Chapter 4 #2
“All information is in there,” she says. “There’s a welcome meeting at nine tomorrow morning. You’ll meet your mentor then. For now, please stay on the university grounds. If you plan to leave, do ensure you both sign out here at reception.”
“I’ll be taking them for a meal this evening,” I say.
“The canteen is open.”
“Not quite what I was thinking. I’ll ensure they sign out.”
She tuts, clearly not happy that I want to take my own sons to dinner. It only makes me more determined.
“Room 653,” she says, waving in the direction of the stairs behind her. “Sixth floor. Have a good day.”
“That’ll be us then,” I mutter. Ollie sniggers, then picks up his case. His brother says nothing. We all walk off in the direction as instructed.
The climb to the sixth floor is worse than a combat class, but the line for the elevators made waiting a less-than-appealing concept.
Finally, we’re standing outside the scarred wooden door to the boys’ room.
Liam slides in the key, and it clicks open easier than you would expect the rusted old lock to move.
Inside, there are two single beds, a bathroom, a small kitchenette, and a sofa.
Bleak, gray, but adequate for their needs.
The brochure showed plenty of communal spaces to meet friends and hang out.
All meals are included in the camp fees, which cost a small fortune; training takes place on the university campus and at the local professional soccer team's stadium.
Both boys throw a suitcase on a bed, ultimately claiming their space for the duration. They turn to me, still standing in the doorway. For the first time on the trip, I choke, not knowing what to say.
“Not exactly The Ritz,” Ollie says, breaking the silence in his typical fashion.
“It’s fine,” Liam mumbles, not really to us, more as if just wanting to speak. “It’s warm and clean.”
“Okay, you just aged another ten years to sixty,” his brother jibes. I chuckle, loving their dynamic. Then the silence resumes again.
“I’ll let you both get settled.” I need space. Just a little time to check my emotions. The last thing I want is to cause my sons to feel guilt, and right now, I could cry. The rush of loss is overwhelming. “I’ll find my hotel, then come back in a few hours, and we’ll go eat.”
“Sure, Dad.” Ollie throws himself onto his bed, his suitcase bouncing onto the floor. “See you in a bit.”
Liam steps forward, then wraps his arms around my waist. I hold him like I did when he was small, even though he’s now almost eye level with me. It’s comforting for both of us. His heart beats against my chest. We just stand there for a few seconds. Father and son.
“I’m going to miss you,” he whispers. My pain nearly breaks the surface, and I push it down deep in my throat. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I’m so damn proud of you. Both of you.” I squeeze Liam a little tighter. Ollie looks up, then resumes his game on his phone. “Now, go explore and tell me all about it when I come back later.”
***
Seven o’clock rolls around, and I’m standing at the entrance to the halls, but neither son is anywhere to be seen.
I messaged them half an hour ago to tell them I’d meet them here; both read it, yet neither is here.
Ten more minutes pass, then I hear the cackle of teenage voices behind me.
I turn, and there are both of them in a group of six or seven wandering along the path as if they have all the time in the world.
“Dad,” Liam shouts as they come into view. “Five minutes and we’ll be with you.”
They play fight the way boys do with the others, all arm punches and laughs, then they run off into the halls. I watch in awe at how settled they look already, relieved, but hurting a little that within hours they’ve proven they don’t need me.
My internet research back in my hotel found a burger joint a ten-minute walk from the university. Simple but effective, and both boys will eat well. The place is crammed with students, and we squeeze into a table in the corner as my phone rings with an incoming video call.
Savannah appears on screen, smiling but tired. “Hey, Dad,” she says, eyes shadowed but bright. “How’s the good old U.S. of A? Have the rogues been arrested yet?”
Before I can answer, it rings again, this time Rose popping up—bikini clad, a beach in the background. I turn the phone horizontally and place it on the table so we can all see the girls.
“Hi,” Rose sings, then takes a slug of a blue drink in a cocktail glass. “Just swinging by to see what’s happening…”
“I was here first…” Savannah interrupts, and I realize that none of us on this side of the call has said a word.
“Well, you weren’t quick enough,” her sister shoots back, and the two of them start to bicker. As teenagers, they were a nightmare, swinging from best friends to enemies day to day. Close enough in age that they could socialize together, but far enough apart that sometimes the gap caused issues.
I tap the table with my knuckles. “Order.”
It was an old trick, but one that used to work at the dinner table. And tonight it did again.
“Good to see you, girls,” I say. “We’ve just sat down for dinner.”
“Oh, what you having?” Rose chimes in.
“Meat,” Ollie shouts. “Meat and bread. Me man… I only eat meat.”
Savannah huffs. “You need to eat vegetables, Ollie. I’ve told you that before.”
“You act older than Liam and Dad combined,” Ollie teases, and his sister launches into a monologue about why eating greens is important. Savannah may be the oldest, but sometimes she falls too easily into her younger brother’s traps.
“Shhh…” Rose says. “You two are still a nightmare, and you’re on bloody opposite sides of the earth. So, Liam, how are you feeling? Exciting, huh?”
Everyone falls silent, waiting for the quietest member of our family’s summary. The one every one of us protects, though we don’t admit it.
“Good,” he replies, voice soft. “It will be a good summer.”
“Yeah, it will be.” Rose smiles wide, pride clear on every inch of her face. “And we’re all cheering you both on every step of the way.”
I sit back and let my kids talk, rarely adding more than a nod, grunt, or chuckle. I don’t need to; together they work, and I love watching them. The love. The care. The companionship. The fact that even though they’re divided by miles of ocean and land, they’re still rooting for one another.
Bex would be so proud. She saw her son bond with his half-siblings before she died, and I hope that gave her some peace. But seeing them now, acting like the one dynamic family they are, makes it hit home. They love one another, even the faults. And as their father, I can’t ask any more of them.
***
The following morning, I pack for the trip home, well, throw my few belongings into the small case I brought.
At eight o’clock, I’m standing outside my sons’ temporary home, holding each boy in a bear hug, not wanting to let go.
But I do. One hug each, then I step away and let them enjoy their summer.
“Call me,” is my parting shot over my shoulder as I climb into the taxi.
Ollie waves and is already turning away, heading back inside, no doubt to finish his breakfast. Liam stands, watching the taxi pull away. Minutes later, his text arrives, sweet and unexpected.
Text when you get home, Dad.
The journey home is quiet, the hours on the plane bleeding together one US sitcom at a time. Every so often, the tranquility is interrupted by a baby’s cry or a toddler wandering the aisle with a frustrated mother. But mostly, it’s just me and the television. Loneliness on steroids.
Back home, I unlock my front door and walk into even more silence. My house, which used to be full of laughter and young voices, is now nothing but the sound of my own shoes. This is the quiet Amy warned me about.
After dumping my suitcase by the front door, I immediately go to my room and retrieve the box from the wardrobe. The one containing all the ideas and wants of how I could honor my wife. With everything laid out on the bed, I spend hours trawling through the scribbles and scrambled thoughts.
There are more questions than answers. More problems than issues solved.
But it’s in this moment that I know I’ve found my purpose, that this summer won’t just be me wallowing in loneliness. I’ll use it for something positive. I pull the black pen from the bedside drawer, then turn over the box lid.
The Bex Corrigan-Jones Retreat.
I write it thick and dark, then return the papers and close the lid. This time, I don’t hide it at the back of the wardrobe.
I set the box on my bedside table, where it will be the first thing I see when I wake.