a thumbs up. “He was lucky,” said Dad.
Mum had finished washing up and was