Page 79

Ernesto Garanita lay on the metal trolley, the sheet pulled up to his chin.

It was less than twenty-four hours since he’d passed away, so a modicum of colour remained in his puffy cheek, which flanked his pride and joy, the luxuriant moustache that he’d sported since before Emilia was born.

He still looked like her father, some vestige of life clinging to his rigid features, and yet there was a serenity in his expression which his eldest child had never seen before.

Emilia stared down at the corpse, trying to make sense of her emotions.

She had come alone, uncertain how to break the news to her siblings, but now regretted her decision.

She felt overwhelmed with regret, with sadness, but also anger and bitterness too.

What was she supposed to say to this man, who had brought her into this world, raised her to be strong, defiant and rebellious, only then to torment, exploit and abandon her?

How was she supposed to deal with his sudden death? How was she supposed to feel ?

She now became aware of a presence behind her, the mortuary attendant hovering. Gathering herself, she turned to him, addressing him briskly:

‘Did he suffer?’

‘He died of natural causes, if that’s what you’re asking,’ the mortician responded kindly. ‘And no, he wouldn’t have felt any pain. He passed quietly whilst taking a nap, which is probably the best any of us can hope for.’

This was designed to comfort her. And in some ways it did.

Despite the rage she’d often felt towards this man, she hadn’t wanted him to suffer and was glad that his end had been peaceful.

And yet the thought of him dying alone, in the isolation cell that he’d been moved to for his own protection, cut her to the quick.

Was he scared at the end? Did he cry out?

She would never know and it was pointless to conjecture, but Emilia sensed it would haunt her thoughts for a good while.

After all, which of us wants to die alone?

Thanking the mortuary assistant, Emilia turned back to her father, tentatively laying a hand on his chest. This was it, this was her moment, her chance to say goodbye.

Soon her siblings would be summoned, then the whole circus of a traditional Catholic burial would crank into action.

This was probably the last time she would be alone with him, father and daughter, sharing a private moment.

Gazing at him once more, she felt her heart swell with warring emotions, the desire to lambast, the desire to forgive, the need to continue their battle, the need to call a final truce.

Whispering her last goodbye, Emilia padded away from her father, torn, uncomfortable but resolved.

She had much to do now, taking care of his affairs and her siblings’ grief, whilst also dealing with the man who had tried to destroy her all those years ago.

Those tasks must take priority now – she would have plenty of time to navigate her conflicted feelings in the weeks ahead.

Even so, as Emilia left the viewing area, walking quietly down the corridor, a part of her felt she already knew where the road would take her, how she would make her peace with her difficult inheritance.

The man she’d once adored, then loathed, was gone, his life, and her feelings towards him, now a simple question of arithmetic, an equation that must include all the good and the bad.

There was no easy answer, no clean solution, Emilia feeling more keenly today than ever that love and hate were after all just opposite sides of the same coin.