Page 72 of Doubting Hearts

Four days later we sat at HM Prison Woodhill in Milton Keynes, waiting to see my father. We’d driven down from Stamford in Rain’s Civic, leaving very early that morning. It had been a whirlwind week. Due to the fact that the man I was sitting here to visit, Vincent Michael Prentiss, was terminally ill and had been transferred to the medical wing of this institution to die, time was of the essence. Rain and I had been to meet Celeste Muir from BAAF, and she’d been instrumental in guiding me through the process of determining whether I was indeed his son. We’d sat in her small office in the middle of town while she’d shown me the original birth certificate, letters from my mother to Vincent in prison, baby photos of me that I recognized, and they’d even taken a blood test to prove paternity once and for all. The results wouldn’t be back in time for me to be absolutely convinced, but what she had was proof enough.

“Vincent Prentiss went into prison three months before you were born,” she’d said quietly. “He was serving time for grand larceny and car theft. Someone was badly injured in the theft, and he got a fairly hefty sentence of ten years. He’s been in and out of prison since he was twenty- three years old for various offenses.” She smiled sadly. “And the one he’s currently in will be the one he’ll never leave.”

I felt numb. Vincent was only fifty-three years old now and had spent most of his life behind bars. I still couldn’t bring myself to call him my father.

Celeste had assured me that Vincent had only been told that I’d been in foster care and nothing about the violent incidents in my past. Her words were that the man had been through enough, and there was no point telling him things that might make him feel even guiltier. She’d also said those were my stories to tell if I wanted him to know.

Rain reached over, placing his warm hand on mine as we waited for the doctor to appear and take me to the man who’d asked for me. He’d been very attentive, rubbing my back, hugging me, planting soft kisses on my lips and cheek, making sure I was prepared to face what I was going to do. I was a bundle of nerves. I hadn’t eaten properly for days, despite Rain’s efforts, and my stomach was churning.

“Are you okay, Toby?” he asked quietly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come in with you?”

I glared at him. “No. I told you, Rain, the man’s bloody dying. The last thing he needs to know is that his son is a homosexual. Let the man go in peace thinking he had a normal son.” I knew my words would strike a chord with him. It had been something we’d argued about before coming down to Kent. He’d wanted to be with me when I saw Vincent and said gently if it made me feel better I could just tell my father I was his “friend.” I was having none of that either. Rain was not just my friend, and I wouldn’t denigrate our relationship that way.

Rain’s voice was dangerously quiet when he spoke. Only the glint in his eyes told me he was pissed off with me. “Toby, you are normal, for God’s sake. Hell, you can be such a stubborn bastard.” He huffed and sat back, clearly irritated. I think he thought I might have had a change of heart after all the attention he’d been giving me. But I wasn’t ready to tell my dying father I was gay. I knew it was irrational, but it was how I felt. We sat in uneasy silence.

The white-coated doctor appeared a few minutes later, and I stood up. He motioned me to go with him. “The nurse got him settled, and he seems fairly coherent. The painkillers make him drowsy and confused. I doubt you’ll be able to talk too long, but it should be enough to say what you two have to say.” He grimaced. “I’m sorry you both had to meet under such circumstances. It can’t be easy for you.”

I kept silent as I followed him down the corridor to a small, dimly lit room on the left side. He entered, and again I followed. He went over to the bed, gently shaking the shoulder of the man that lay there. My throat closed up, and I wanted to bolt, run out of this room back into Rain’s arms and never look back. Instead I clenched my hands against my sides and stood firm.

“Vince? There’s a young man here to see you, the one you’ve wanted to see.” There was a muttered grunt as the doctor leaned over and adjusted something behind the man. Then the doctor walked over to me.

“Take a seat, Mr. Prentiss. Vince doesn’t look his best, but don’t be scared. Just talk, say what you have to say, and if you feel it gets too much for you, come out and find me. I’ll be at the nurses’ station outside.”

I nodded numbly, and he placed a strong hand on my shoulder, squeezed it, then left the room. I stood there for a while, not wanting to approach the thin stick figure in the bed. The bedclothes hardly looked as if they had anyone under them.

“Are you going to stand there like a statue, boy? Come on over. I don’t bite. Not anymore.” The strangled tones of the man in the bed echoed amongst the quiet beeping of life-support machines. I walked over to the bed and sat down in an easy chair. I imagined they were provided for visitors to stay a little more comfortable while they waited for their loved ones to die. The thought made my breathing quicken as I remembered the last hours of my mother’s illness. I’d sat with her too until she took her last breath.

The figure in the bed made a small sound. I think it was supposed to be a laugh. “You look like your mother. You have the same fine features and that blonde hair. But you have my jawline.” My heart slammed against my chest. I’d been told the same thing when I was a boy.

For the first time since arriving here I took a good look at the man. He was long-limbed, with gnarled hands resting on the bedclothes, hands that were plugged with various drips and tubes. The face regarding me carefully was white, like greaseproof paper, with the same oily sheen. His eyes were green, like mine, only dulled and unfocused. The skin on his cheeks sunk into his face and he looked like a man near the end. I took a deep breath.

“Why did you ask to see me after all this time? Do you want closure on it, or is there another reason?” The room was uncommonly warm, and I was sweating beneath my shirt and jersey.

Vincent Prentiss coughed, his face twisting in pain. I stood up, reaching for the glass of water by the bed. He nodded feebly as I held the back of his frail head and helped him drink. His skull felt like a baby bird’s, no substance, feeling as if with one firm grip of my hand I could crush it in my fingers. He waved a hand to indicate he’d had enough. I sat back down.

He gave a long, deep sigh. “You’re definitely like your mother, straight to the point. I guess I owe you an explanation.”

Vincent lay back and closed his eyes, looking exhausted, as I waited for him to speak. His eyes opened, and he stared at me with some of the fire I imagined he might have had when he was a young man.

“I was a fucking idiot. I landed in prison just before you were born. I knew I wasn’t getting out anytime soon. Your mother had enough of me messing up. She said she was leaving and taking you somewhere else. I wasn’t going to argue.”

I leaned over, closer to him. “So, you gave us both up, just like that?” I could feel the anger in my soul, directed toward a dying and helpless man. I felt ashamed.

“It was for the best, Toby.” Hearing my name come out of his cracked lips was a shock. “Did you know that was my father’s name? We’d always wanted to call you Toby. I’m glad she kept that promise, at least. I’m sorry to hear she died. And I’m sorry you didn’t have a proper family.”

Vincent was so quiet then, I thought he’d gone to sleep or worse. I was about to go out and call the nurse when he spoke again.

“Neither of you deserved me in your lives. I knew I’d mess up again. After a while, I got so used to it, it didn’t matter anymore. Then I got sick.”

He coughed and waved a hand as I got to my feet with the water glass again. “I’m fine. Sit yourself down, son.”

I sat down, the unfamiliar endearment bringing a prickle of tears to my eyes. I tried to wipe them away surreptitiously, but despite his fragility, Vincent noticed.

“And that’s the reason I stayed out of your life. I didn’t want to be the cause of any heartache. I’m not a religious man, Toby. I’m leaving this earth soon, and I doubt I’ll be going into any afterlife, because I don’t believe in it.”

The tears were rolling down my cheeks, and I made no effort to stop them. No matter what, this was my father and he was dying.

“But the one thing I wanted to do is see what I was leaving behind. I guess we all want to think we live on somewhere. And now I can see that in you—you seem to have turned out all right.”