Chapter 37
Max
I need to stop living with my head in the clouds.
It’s time to face reality. I’m on the train with Mr Peanut to go and see my dad.
I hate to say it, but it feels good to get away from Hunter.
I stand by my decision, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
You’d think that developing real feelings for each other would make it easier for us to pretend to be a couple, but now I can’t bear the thought of it.
If I get to the final stage of interviews in Athens, Hunter will be invited, but apart from that, most of the faking should be over.
Starting with today’s mission.
I keep tabs on my dad with our daily phone calls, but I rarely visit him.
It’s hard to be in that house. As my train clatters out of London, I watch as five-storey townhouses gradually give way to run-down suburban terraces.
After an hour, we arrive in Horsham, the town I grew up in.
It’s a perfectly pleasant place with some very nice parts, including a nature reserve and a museum.
For my dad, however, its appeal was its proximity to the airport he worked at.
Arriving at our row of terraced houses with pebbledash fronts, everything shrinks.
You can only survive in a place like this by shrinking your horizons.
This has to be the most relentlessly average street in the whole of England.
Nothing exciting ever happens here. People mow their lawns, trade the same few phrases with their neighbours, buy the same products in their weekly Tesco shop.
It only takes a few moments back here for me to be reminded of how desperately I longed to leave, make something more of my life, get precisely the kind of job I’m now in line for.
I hate to admit it, given everything that’s happened with Hunter, but as I walk up to my dad’s front door and ring the bell, I’ve never wanted that Athens job more.
My dad opens the door and I throw my arms around him before he can escape me. He’s not the type to initiate a hug, but I’m convinced he secretly likes it, and even if he doesn’t, I really need one.
Some people I know love to surround themselves with photos of those they’ve lost. Not my dad. As I walk down the hallway, I pass the only photo he has on display. It’s all three of us, taken on our last holiday together, my mum with her arms slung around both of us.
My mum and dad could never agree on where to go on holiday.
My mum always longed for adventures, while my dad was keen to visit the same campsite each year where he knew the location of the emergency electricity supply and where to buy eggs on Sundays.
But that year, we compromised on Amsterdam, and you can see from our smiling faces that everyone was happy.
My dad keeps the house spotless, but it still has that vaguely damp smell of a home that hasn’t been redecorated in decades.
He mumbles something about not knowing if I was staying for dinner, as if to excuse the meal he’s prepared, which amounts to an incredible effort by his standards.
He’s bought a chicken pie and paired it with some sad-looking lettuce that’s in bad need of Mariam’s mythical salad tosser.
I don’t want to know what he eats on the nights it’s just him.
We sit down to eat. Ordinarily, I would fill the first half hour of my visit with inane chatter, but my dad has barely taken a mouthful before he puts down his fork.
‘I hope you aren’t here to convince me to work with that woman.’
I pull an innocent expression. ‘Am I not allowed to visit my own dad?’
He ignores me. ‘I tried my best, Max! Offered her my help, no strings attached. The woman is impossible.’
I smile and shake my head. ‘She’s stuck in her ways. Remind you of anyone?’
My dad stiffens. ‘My ways are logical.’
‘To you maybe.’
My dad takes another bite and chews in silence. I press on.
‘Maybe there’s something beautiful about the way Doily sees the world. Let the Geralds have their own folder!’
My dad scoffs at the idea.
‘You don’t have to get it,’ I continue. ‘You don’t even have to respect it. But that doesn’t mean you can’t let Doily be the way she wants to be.’
‘Max, she can be who she wants. That’s not the issue.’ He examines his plate without lifting his fork. ‘I just don’t want to work together if feelings are going to get hurt.’
He keeps his eyes glued to his plate.
‘Feelings?’ I ask hopefully.
My dad looks up. ‘She’s a lovely woman. And perhaps . . . you know . . . she feels likewise. But it’s not going to work. So let’s leave it there.’
Now that he’s admitted this, I’m not sure I can bear to leave it there. But I know my dad. He won’t be persuaded of anything.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘That’s actually not why I came here.’
My dad frowns in surprise. I take a deep breath. No going back now.
‘Dad, I’ve been lying to you.’
No reaction.
‘About me and Hunter.’
‘Hunter?’
I feel sick. ‘Yes, you know – Edwin’s stage name. Except . . . it’s his real name. It was all fake, Dad.’
‘What was?’
‘Me and Hunter. We didn’t really fall in love. It was a marriage of convenience.’
I proceed to tell him everything. How I found Doily.
How Hunter and I only met moments before walking into the British Museum.
How we knew we were breaking the law but did it anyway.
How gradually, the feelings we were faking became real – and how we’ve decided to put everything on pause until we know where our lives are taking us.
As I talk, I track my dad’s reaction. He’s doing his best not to reveal anything, but I can tell this is paining him. I feel awful, but I can’t look away. It’s not only my dad I’m being honest with. It’s me.
Admitting all the feelings it has been too difficult or inconvenient to acknowledge, and the impossible situation it has left me in.
‘I’m sorry, Dad.’
He’s staring at the table. I wait for what feels like ages.
‘I could tell something was up,’ he says eventually.
He looks at me. ‘Why do you think I insisted on the pre-nup?’
I’m momentarily speechless. ‘Wait, you didn’t believe it from the start?’
‘It’s not that. I just thought it would be sensible to have a back-up plan.
But no, I believed it. At least I did once I’d met him.
’ He thinks back wistfully. ‘Then at the wedding, when you said your vows . . . I was so happy, Max. I felt like I can’t have failed that much as a parent, if I can raise a son who’s capable of this. ’
I thought I’d felt all the guilt I could at the wedding. I was wrong.
‘Dad, I’m so sorry.’
He looks at me with a forlorn expression. ‘I don’t know how I raised such a liar.’
The word stops me in my tracks. I hold his gaze. ‘I do.’
My dad blinks in confusion.
‘I never felt like I could tell you the truth,’ I say.
My dad’s brow creases. ‘About what?’
‘How I was feeling. I didn’t want to add to your worries.’
My dad sits forward. ‘What didn’t you tell me?’
‘Anything. Everything. When I was sad or angry or scared. Eventually, I convinced myself I didn’t feel that way. It was just easier.’
My dad picks at his salad as he digests this. I feel bad holding him to account so soon after apologising, but this is a conversation we should have had years ago.
‘I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could talk to me,’ he says. ‘But I hear you. You can tell me when you’re sad. Are you sad right now?’
I pause, struck by the question. Why is this the one thing we never admit to each other?
‘I guess so, yeah.’
My dad nods, thinking it over. ‘You know, you and Hunter don’t have to decide about your future right now. You shouldn’t hold off based on what might or might not happen. Enjoy each other while you can.’
We both know he’s thinking of his own marriage.
‘I’m scared,’ I say.
‘Of what?’
‘That it will hurt more if it doesn’t work out.’
My dad looks at me wisely. ‘It will hurt either way. Trust me on this, Max.’
As I catch the train back to London with Mr Peanut, my heart is lighter.
My dad and I aren’t going to make everything better with one conversation, but it feels like we’ve done the hard part and broken the ice.
More than that, I think he’s right about me and Hunter.
Just because we’re unsure of our future doesn’t mean our present needs to be painful.
I feel a rush of excitement at the thought of us sharing a bed tonight.
I let myself in quietly, and Hunter doesn’t notice me at first. He’s sitting at the kitchen table with a notepad and a pen.
There’s a half-drunk glass of milk on the table beside him, and remnants of white on his top lip.
He’s concentrating hard on what he’s writing.
After a moment, he looks up and sees me standing there.
‘Hey,’ I say. ‘Can we talk?’
Hunter looks hesitant. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing.’
‘Oh. What’s up?’
Hunter bursts into a smile. ‘I got a callback.’
I’m stunned into silence.
‘For Hamlet,’ Hunter says. ‘They loved my tape. The callback is in two days.’
‘Oh my god, Hunter, that’s amazing!’
I race forward and scoop him into a hug. I’m happy for him, genuinely happy, but I’m also keen to hide how much this news hurts. Hunter chatters about what they’ve asked him to do for his callback. He’s so excited that it takes him a few minutes to recall how our conversation started.
‘Wait, what did you want to talk about?’ he asks eventually.
I could be honest with him, but this audition is everything to Hunter. He doesn’t need any distractions.
I smile at him serenely. ‘It can wait.’