CHAPTER 5
5
I MANAGE SOME SLEEP and, when I open my eyes, the partition between Emmet’s seat and my own has been lowered. He’s sitting in the lotus position, his screen turned off, reading, but he sets his book aside when he sees that I’m awake. I expect him to raise the barrier again immediately, but no, he must be feeling bored because he gives me a look that says, talk to me .
‘How long was I out?’ I ask.
‘About three hours.’
I sit up and stretch my arms. It wasn’t a long sleep, but I feel pleasantly refreshed. I wander down to the bathroom, making sure not to catch Charlotte’s eye as I pass her seat, clean my teeth, wash my face, and when I return, he’s massaging one of the mini tubes of moisturizer into his forehead and cheeks.
‘You’re gorgeous,’ I say.
‘Do you know that woman?’ he asks.
‘What woman?’
‘The woman you were sitting with at the bar. You were talking to her in the airport too.’
I didn’t realize that he’d seen us and wonder whether he’d come down to join me, then changed his mind when he found us chatting.
‘No, I never met her until this morning,’ I tell him. ‘We just struck up a conversation, that’s all. Why?’
‘You’re at a very vulnerable age. I don’t want anyone taking advantage of you.’
I laugh, as he’s simply parroting back to me a line I’ve said to him several times over the last year. I always enjoy it when he takes the piss out of me. It reminds me that there’s still something of the fun-loving kid hidden away beneath the stroppy teen.
‘Can we go down there?’ he asks.
‘Down where?’
‘To the bar.’
I’d actually prefer to settle back with a movie now, but since he’s actually asking to spend time in my company, I won’t pass up the opportunity. We stand and make our way down opposite sides of the aisle, passing passengers snoozing behind their eye masks, and meet up just beyond the galley.
It’s quiet now and we don’t have to sit side by side at the wall as the table that allows passengers to sit facing each other is unoccupied. Perhaps a shift change has happened because Paul Newman has been replaced by a young woman whose hair is drawn into a complicated arrangement on her head. When we sit, she approaches and asks what she can get us.
I don’t feel like another beer, so order a gin and tonic, while Emmet, with supreme confidence, orders a Tiger. There’s a moment between the three of us. The stewardess can see that he’s young, but he is accompanied by his father so, unlike her colleague at take-off, she chooses not to object. Emmet is deliberately not looking at me and I remain silent until he glances up. We’re both smiling.
‘One,’ I say, pointing a finger at him and laughing. ‘Just one, all right?’
I don’t know whether drinking with my fourteen-year-old son is the worst thing a father can do or the best. All I’m certain of is that we’re thirty thousand feet above the earth, and the normal rules of life need not apply up here.
‘It’ll knock me out,’ he says in his defence.
‘You didn’t sleep when I did?’
‘No, I watched another film.’
‘Well, we still have about six hours to go,’ I say, glancing at the screen on the wall. ‘Even if you only get three or four, it’ll be better than nothing. You must be tired.’
‘Not really. Maybe. Sort of? I don’t know what time my body clock is at.’
‘A little sleep would do you good. Otherwise you’ll be exhausted for days.’
‘I’m used to flying to Dubai.’
The stewardess, whose name tag reads Noémie, returns, carrying a tray with our drinks, bowls of nuts and crisps, and a chocolate muffin in which a single candle has been placed. I stare at it in surprise, then turn to Emmet, who’s grinning.
‘Happy birthday,’ he says.
It takes me a moment to appreciate the significance of this. He obviously organized it with her while I slept, and I’m so moved that I feel tears come to my eyes.
‘You thought I’d forgotten, didn’t you?’
‘I wasn’t sure.’
‘Obviously, we can’t have naked flames on board,’ Noémie tells me, ‘so it’s an LED candle. You blow it and, somehow, it goes out. Don’t ask me how. Witchcraft, probably.’
I make a wish, do as instructed, and, sure enough, the flame disappears.
‘Thank you,’ I say to Emmet as we clink our glasses.
‘I’m just glad that you’re still mentally competent and can walk unassisted,’ he tells me. ‘Considering how ancient you are.’
‘Forty’s not that old!’
‘Welcome,’ he says, stretching his arms wide and doing a more than decent impression of Richard Attenborough, ‘to Jurassic Park!’
This is as happy as I’ve felt in a long time. As he takes a sip from his beer, which has arrived in a mercifully small glass, his face betrays no aversion, so I assume it’s not his first. Of course, he has a life outside of mine. He has friends. Friends I’ve known since they were in Nippers together. Good kids, for the most part, and whatever mischief they get up to is not something that worries me unduly as they’re generally quite responsible. The worst thing they ever do is stay down the beach when the lifeguards have gone home for the night, but they’re all experienced swimmers and no one is ever left in the water alone.
‘So,’ I say, sensing that he’s open to a more meaningful conversation than the feral grunting of morning time, ‘how are you feeling about all of this?’
‘All of what?’
‘This,’ I say, looking around. ‘This trip. Where we’re going. What we’re doing. Why we’re doing it.’
He blows out his lips.
‘Let’s just say, I’ve made my peace with it,’ he replies, and it’s hard not to laugh at his use of such an adult phrase. I try to contrast who I was at fourteen with who he is now. I was happy. I had friends. I had parents who loved me. I was growing interested in girls. I liked soccer. My father and I attended all the home matches of our local football team, only returning our season ticket when two of the players were charged with rape. And then, one day, Freya Petrus came to our school as part of an outreach programme from the local hospital, trying to engage young people with the idea of working towards a career in medicine, and afterwards, when I told her how much she’d inspired me, she took me home with her and my life changed.
Emmet, however, is different. He’s not quite as carefree as I was at that age, but perhaps the times don’t lend themselves to that. Other than swimming and surfing, he doesn’t care about sport. So far, he has shown – at least to me – no interest in girls. And until I saw those photos on his phone, I assumed that he had not, as yet, had any sexual experiences. But there’s clearly something going on in his private universe that I don’t know about, but that I need to uncover. If I am to discuss it with him, I will have to choose my moment carefully.
‘Well, whatever happens,’ I tell him, ‘I’m glad you came.’
‘You didn’t give me much choice.’
‘You didn’t put up too much of a fight.’
‘Gets me out of school for a week.’
‘True,’ I say. ‘How is school anyway?’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Anything you want to tell me.’
He glances to his right, towards the window that looks out on to the dark night sky, and shrugs.
‘It’s school,’ he says. ‘It’s fine.’
‘Adults usually say that life was so much easier when they were children,’ I tell him. ‘When we had no responsibilities, no bills to pay, no wives, husbands, kids, all that stuff. I think we forget that it’s just as difficult being a teenager as it is being an adult. A different set of difficulties, yes, but they feel as important.’
‘Not for you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, your childhood was great, wasn’t it? I mean, I know Gran and Grandad died young, but you were an adult by then. Your teenage years were OK.’
It’s my turn to look away now. I’ve always known that the day might come when I would talk to him about what happened to me at his age but, for all my training in this area, I’ve never quite known how to approach it, worried that it might change his view of me in some way.
‘I had my issues.’
‘Well, my childhood wasn’t exactly a Disney movie.’
‘I’ve done my best.’
‘I didn’t mean you,’ he concedes, his tone softening. ‘I meant Mum.’
I decided a long time ago that I would never say a negative word about Rebecca in Emmet’s presence. Granted, I’ve never gone out of my way to praise her either, but I knew that it would be a mistake to say or do anything that could be interpreted later as my way of turning him against her. Such behaviour would only rebound on me in the future.
‘Your mother loves you,’ I tell him.
‘My mother could barely pick me out of a line-up.’
‘Emmet, you must remember—’
‘I don’t want to talk about her,’ he says, cutting me off, and I decide not to push this topic any further. I’d prefer to return to the more cheerful conversation that we were having earlier.
‘A gym,’ he continues after a moment.
‘What?’
‘This plane has a shower, a bar. What it needs is a gym. Thirteen hours? You could get a good work-out in.’
‘I guess,’ I say.
‘Just a small room with some dumbbells and a treadmill,’ he continues. ‘That’d be cool.’
‘I think people would spend more time at the bar,’ I tell him.
He nods, but I’m reminded of how he’s been throwing himself into exercising lately, although it doesn’t seem to be having much effect on his body, which remains stubbornly slender.
‘What I said about the woman you were talking to—’ he continues.
‘Emmet, I swear I just met her!’
‘I know, I know. I was just kidding about that, but, can I ask you something?’
I nod. ‘Sure.’
‘Like …’ He hesitates, sounding nervous. ‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend?’
I’m taken aback by the question. I can’t recall him ever asking something so intimate of me.
‘Well, it’s not as if I wouldn’t like one,’ I say, weighing each word carefully.
‘Then why don’t you? Like, you’re ancient, but you’re not gross or fat or anything. And, as much as it makes me want to throw up, some of my girlfriends think you’re not the most repulsive dad out there.’
‘Good to know,’ I say, laughing a little. ‘The truth is, I was never very good at relationships.’
‘You found someone to marry you.’
‘And look how that turned out.’
‘That wasn’t your fault.’
‘It was as much my fault as your mother’s,’ I insist. ‘Maybe even more.’
‘I doubt that.’
‘We were too young.’
A strange expression crosses his face.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘It’s just … I wondered …’
‘Wondered what?’
‘Like, I don’t know if you have … I mean, sometimes I’ve wondered whether you might have some secret life going on that I know nothing about. A woman you hook up with.’ He hesitates, avoiding my eye. ‘Or a guy maybe.’
I sit back in surprise. ‘Emmet, I’m not gay,’ I tell him.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Pretty sure, yes.’
‘It just seems weird that you never date anyone, that’s all.’
‘If I was gay, I would tell you I was gay.’
‘OK,’ he says. ‘That’s a relief.’
‘You’re relieved that I’m not gay?’ I ask, surprised that he would say such a thing. It’s out of character for him to express any kind of prejudice.
‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘Not that. I mean I’m relieved you haven’t felt you had to lie to me about something like that. Jesus. Come on. What do you think I am?’
He looks genuinely mortified that I could have misinterpreted him, and I hold a hand up to acknowledge this. After all, Damian came out to him only a few months earlier and, if anything, it seems to have brought them even closer. Emmet’s invited him for even more sleepovers than usual since then, which I think is his way of expressing unqualified support, a move that’s impressed me.
‘It would be nice to be in a relationship,’ I admit, as much to myself as to him. The truth is, all these years, I genuinely have either been working or bringing him up and haven’t had much time to date, although it’s not as if there aren’t plenty of parents in the class WhatsApp group who would have taken Emmet any time I asked. And a few single mums who’ve seemed open to the idea of going for drinks. ‘I just …’ I don’t know how to finish this sentence. ‘Maybe one day,’ I say finally.
‘Well, don’t leave it too late,’ he replies, and I’m about to laugh but I can see from the expression on his face that he genuinely means it.
‘You don’t want me to be alone,’ I say quietly.
‘I don’t want you to be lonely,’ he clarifies.
I nod and there’s an awkward silence between us.
‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ he says eventually.
‘About what earlier? There’s so much to pick from.’
He smiles.
‘In the bookshop. Talking about Furia’s book like that.’
‘Oh. That.’
‘It was early. I was tired, hungry and grouchy.’
‘It’s fine.’ I wait a few moments before asking a question that I’m not even sure I want him to answer. ‘Have you read it?’
He hesitates for a moment, then shakes his head.
‘No.’
‘It wouldn’t bother me if you had. You like books, and everyone’s saying how good it is. You said it had an—’
‘Unreliable narrator, I know.’
‘That’s why I thought you might have. Where did you even pick up such a phrase?’
‘In English class. And, you know’ – he pauses, takes a sip from his glass – ‘in the reviews.’
‘You’ve read the reviews?’
He looks slightly embarrassed. ‘A few of them.’
‘OK.’
I don’t quite know how to feel about this. Was he hoping they’d be negative or positive?
‘Have you read it?’ he asks me, and I give him a look that says, what do you think?
It occurs to me that, since he’s asking such intimate questions of me, perhaps this is a good opportunity to turn the conversation back on him.
‘So, speaking of girlfriends,’ I begin, saying each word slowly so as not to frighten him away. ‘Is there anyone that you like?’
He opens his eyes wide and looks as if he’d be perfectly happy for the cabin door to burst open right now and suck us both out into the night sky.
‘I’m not having this conversation,’ he says.
‘So, you can ask me about my love life, but I can’t ask about yours?’
‘Correct,’ he says. ‘Got it in one.’
‘OK, but, joking aside, if there is someone, at school or down the beach or wherever, someone you like, you could talk to me about her.’ I sense an opportunity to tease him as he teased me. ‘Or about him.’
‘You think you’re so funny,’ he says, rolling his eyes, but he can’t help himself, he smiles.
‘I do,’ I admit.
But while we’re on the subject, why do you have semi-naked pictures of yourself on your phone? Who asked for them? Who did you send them to?
We’ve finished our drinks and Noémie asks if we’d like another round. It’s completely irresponsible of me, of course, but I see a hopeful look on my son’s face, so I nod and say yes. Maybe I’m getting him liquored up so that he might open up to me even more. It’s reckless, I suppose, but God knows there are worse things an adult can do to a boy his age. The stewardess gives me a look that says, I know I’ve been complicit in this, because the boy charmed me when he told me about your birthday, but this is his last one .
‘What will you do when I’m gone?’ he asks when she returns behind the bar.
‘Gone?’
‘Like, in a few years’ time, when I’m out of the house.’
‘Why, where are you going?’
‘Uni,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I suppose.’
‘Oh right. Then.’
‘What will you do?’
I’ve never given much thought to the fact that it won’t be long before I’m back where I started, before I even met Rebecca. It’s narcissistic, but the thought flashes through my head that I’m a good man, with a good career. I’ve kept my body in decent shape, and I’m reasonably attractive. Some might say that I’m a catch. So why the fuck don’t I have someone, other than my son, to go home to? Why is it that I haven’t had sex in so long? Why have I never been to bed with anyone other than my rapist and my ex-wife?
‘Dad,’ he says, and when I look up, he’s staring at me with a concerned expression on his face. ‘Dad, what’s wrong?’
I shake my head, confused by the question.
‘What?’ I ask him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Dad, you’re crying.’