My Dad would be standing out at the bus stop and Maija would get out of the car and go over to him. He would not recognise her, but he would never let on. The alarm bells would be going off in his head. This person knows me and I should know her.
"Hello Bob nice to see you again"
Thinks: Who the hell is she? Says: And nice to see you again too.
"We've had a long drive up."
Thinks: Where is she from? Says: Was there much traffic?
"Just after Cambridge the M11 was terrible"
Thinks: So she is not from around here. Says: Did you drive all that way by yourself?
"No we split it half and half, Rob drove to Scotch Corner and I drove the rest.
Thinks: So she is with somebody called Rob. Says: How long will you and Rob be here for?
"Oh we thought we could stay the weekend with you, if that is OK?"
Thinks: Stay the weekend with me, they must be friends or relatives. Says: Well the house is in a bit of a mess.
"Well we can have a tidy up, and get the fire going, cook a meal, and you can give us a tune on the fiddle"
Think: She knows alot about my house and my habits. Says: That would be grand
At some point in the conversation it would click in place that Maija was his daughter-in-law and Rob was his son, but he could not hold that idea for long. When sitting beside the coal fire he would confuse me with his brother Andrew and start talking to me and calling me Addie.
He would tell the most elaborate stories about his son Robert who was doing well for himself over in Finland. I half expected some horror story to unfold and I would learn what my father really thought of me, but it never came. He only had good words to say about me. To sit and listen to someone talk to you, about yourself, not realising that the person they are speaking about is sitting right in front of them, is an un-nerving experiance.
What was important though was that the storehouse of memories in my father's heart towards me were good ones, and he verbalised them to me as though I were a stranger.
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