No Father for Mary

Author's notes: I am Australian and American readers will probably realise that our spelling follows the British model. I hope this does not prove too much of a distraction. I've also taken some liberties with the legal system, but hey, this is fiction!

I realized mum and dad argued a lot by the time I turned fourteen but I was devastated and wholly unprepared by dad's sudden disappearance.

You see, I was always a daddy's girl. While mum tolerated me and there was no animosity between us, it was dad who always took me to netball training, it was dad who always accompanied me to our school's parent-teacher evenings and it was even dad who first told me about the birds and the bees -- an hilarious conversation in hindsight because playground chatter and school health ed lessons covered the subject many months earlier.

We lived in a large country town, where dad ran a small specialized distribution business. He owned a storage shed on the outskirts of town and delivered drums of various pesticides and agricultural chemicals to retail outlets, both in town and in surrounding areas. He travelled the district in his 3-ton truck and when servicing the outer reaches of his area, was often away for several days.

A stay-at-home mother until I started school, mum took up a job as a shop assistant in a local liquor store, working only while I was in school. I enjoyed a happy childhood, loved and spoiled by both my parents. I loved sport and dad was always on hand to support me in my endeavours.

Our troubles began when mum was offered a job as a bar attendant in one of the local hotels. Dad was against the move because it involved evening work, pointing out that I would be left to my own devices for many hours of the day when he was doing his out of town runs. Even when he was working locally he usually arrived home late each afternoon so mum would be starting work just as he finished.

Mum's argument won the day. She pointed out that she would be home when I came home from school and would also be earning significantly more, even before taking tips into account.

The new arrangement was not ideal and I was sad for my father, who was seeing less and less of mum. The hotel closed at ten o'clock but clean up took another hour so she arrived home just before midnight. By that time dad was sound asleep and so the only quality time they spent together was on Sundays, when the hotel was closed and Monday evenings, which was mum's day off.

Initially the new arrangement worked surprisingly well. Mum was happy in her new job. She's a natural with people, an easy conversationalist and a near perfect fit for her role behind the bar. Dad became progressively more miserable. The less he saw of his wife, the more he turned to me for company. I loved my dad unconditionally and it hurt me to see him pining.

Inevitably the tension at home led to arguments. Dad begged mum to give up her bar work, pointing out that the family did not need the extra income and if she needed an outlet, she could return to a general retail environment. Mum was adamant though. She enjoyed her work. She said she was "making a difference" in the community and at the same time, contributing to our household finances.

Several months later, mum came home well after her usual time. I awoke when I heard the door of her car close and was a little surprised when moments later, I heard her in the shower. Usually she went straight to the bedroom to join my father. Nothing was said the following day and life continued, with the stress escalating with every passing day.

One day when dad was feeling really downcast, he confided in me that he was reaching the end of his patience with mum. She was coming home later and later each night and their life together was non-existent. Even their daily conversation over the breakfast table had dwindled to nothing because mum rarely woke before midday.

And then dad was gone.

He left home as usual, driving me to school on his way to the warehouse, kissed me on the cheek as I headed off and failed to arrive at home that evening. I remember it clearly. It was a Monday -- mum's day of rest. She argued loudly with dad in their bedroom before breakfast and though obviously upset when he drove me to school he refused to talk about it.

When I asked mum what time she expected dad home, she shrugged it off.

"How would I know? He never talks to me any more."

I immediately jumped to his defence. "Mum you're never home. Poor dad has tried so hard to talk to you but by the time you get home, he's sound asleep and lately you're still sleeping when he leaves for work. Even on Sundays you've been sleeping in so dad has to take me to netball. Did you know he also takes me to netball practice twice a week while you're at work? I guess you wouldn't know that because you're never here."

With all the drama a fourteen-year-old could muster, I stormed to my bedroom, slamming the door to emphasize the point.

A week went by with no sign of my father and I was becoming frantic. Mum refused to give me any information, insisting she had "no idea" about his whereabouts, but I was convinced that she knew a lot that she was not prepared to share with me. Finally I jumped on my bicycle after school and rode to dad's warehouse.

A signwriter was working on a scaffold above the warehouse door. He had already painted over the existing logo and was in the process of outlining his new signage.

"What are you doing?" I asked the guy. "Is my dad changing the name on the wall?"

"Nah. He sold up and the new owners are changing the name."

"WHAT?"

"Fire sale from what I heard. Sold it for a song. Hang on, if you're his daughter, how come you didn't know?"

"I haven't seen him for a week," I sobbed. "I came over here to talk to him."

The painter climbed down from his scaffold and wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders.

"Look love, I don't know too much about what happened, but the new owners say they bought the business last Tuesday at well below market price because your dad had to leave town."

In abject misery, I slowly cycled home again, arriving to an empty house as expected. I decided to check mum and dad's room and there my worst fears were realized. Dad's wardrobe was empty. His desk in the spare room had also been emptied out. Tears welled up again while I came to terms with the reality that my father had left me without bothering to say goodbye. I was devastated.

My mother came home at a few minutes after eleven each evening after dad's sudden departure so I waited in the kitchen until she arrived.

"Please mum," I pleaded. "Tell me what happened between you and dad. Where is he? How can I contact him. I miss him so much."

She looked down at the floor as she carefully framed her reply.

"I don't know where you can reach him. I understand that he suddenly sold our business and moved away. Maybe he has a girlfriend we know nothing about. He's been very distant lately."

"Dad wouldn't do that to us mum. Surely you have some idea where to find him."

"None at all. He gave a solicitor power of attorney over his affairs and just ran off. A creepy lawyer called me last week and said that all communication for your father should be directed to him."

"What's the lawyer's name?" I pressed. "I can call him and find out where dad is."

"That's probably not a good idea, but if you want to do that, his business card is next to the phone."

My phone call to the lawyer's office was even more perplexing. No, they could not put me in touch with my father. They had specific instructions to that effect. No, they did not know where he was, though they were able to contact him. After much pleading on my part, they agreed to tell my father that I was trying to contact him.

Although I tried his cellphone a few days earlier, I reasoned that if the lawyers could contact him, then so could I. I just needed to make the call from a number he did not recognize. At school I borrowed a friend's phone and made the call.

"The number you are calling in not in service." Droned the reply. Another dead end.

Mum's extra late nights seemed to have stopped for she continued to arrive home at around eleven o'clock each evening and took time out to make sure I was fine. She avoided any reference to dad at the meal table and on her days off, she was keen to spend time with me, even coming to netball to cheer for our team. During the week, I rode my bicycle to training and to school and life became as normal as it could be. I mourned the loss of my dad and even more the frustration of not knowing why he abandoned us.

At school I made friends with Jake, a boy who seemed to understand my anguish. We became a steady couple, studying at our home most evenings. I suppose that it was inevitable he would become friendlier towards me. He started with platonic kisses and sympathized with me over the loss of my dad. Then the kisses moved from a peck on the cheek to a peck on the lips; the peck on the lips became a kiss with tongue; the gentle hug became a grope of my breasts until finally, I called a halt to physical contact. Jake was angry at being rebuffed and broke off our relationship after we had been together for more than twelve months. I was disappointed but far from devastated. I was not ready to lose my virginity and that's surely what was on Jake's agenda. I was completely unprepared for Jake's reaction. It was vile in the worst way.

He told all his friends that he had broken off our relationship because I was an insatiable slut. According to his version of events I was a nymphomaniac that at the end he just could not satisfy any more.

With my reputation in tatters I was approached by every student with a penis it seemed, all hoping to get lucky with the town nympho. When I rejected every offer, public opinion did a one-eighty and I became known as the Ice Queen. I retreated into my own space, socialized very little and studied hard, finishing high school with honours with my virginity intact.

Mum and I settled into a routine with just the two of us at home but after a while I noticed that she was coming home later and later again each night, just as she did when dad was still around. At first she would shower on arrival but as she started arriving later and later she finally went straight to her room and slept. Our usual breakfast conversations dried up because she was still sound asleep when I left to go to school.

I really wasn't surprised when she started bringing men friends home after finishing work, though at first she was discreet about it. Tiptoeing through the house and speaking to her male friends in whispers, she would quietly usher them out again a few hours later. Eventually mum allowed some of her visitors to stay all night and even invited them to share breakfast.

Any attempt to discuss mum's behaviour with her boyfriends was immediately shot down. It was none of my business, she insisted. Like all women, she had needs to satisfy. I gave up objecting, but when a couple of her men friends started making moves on me at breakfast time, I longed for the time that I could move out.

At the end of the year I moved to the city to continue my studies at university. Fortunately my excellent academic record gave me priority for live-in accommodation and when the first term began I was comfortably settled into a one bed sitter, finally free of the leering attentions of my mother's boyfriends. I'm not sure how she managed it, but she was able to fund my university education.

Two years went by with minimal contact with my mother except when I ventured home during the long Christmas break. I found a casual job doing accounts for the town's largest accounting firm. They were so impressed with my work that they invited me to join them for each of my holidays and to consider a career with them after graduating.

I was now twenty one years of age, still a virgin, with a firm belief that all men are pigs. My father walked out on me without a word, my one and only boyfriend told horrible lies about me when I would not put out for him and my mother's so-called friends tried to chat me up, culminating in a serious mistrust of all males.

One constant in my life was my enduring love for the game of netball. I joined the university team on arrival and found myself promoted into the A team almost immediately. Although we weren't the top team in the competition, we were very competitive. It also became my first exposure to same sex relationships. Several of the team players were also lesbian lovers. Helen, a tall redhead and the team's top shooter, asked me to join her for a Chinese meal after one of our games. The chatter came around to our sexual preferences and she was surprised that I had never been in a serious relationship.

We adjourned to her house, which she shared with two teammates, for a night cap. We enjoyed a few drinks before Helen gently leaned towards me.

"Ever kissed a girl before?"

"Never."

"May I?"

In the absence of a reply, Helen framed my face with the gentlest of hands and softly kissed my lips. No tongue, but she held the kiss for several seconds before pulling away with a mischievous smile.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" she teased, pulling me in again. This time her kiss was more forceful. Her tongue easing its way past my lips, tasting me for the first time. Far from being repulsed, I felt myself becoming aroused, vaguely disappointed when Helen pulled away.

We were each wearing shorts and a team tee shirt over a sports bra. As I relaxed to stretch my arms around Helen's neck, she slid her hand under my shirt, forcing it under the elasticized fabric of the bra until she felt my nipple with her fingertips. My attention was diverted for just a moment when her free hand grasped the back of my head, drawing me in for another deep kiss. I squirmed when I felt my nipple crushed between her finger and thumb but returned Helen's feverish kiss with enthusiasm.

As we separated, I looked down to see my shirt bunched up under my neck and one of my breasts almost fully exposed. Helen's face was flushed with desire but for me, the passion had passed.

Feeling awkward and embarrassed, I pulled back, rearranged my clothing and stuttered my apology.

"Uh, Helen, I'm sorry but I don't think I'm quite ready for this yet. This is all new to me and I think I need some time to sort out my feelings before we go any further."

"Take as long as you like Hon," she smiled at me. "When you find what you really want, just know that I'll be right here waiting."

I didn't feel comfortable about taking the next step. Helen and I remained firm friends but that was it.

It was during a mid-year netball carnival held over a long weekend that my life changed forever.

Playing in a closely fought match, I stretched to capture a difficult ball away from the opposition, fed it quickly to a teammate who fired it on to Helen, who scored.

"Way to go Mary!" came a male voice from the sidelines.

I recognized my father's voice instantly and spun around to see him for the first time in years. I broke out in the widest grin, gave him a little tentative wave and returned my full attention to the game. I soared. I intercepted the impossible, threw myself all over the court and became the prime mover in a crushing defeat over our rivals, earning the MVP gong in the process.

Dad was waiting for me as we left the court.

"Congratulations," he gushed enthusiastically. You played a fantastic game. I've missed you so much my girl and I have so much to tell you. Let's not go there tonight, since it's already late. Can you meet me for dinner at six tomorrow?"

He gave me the name of a classy little restaurant not far from my unit and with a quick peck on my cheek, he disappeared into the crowd. My feelings were all over the place. I was so happy to see him, yet sad that he had gone missing for so long and still angry that he left without saying goodbye.

The next day passed agonisingly slowly and when I arrived at the restaurant I found my father already seated at a table for two, nestled into a secluded corner. He stood to greet me and kissed me gently.

"I've ordered you some garlic prawns to start with," he smiled. "I seem to remember they are a favourite of yours. Here's the menu. Pick out your own mains."

He poured me a chilled glass of Riesling, took his own in hand and leaned back in his chair.

"How much do you know?" he started simply.

"All I know is that you left goodbye and nobody, not even your lawyer, would tell me how to get in touch with you. I hated you for a while, but eventually that hatred turned into a deep sadness. I could hardly believe it when I heard your voice yesterday."

"OK then, I'll try to start at the beginning and it will probably take a while. Our problems began when your mother wanted to work at the hotel. I supported her desire to get back into the workplace even though I said that her choice of going to a hotel was probably not good from a number of viewpoints, not least the terrible hours involved. As you know, she went there anyway and for a while, all was well.

When she started to come home late and showering before climbing into bed with me, I began to suspect that she might be unfaithful, but it came to a head when one of my friends who regularly drinks at the hotel suggested that it might be time to see what my wife was doing at work and afterwards. According to my friend she had established quite a reputation and in a town the size of ours, that becomes public knowledge.

Your mother went ballistic when I confronted her without any evidence. For a few days she said nothing to me at all and started coming home at a reasonable hour again, but I had the feeling that she was planning something.

It went down on a Monday morning, when minutes after I opened the warehouse door, I was confronted by two uniformed police officers -- one male and the other female. They informed me that they were from the child protection unit and that a complaint had been lodged against me. They handed me an AVO (apprehended violence order) forbidding me from coming within 250 metres of you, your mother or my home. They suggested coming straight home with me to allow me to collect my personal effects under supervision.

I think you can imagine my reaction, but they would not be swayed. That afternoon I checked into the travellers' motel on the other side of town and had a hurried appointment with a lawyer -- a guy I knew socially. He was able to discover that I was accused of molesting you and beating your mother and that I would have the opportunity of defending that in court in about eight weeks. No evidence was available at the time.

At this stage I want to ask you if you can remember the Bill Ryan story, because it is very relevant about what happened next."

"Wasn't he the guy who committed suicide after raping his daughter?" I asked, wondering where that was leading.

"Precisely the answer I expected. You're half right. He committed suicide. It is also correct to say that his daughter was raped. However Bill was not the culprit, as the police belatedly found. His brother, who left hurriedly for some obscure country in eastern Europe and has not been heard of since, left behind some DNA which proved conclusively that it was he and not Bill who committed the atrocity. The sad thing is that the whole town found Bill guilty before his case could go to trial. He had a motor repair shop which lost almost every one of its customers as soon as the news broke, he was barred from his own house, his wife refused to talk to him, and he was attacked in the street twice by unknown groups of men, the second attack leaving him in hospital for a week. Even the nursing staff were unkind. Is it any wonder that he found a quiet spot and blew his brains out?