‘Owww! There are needles in that arm. Isn’t that your mum’s coat?’ he asks. I punch him again.
‘You scared the monkeys out of us. Why aren’t you taking better care of yourself?’
My mum grins smugly, as in these situations I am always the bad cop and this is perhaps a bit of what he needed to hear.
‘Who were you playing tennis with?’ I ask.
‘These two young finance upstarts down the club. Jumped-up little things thought they could take me and Clive on.’
‘How old?’
‘Early twenties.’
‘Idiot.’
‘I nearly died.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘I threw up on the tennis court, though. There will be a fouling charge, I think. Teaches me to eat pie and mash before I take on two kids at doubles.’
‘And combine that with your super tight eighties tennis shorts, then it’s just a recipe for disaster,’ my mum adds, going over to the bed to kiss him on the forehead.
I scan his body, he still has his socks and tennis shoes on, a paper gown over his body. I sit on the edge of his bed and put a hand to his arm.
‘I’m sorry, Josie,’ he whispers and I lean over and rest my head on his chest, reassured to feel the echo of his heartbeat, the way it rises and falls like it should. He puts a hand to my cheek. You stupid big lump. Thank god it was nothing more.
‘You also interrupted her date,’ Mum adds.
I glare at Mum.
‘Oooooh, a date? We love to hear it. What’s the tea?’ he asks.
‘Stop talking in youth speak, Dad.’
My parents both wait expectantly for details. They won’t get them from me, mainly because it’s not the priority right now and I’m too much of a mess of emotions to deal with the interrogation.
‘His name is Cameron. He looks like a young Tom Hanks,’ Mum says, trying to tease more detail out of me.
‘He really doesn’t. Remind me to book you in for that eye appointment.’
Mum smiles sarcastically back at me.
‘You know. I had quite the scare, JoJo,’ Dad says, trying to act poorly and withered. ‘And it’s been quite the day. To hear you’ve met someone and get some morsels of gossip would be quite medicinal.’
I shake my head at him. I don’t think any father needs to hear the details of his daughter’s sex life.
‘He’s dressed like Rick Grimes today fromThe Walking Dead. You watched that with me.’
‘The zombie show?’
I nod. We binged it over three weeks, a proper father-daughter activity, and then we plotted how we’d ever cope in an apocalypse. Most likely using golf clubs, tennis racquets and giant sex toys from the warehouse.
‘So you have a comic book friend. Finally, your mother and I don’t have to pretend to be interested in all of that.’
They both grin at each other.
‘It’s not serious, we’re just seeing where it goes…’
