‘I don’t care. I really don’t. Do you hate me?’
‘Never.’
‘I have that TV debate thing coming up. I can’t do that without you.’
‘You’ll have me. I wouldn’t let you do that alone.’
I still cry because it pains me to see Mum so distressed. I guess she never thought about the repercussions of her career and hates that it’s hurt her kids in any way. Through the window of Nan’s balcony, I see Cameron reach up to scratch his neck. I’m not alone, though.
‘You didn’t tell me about Charlie,’ Dad suddenly brings up.
‘Charlie, the new lad. The trainee?’ Mum says.
‘Turns out Josie has paid for him to go on a management course, she’s paid for it out of her own salary because he couldn’t afford it,’ Dad explains.
Mum’s eyes widen. ‘Josie?’
‘Who told you?’ I ask.
‘Michelle is off her nut tonight. She can hardly stand. She told us you paid for Pamela’s husband to get some proper blood tests too for his diabetes, and you gave that girl in marketing extra maternity leave because her baby’s got colic…’
Someone take Michelle’s fizz from her. ‘I don’t need the money. Best it gets spent on the right things.’
Mum is wailing at this point, soaking the lapels on Sonny’s tuxedo jacket.
‘Where are you?’ Dad asks.
‘On the balcony at Nan’s.’
‘We’re on the roof of the hotel, I’ll give you a wave.’
I laugh as a tear rolls down my cheek.
‘I’m sorry, Josie. I really am. I love you,’ Dad whispers.
‘I love you too. And you were right, I need to tell Cameron everything. He’s here now. I’m good.’
‘You do what you need to do with Cameron. I’m just glad you’re not on your own. Am I allowed to track down that shitbox Mike, though, and stove his face in?’ he asks.
‘Don’t do that,’ I tell Dad. He won’t. I can’t imagine him hitting anyone, ever.
‘Tonight, everyone’s had a story about you. You’ve made me so proud. Where did you learn to be that kind, eh?’
I look him straight in the eye. ‘Who knows?’
In the background, I can hear a loud countdown starting from ten as the New Year nears ever closer.
‘Go and join in,’ I tell Dad.
‘Nah…’ I see him study my face in the screen as Mum, Sonny and an extremely excitable Pip from product development scream in unison. He rolls his eyes at me. Can’t take this lot anywhere. I laugh.
‘9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1… HAPPY NEW YEAR!’ In the background, I see my family go a bit frenetic with movement and dancing. There’s the loud banging of party poppers, possibly some fireworks, some person who is singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ all on their own. But Dad’s face remains constant, smiling back at me. He can’t hear a thing, but he mouthsHappy New Yearto me.
I wave back. Happy New Year, Dad.
The phone goes to black and I stand there on the balcony, still wrapped in my blanket, the pulse of the downstairs neighbour’s rap still vibrating off the floor, waving into the darkness. That’s what this New Year needs, the solid dependency of Dr Dre. Have a drink for me, all of you. Not that I need it.
‘Crap, did I miss it?’ I hear a voice mumbling in the background, as the balcony doors open.
