The Borrowed Life of Frederick Fife: A Novel

“‘I’ve been waiting for you. I’m so glad you’re here, Fred,’ Albert said, squeezing his hand.

A smile crept across Fred’s face. ‘You know what? I think I’m glad I’m here, too.’”

The above exchange is heavy with irony, as Albert’s belief that Fred is his brother inadvertently allows Fred (who shares the brother’s name) to speak in his own voice without fear of being discovered: As Fred finds friendship and acceptance among the residents of the nursing home, he begins to enjoy his new life, as he here tells Albert. That he also brings meaning to Albert’s life by pretending to be Albert’s brother lends nuance to the novel’s exploration of The Ethics of Deception, as Fred’s actions are not merely self-serving.

“A seed of possibility sprouted in his mind. Could it be that he was being offered a rare and unusual gift? A gift from his Dawn, even? He tapped his fingers on his cheek. Staying here meant he would be looked after for the rest of his life. He’d have a home—no more rationing food or worrying about the electricity being turned off.”

Though initially Fred is alarmed at the mistaken identity, he soon discovers that Bernard’s life is preferable to his own. Viewing his situation differently allows him to make the most of the situation.

“What he’d struggled with the most since Dawn died hadn’t been the times of wanting a bit more to eat or the uncertainty of how he would manage, but the loneliness. The ache-in-your-bones kind of loneliness. […] Dawn, like her name, had made all his days begin. She’d been his only light.”

It is Fred’s lack of emotional connection to other people that saddens him the most. The loneliness he experiences daily plagues him as much as a physical illness would (a metaphor suggested by the description of loneliness as an “ache” in one’s “bones”), preventing him from Obtaining Meaning in Later Life. In particular, he grieves the death of his wife, whom he describes as his reason for living, in a way that parallels Hannah’s grief for her sister, foreshadowing the connection that develops between them.

“But here at the home, he had Albert and Linh and Kevin. Even Patricia’s company was almost better than none. Almost. Here he was known—even if it was by another name. For so many years he’d taken for granted the significance of being known by another person, until it was all snatched away and he was suddenly a stranger to everyone he met. Now, for the first time in a very long time, he felt useful, wanted, as if his presence made a difference to someone in a small way.”

As an elderly person with no close friends or family, Fred has been not only lonely but lacking a sense of purpose. Living at the nursing home proves an unexpected means to fill this void. Johnston’s syntax—specifically, the use of polysyndeton—suggests Fred’s sudden sense of abundance: Rather than simply listing Fred’s new friends, Johnston places an “and” between each, as though the number of names keeps expanding.

“Why wouldn’t Mum just talk to [Hannah] about it, about everything, the good and the bad? She wasn’t stupid. She knew Sadie wasn’t doing great, and they were going to try another round of treatment, but she never got any details.”

Hannah is frustrated by her mother’s lack of communication about Sadie’s condition. Because it has become a taboo subject, Hannah is left to deal with her sadness and anxiety alone. The seeds of her father’s withdrawal from the family are planted here and provide context for Hannah’s distrust of Bernard later in life.

“[Fred] was not cut out for this. Should he just come clean? But what possible way was there to explain to someone that you were pretending to be her father and that her real father had in fact died and been buried as you? She’d think he was nuts, probably put it down to dementia and not believe him. How could he tell the truth? How could he not tell it?”

Fred is plagued by guilt over the mistaken identity. Though he initially tries to convince others that he is not in fact Bernard Greer, when he is not believed, he gradually accepts Bernard’s life. Nevertheless, his ethical discomfort with lying remains and is heightened when Bernard’s daughter appears in his life, and his uncertainty about how to proceed manifests in a series of questions that he largely leaves unanswered.

“‘I just don’t know if I should stay or go, or where I should be. I feel like I don’t belong anywhere…’ Fred’s voice trailed off.

Albert placed his big hands on Fred’s shoulders, his often-distant eyes now focused firmly on his. ‘You, sir, are exactly where you need to be,’ he said slowly. ‘Right here with me is where you belong. It’s where you were always meant to be. When we were little, you promised you’d always be here for me, and that’s what you are doing.’

Albert couldn’t possibly have understood [Fred’s] confession, yet his words enveloped Fred in a calming hug. And maybe in some strange way he was right. Maybe Fred wasn’t just borrowing Bernard’s unlived life, but Albert’s brother’s too?”

Though he does not set out to do so, Fred indirectly fulfills the promise Albert’s brother made to him, thus providing Albert with a sense of comfort as his life nears its end. Despite his guilt over living Bernard’s life, Fred is able to help others around him in meaningful and lasting ways, which suggests that his deception has redeeming features. It is also significant that Albert, despite his dementia, is able to reassure Fred: He may misunderstand the interaction on its surface, but he recognizes the deeper dynamics at play. This contributes to the work’s overall contention that old age and even illness do not preclude leading a meaningful life.

“Sometimes in life we wish we had a crystal ball to see the future. Where will we be? What will we be doing? Well, I don’t have a crystal ball, but I strongly suspect that sixty or more years from their wedding day, these two here will still be just as much in love.”

Fred’s speech at Valerie and Albert’s “wedding” takes on a double meaning. Fred plays along with Albert’s dementia, pretending that he is marrying the couple for the first time, but because the couple has actually reached the end of their marriage, he knows that the “predictions” he makes are accurate. His words are a tribute to the strong bond amid the couple.

“‘Kids always need their parents, even if they don’t know it. And maybe you need her now too. I don’t want you to be lonely, Mr. Bernard. You’ve got too much love and kindness in that big heart,’ [Linh] said.”

Linh—who was, like Hannah, once estranged from her father—reassures Fred that he is right in taking the risk of reaching out to Hannah. She recognizes that Fred’s intentions are selfless and caring and sees that both he and Hannah can benefit from connecting with each other. The idea that even adult children “need their parents” is key to the novel’s exploration of The Importance of Familial Bonds and is another way in which the novel finds meaning in old age.

“[Hannah’s] heart splintered. She was tired of being so alone, of swimming upstream, of holding on to bitterness and regret. Her shoulders sagged. She’d been carrying this weight for so long. What might it feel like to let it go? To forgive, even? It was hard to imagine.”

Hannah wavers between accepting that her father has changed and that his love is genuine and struggling to let go of her anger over the hurt he caused her in the past. At this juncture, she begins to understand that withholding forgiveness is hurting her nearly as much as the pain that Bernard caused her when she was a child. This marks important growth in her character.

“Fred, having received a terminal diagnosis of a never-dad, miraculously had been given a clean bill of health. Any hope of ever celebrating Father’s Day had evaporated long ago.”

Hannah’s willingness to attend the Father’s Day picnic is a sign of her willingness to accept Fred’s love. Simultaneously, Fred recognizes the opportunity to be a parent at long last. The metaphor likening his childlessness to a “terminal diagnosis” reflects the novel’s interest in meaning at all stages of life. Fred was a young man at the time of his wife’s pregnancy loss, but knowing he would never be a father represented a kind of death. Though he is now much closer to literal death than he was at the time, the ability to step into the role of father feels like a “clean bill of health.”

“How [Fred] wished he could fish the pain out of [Hannah’s] eyes, even if he had to take it on himself. He couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t undo what Bernard had done. But he could love Hannah, love her fiercely, and by George he was going to do that with everything he had.”

As an objective third party, Fred can discern how much Bernard’s abandonment hurt Hannah. He also recognizes that Hannah is a kind-hearted person and longs to heal the damage done to her. In his role as Bernard, Fred can do so on Bernard’s behalf, further enmeshing him in his deception.

“Like father, like daughter, thought Fred. How he wishes it were true. Guilt momentarily gnashed at his guts, yet he found he had a new weapon to combat it: love. Paternal love. For he had totally, inexplicably fallen head over heels for his ‘daughter,’ Hannah.”

As Fred identifies similarities between himself and Hannah, he has fun pretending that these similarities are actually genetic traits. He momentarily battles guilt over leading Hannah to believe he is Bernard, but the desire to help Hannah allows him to justify his actions.

“‘You deserved a better dad, Hannah.’

She looked away, though she wanted to run away.

‘You’ll never be like him…I mean, er, like me. I want you to know, Hannah, I’m a completely different person now.’”

Fred intends his remark about being a different person to be interpreted figuratively, but the reader knows that it is true in a literal sense as well. Fred wants Hannah to trust that he will not cause her any more pain.

“[Denise’s] mouth fell open. ‘I…I don’t know what to say. Thank you. Thanks so much.’ Oh, to have been a fly on the wall last night! Talk about the blind leading the blind. Although she realized now that this man was caring for her far more competently than she had ever cared for him. Shame burned through her.”

After Fred discovers Denise inebriated, she feels shame and guilt that parallel the feelings Fred himself has experienced, not least because she recognizes the irony that Fred wound up caring for her. Denise thus becomes yet another person whom Fred helps via living Bernard’s life.

“I did try to tell the truth, several times actually—it’s just that no one listened. You’d be surprised how people treat you differently when you’re older. You don’t feel any different, but it’s as though you fade away, like a Polaroid picture in reverse.”

Here Fred speaks directly of one of the main challenges the novel associates with old age: Older adults are disregarded and considered unable to contribute to the world. His simile comparing this to a fading Polaroid gains additional pathos from the fact that the technology he is describing is now largely obsolete. Ironically, it is precisely because of this stigma against the elderly that Fred is able to “adopt” Bernard’s life and, through his actions, reveal how unfounded this conception of old age truly is.

“As Denise walked back to her locker, her feet felt light for the first time she could remember, like she was going in the right direction. She would get help. She would get stronger and be a better mum for her girls […] Fred’s secret would be safe with her just as hers would be safe with him. Ironic that he was the first man ever to have shown her any real grace.”

Denise reaches a turning point with Fred’s help. They each know a damaging secret about the other, which binds them together, but rather than being resentful, Denise is now determined to address her faults. This again underscores the positive impact Fred has had in his role as Bernard.

“The one hurdle remaining was [Fred’s] own conscience. He glanced at the ultrasound photo of the passenger on the wall: another human to love, and to be loved by. Shame seeped through his bones. It was also another person he’d have to lie to, who would be pulled into his deception while their real grandfather lay in his grave.”

As Fred looks at Hannah’s ultrasound photos, he continues to wrestle with his guilty conscience, feeling it is wrong to have benefited from Bernard’s misfortune. His ongoing guilt characterizes him as an ethical person and does not wish to hurt or deceive anyone—especially those who have been kind and helpful to him.

“[Hannah’s] eyes brimmed with tears, unprepared for the intensity of his statement. Her heart trembled. Had it healed enough? Could she say the words? Could she put courage before fear?

‘Well, in the spirit of not waiting, I…I love you, too…Dad.’ The words she hadn’t uttered since she was nine years old came easily and without reservation or resentment.”

Though Hannah is moved by loving thoughts toward Fred (who she believes is her father), she is reluctant to allow herself to truly experience these feelings, clinging to the anger and resentment she has harbored. When she is finally able to give up these negative emotions, Hannah begins to heal.

“[Fred] stared at the blank brick wall opposite him and breathed in the truth. It sat there now, big and full. The lie was gone, set free from the deep dark box he had kept it in. But the box hadn’t disappeared, and it couldn’t stay empty. It now filled rapidly with an even heavier and all-too-familiar grief and guilt, and he feared he might drown in it.”

Once his true identity is revealed, Fred has mixed feelings. He is relieved to no longer have to deceive those around him but is saddened by the possibility of losing the new connections and relationships he has developed. His use of the metaphor of drowning echoes the manner in which he was believed to have died, underscoring the novel’s interest in different forms of death, literal and figurative, and its suggestion that the latter can sometimes be worse than the former.

“Quickly you became the most precious thing in the world to me. My love for you is as real as the ocean, and I will cherish every second we spent together for the rest of my life. You have no idea what I wouldn’t give to be your real father, Hannah.”

Fred is desperate to convey to Hannah that the love and compassion he feels toward her are genuine. In the short time since they became friends, the two have developed a deep and meaningful connection, and Fred fears losing this important person. That he makes no demands of her—he describes their time together using past tense, implying that he accepts that it is over—ultimately contributes to her decision to forgive him by underscoring his kind and selfless nature.

“He wasn’t a bad bloke, Hannah. Just a very broke one who ended up on a rotten path. He couldn’t deal with your sister’s illness or her death, and rather than getting help, as I tried to persuade him, he buried himself in his addiction.”

At Bernard’s funeral, one of his relatives seeks to convey to Hannah that Bernard never intended to harm her. The cousin views Bernard and his addiction more objectively than Hannah can, recognizing that it masked the pain and grief Bernard struggled with. As Hannah begins to understand this, she is able to forgive her father.

“How [Fred] wished that things could have been different. That Hannah could have been his and Dawn’s from the start. That she could have existed as that baby in Dawn’s womb, that he could have come home in time to stop the miscarriage, and that Dawn could have held Hannah in her arms […] That he’d never had to pretend that he was her dad.”

When Fred is at risk of losing Hannah, he wants nothing more than to find a way to maintain that link. The use of repetition/anaphora—i.e., the many sentences and clauses beginning with “that”—underscores the sheer magnitude of Fred’s regret. Ultimately, however, the novel shows that the bonds of found family can effectively take the place of traditional familial ties.