Later that night, after both of them had calmed down, Angela had explained what she had been up to.  They walked down to Coddammit! and bought a large portion of chips, drenched in salt and reeking with vinegar.  As they walked back to the flat, sharing hot greasy chips, she told Charlie that she had been looking for a holiday for the both of them to go on, something to help put the past behind them.  

Whilst she had been looking, she had by chance come across the tourist photos of his father.  Investigating further, she had managed to track down the plane that he appeared to be the pilot of and had found out that it belonged to a tiny passenger and cargo transport company that serviced remote Polynesian islands.  Bravo Islands Air Taxi was based in Tonga and operated only one plane, a World War Two Catalina PBY Flying Boat, converted for civilian use. 

Back in the flat’s kitchen, with the smell of hot chips and acrid vinegar flooding the air, they continued to talk. Tentatively, Angela had sent an email to Bravo Islands Air Taxi.  She had had no reply so she sent another, then another and then yet another.  Increasing frustrated, she had made late night phone calls to Tonga to try and contact Bravo Islands Air Taxi but had not been able to get through.  She had begun to give up hope after four weeks of trying to make contact when an email popped up in her inbox.  She shared it with Charlie, removing a piece of paper from the same manila folder that she had kept the photo in and handing it to him.

Hi Angie!

It’s great to hear from you.  Sorry that I’ve kept you waiting for a reply but we had engine trouble on one of our trips and have been stuck in the middle of nowhere for while.  Mind you everywhere is the middle of nowhere round these here parts.

I can’t deny that I was in two minds about replying - after all,  we broke up pretty hard all those years ago – but when all’s said and done I’d rather be in contact with you than not.  We had a lot of fun back in the old days; it would be nice to talk about it some time.

You mentioned that you had some news for me.  I’m intrigued.  Drop me a line as soon as you can.  I’m on a job now so I will be away for a week or so (depending on the old bird) but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.  I promise.

“Did you reply?”  Charlie said indistinctly through a mouthful of hot fluffy potato.

“Yes, I replied!”  his mum said laughing indignantly.  Then she added in a more solemn tone, “I told him about you.  I told him about your life growing up.  I told him about Trev.  I told him everything.  We’ve been talking again for a while now.”

“You’ve been in contact for how long?   And you haven’t told me?  Didn’t you think I’d want to know?”  Charlie said, his anger getting the better of him again, spraying flecks of potato across the table.

“Of course I thought you would,” Angela said tiredly, then continued, “But would you have wanted me to tell you all this for you to find out that your father didn’t want to know?  I needed to be sure that contacting him again was the right thing to do.”  Sweeping one hand back through her hair, she continued, “However, your father now knows all about you.  I sent him some photos as an attachment so that he even knows what you look like, which should come as no surprise since you are the spitting image of him.”

Anxiously, Charlie looked at his mother.  He knew she had more to tell him.  Why else would this have all been brought up? An odd sense of expectation swelled within him.

She smiled, and removed yet another piece of paper from the folder and passed it across to her son.  “This is for you.”

His hands trembled as he took the sheet from her.  Looking at the paper, he found that the words were blurring, swimming in and out of focus.  Fat tears rolled down his face and he wiped his eyes with his sleeves before reading the message.

Dear Charlie,

Wow!  I can’t believe I am writing to my son!  Your mom and I have been talking about you for a while now bit it still hasn’t really sunk in yet.  I cannot even begin to describe the feelings that this news has caused me but I would like to try.  At first I was shocked, surprised, happy and sad.  Sad because you are fourteen and I have missed so much of your life.  I have not been there for those times when you may have wanted a father to share things with, read a story to you, pitch a few balls, take you to school or just give you a hug when you needed it.

After I thought about it for a while, I realised that I shouldn’t be sad.  I realised that I had been blessed with something, someone, wonderful.  I may not have been there for the last fourteen years but that does not mean that you and I should remain unknown to each other.  I don’t know how you feel about me but I’ve got to say that I’m pretty excited by your mom’s bombshell!

Your mom has told me about what has happened to you recently.  It’s a pretty rough deal and I know what that can be like (ask your mom about it sometime).  I’d like to help.

I’ve asked your mom if she would like us to meet.  We spoke on the phone yesterday and I pitched an idea to her which she said she was OK with if you wanted it.

I’d like to help.  Your mom wanted you to go on a vacation, have a change of scene, and see something of the world.  I’d like to meet you.  Why not come out here to Polynesia and stay with me for a few weeks?  The least I can promise you is a vacation on the friendliest place on Earth, white sand beaches and a startlingly blue sea. I can’t promise that we’ll hit it off straight away but it would be a start.  Your mom and I have agreed to share the cost of the trip if you want it.  You’d have to travel on your own because we can’t afford two tickets but I’d meet you at the airport – I can promise you that!  I can guarantee you beach barbecue, fishing, surfing, scuba diving and a few trips in a vintage plane.  If that’s not your thing then don’t worry, I’d really just like to get to know you a little.

If your OK with this, tell your mom and she’ll arrange it with me. 

I just hope that you say yes.

I’m not sure how to sign this off so think on what you want to call me:

Dad, Pater, Vater, Papa, Father, Pa, Pop (take your pick)

Charlie looked up at his mother, “You’re OK about this?” 

She nodded and smiled, “Your father is a dependable man, Charlie.  I think you need to meet him.  We can’t afford for all of us to travel, and I think that a change of scene would do you good.”

“Bloody hell!” he breathed out.

“Charlie Buttons!”  she scolded, “I did not bring you up to curse like a soldier in my house!  Watch your language!”

“Sorry, Mum!”  Charlie grinned, “Blimey!”

Just before Charlie got into bed that night, a thought struck him.  He finished putting on his pyjamas, slipped some horrible leather slippers on that his grandad had given him for Christmas and padded through to the living room.  His mother was sat in darkness, save for the cone of soft light that shone from an Anglepoise lamp onto some notes and sketches from work that she was leafing through, fashionable spectacles perched on the end of her nose.  She looked up, “What’s up?  I thought you’d gone to bed.”

“I forgot to ask something.”

“Fire away then.”

“Mum?”

“Yes?” 

“What’s Dad’s name?” 

--------- 

Thanks for reading.  Please do post any suggestions for improvements.  If you have enjoyed this please do VOTE!  Keep following for further updates to the Prisoners of Solitude.