Two hours later we’re walking back from the beach, George having offered to carry everything heavy, which my father is immensely pleased about. The beach outing has been a success, and my mum and George are in front as he continues charming her.
My dad walks in silence as we share holding the now empty cooler between us.
“What do you think?” I ask nervously.
“He’s very nice,” Dad says.
“You like him then?”
“Yes. I do. He’s very talkative. Likes his job. A lot.”
“I think he was a bit nervous,” I say in George’s defense. “All dads hate him, apparently.”
“Alldads. How many girlfriends has he had?”
“Not many. But I think he’s been a bit unlucky in love, so far.”
“Like you?” my dad says with a smile.
“Hey! I’m just very choosy.”
My dad looks ahead, at Mum and George chatting away, and then he looks back at me. “How’s that other young man? The one you phoned me about?” Without giving me a chance to speak, he continues, “I’ve thought about that quite a lot since, you know. I worried about you.”
“Me?”
“Of course. You were very upset.”
I look away, out to sea, as we walk along by the old oyster sheds. “I was. I am still, I think. Don’t tell Mum. Don’t tell George, for God’s sake.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” my dad points out. “How is he? Did he go ahead with his treatment?”
“Yes, he did.”
“Good,” Dad says firmly. “Good.”
He’ll be finished with his chemo now. I wonder what Davey’s doing these days? Going through billions of checkups, tests, CT scans. Every now and again I try to work out where he is on his regimen, what he’ll be doing. I look at forums, trying to ascertain what other men in the same position are going through. So much for putting Davey out of my mind.
“What does George think about…what’s his name?”
“Davey,” I say. Even saying his name aloud feels like a betrayal of George. Talking about this with my dad feels wrong. I feel we should be talking about something else—anything else.
“I’ve not really…I’ve not really talked to George about Davey. I don’t want to.” Davey is private. He stays firmly tucked inside my mind, at the back. I don’t bring what Davey and I almost were to each other out for discussion and general dissection. It’s safer to leave it alone. I wish my dad would stop asking about him, but in a way I’m happy that he does, that he cares enough to ask.
My dad doesn’t reply. I can tell he’s thinking about this. Without speaking about Davey at length, my dad is going to dissect it anyway. “You don’t check in with him from time to time, see if he’s all right?”
“No,” I reply firmly. “We don’t talk. We won’t talk again, I think.”
He nods, adjusts his grip on the cooler handle. I look away. High tide has come and gone, taking the sea in another direction, the pebbles unraveling themselves from the swirl of the water. I can sense, rather than see, my dad looking at me.
At the house George says he needs to use the loo, “And then we’ll set off, shall we, Han?”
“So soon?” my mum says.
“I’d like a few minutes with Andrex,” I say. “Quick cup of tea and then we’ll go?”
George looks put out, briefly, and then flashes his trademark smile. “Sure.”
“Come play ball with him? Or sit with me while I do?” I suggest. I’m ready to say something about it only being a quick one in this weather, as it’s not good for dogs to play for too long in the heat of the sun, but George makes a face.
