Page 38 of Tribute Act
“Bullshit,” I muttered. “You’re being a coward.”
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I am. But you don’t understand, Nathan. Too much damage has been done—there’s no coming back from some things.”
“What things?”
Derek didn’t answer that. Instead he said, “You know, sometimes I feel like I was given a second chance, getting you as a stepson. I fucked things up with Dylan, but everything was so much easier with you. Probably because of Lorraine.”
I stilled. I didn’t like the thought that I’d been benefitting from Derek’s efforts when his own son had been going without. Worse, that him being so good with me might have been a reaction to his guilt over his mistakes with Mack.
“Do you remember when you first told us you were gay?” Derek asked.
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. You said it didn’t matter whether I fancied lads or lasses, you and Mum would always love me.”
Derek gave a lopsided smile. “You were petrified.” His smile faded and suddenly he looked really sad.
“When did you find out Mack was gay?” I asked.
“When he was fifteen.”
Fifteen? That must have been on that last visit to Scotland. A bad feeling started in my gut.
I set my mug down. Carefully, I said, “Was that when you went up for his mum’s funeral?”
Derek stared down at the uneaten Danish pastry I’d put in front of him, as though fascinated. After a long pause he said, “I got up to Scotland the night before the funeral—he just came out with it. I hadn’t seen it coming. I . . . reacted badly.” He looked up at me then, and his expression was grim. “I felt sure he was far too young to know his own mind about something like that. It came into my head that maybe some older guy had got to him—turned him somehow.”
Jesus. “That’s what you said to him?”
“Yeah.” Derek put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands.
I was silent, unsure how to react. I couldn’t help contrasting the way Derek had received the exact same news from me—only a year later by the sound of it. He’d been so great. I’d thought it was because he’d been in the music industry or something.
“We argued badly that night,” Derek said. “I told him I wanted him to come back to Cornwall with me, and of course he refused. Then, the next day, we had another fight . . . at the funeral. Dylan pretty much gave me what for. I was angry and humiliated—this was all in front of Tammy’s family, who all hated me already. In the end, I walked out. Then I got in my car and started driving home.” He swallowed. “And I never went back.”
I remembered what Mack had told me about that argument. “I told him I hated him, said I never wanted to see him again.”
I glanced over at Mack behind the counter on the other side of the café. More customers had come in since Derek and I had started talking, and Mack was busy serving them, not even looking our way. There was no way he could pick up our murmured conversation, but I still felt oddly guilty discussing him when he was right there.
I turned my attention back to Derek. “Was that it, then?” I asked, trying not to show how appalled I was by what he’d disclosed so far. “Did you just stop contacting him?”
“Not right away. I called him a few times over the next few weeks, but he wouldn’t speak to me, so I started sending letters instead—he never replied. Mary, Tammy’s mother, suggested I back off and give him some time to come around. I suppose if I’m honest, I was glad.” Derek gaze was turned downwards, his expression pure self-loathing. “At that point, I let it all slide—the calls, the letters. It was easy to do. I was busy here, and Dylan was being taken care of by Mary and Tom. I always meant to get in touch again, but as time went on, it began to feel . . . impossible.”
“Jesus, Derek.”
He winced. “I know. I never meant for it to end up like this. But sometimes, life just . . . gets ahead of you.” He stared at the table, clearly unable to meet my eyes.
After a while I said, “Does Mum know all this?”
“Some of it. I never told her about what happened the day of the funeral. Or that I’d stopped writing to him.” He shifted his gaze back to me, adding almost defiantly, “But I sent all the child support payments. Right up till he was eighteen. I was only ever late with a few at the start, when I first bought this place.”
What did he want? A medal? I thought of the years I’d spent shuttling between my parents, a bedroom in both houses, both of them wanting to spend as much time as possible with me. What if one of them had just left me, like Derek had Mack? A regular payment into a bank account wasn’t sufficient compensation for that kind of betrayal. That abandonment.
Another thought occurred to me. How could Mum have let this happen?
“I can’t believe Mum—” I began, but straightaway Derek interrupted, pointing a finger at me.
“Hey, your mother is not to blame for any of this! For years, I wouldn’t even talk to her about Dylan. She tried to get me to open up, but I wouldn’t.” He shook his head. Rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s all my fault, Nathan. I took the easy way out.”
Well, I wasn’t going to disagree with that.