Craving a room of one’s own

Posted by Ellie Omahoney at 12:04 on 20 Jul 2009

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The father of my very oldest friend, Lucy, died last week. He was going to be 70 next birthday and had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of skin cancer, so in some respects it shouldn’t have come as the biggest shock, but when I heard, I was knocked sideways.

I met Lucy on the first day at school. She pushed me over in the Wendy House, made me wail and was then made to sit next to me for the whole of 1983, as punishment. I’m not sure what that says about how much/little fun my teacher thought I was to be around, but I did get a best friend out of it. And with it another family to escape to when I’d had enough of my big chaotic one, including her rather brilliant Dad.

He was 5ft 4, as wide as he was tall, and looked not unlike Captain Birdseye. To authenticate his look, he was a hardy amateur sailor and loved appointing us as his first mates, making us scream as he took us into the choppiest Cornish waters he could find. He taught us the joys of dressing up (specialising in a very professional Rod Stewart impression, complete with leopard skin leggings) and in later years, the delights of a good glass of red, as we told him tales of London life.

I fancied that I was his favourite of Lucy’s friends not least because the only time he smacked her was when she left me alone to go and play in the park with her other friends. I adored him and since leaving Cornwall for London, I’ve occasionally popped in just to say hello to him and his wife.

So when I got the call to say he’d passed away at home I had to catch my breath. I was five minutes away from the flat and had to go in red-faced, holding my breath so I wouldn’t cry in front of F-i-L.

For the first time since we moved in, I wished it was just Sam waiting for me at home. My friends (and Sam) have looked on in disbelief as I’ve blithely accepted having precisely no metre squared personal space for the last few months. I had been so heady with the brilliant practicality of the domestic set-up and my sudden ability to save money for the first time ever, that I just didn’t care that Sam and I have had to go out to get any time alone.

But that night I craved my own space. I wanted to cry till I was snotty and I wanted to do it with only my boyfriend as audience.

Lucy’s Dad wasn’t a blood relation, I hadn’t even seen him since last summer, but he was a big part of my childhood, he was one of my earliest protectors and I felt shaky on my feet knowing that he was gone.

F-i-L was as understanding as he knew how to be when faced with a puffy-faced daughter-in-law, but I didn’t want to torture him unnecessarily so went straight to bed, tears streaming and wishing for a place of my own.

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