‘Right.’ George shrugged. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Take my position at the front. Don’t be long, though.’
Owen moved onto the empty seat next to Sally. ‘Can I talk to my father, please?’
Henry’s expression flickered. Sally glanced at each of the men, worry written all over her face. ‘Please, Owen, be kind. Remember, he’s not well.’
‘And please remember, I am still here,’ Henry grumbled.
Sally patted Henry’s knee. ‘I know, dear. I’ll go talk to my Georgie, so you and Owen can talk.’
Owen stood up to let her pass, then took the seat she had left. Father and son stared ahead at the room.
‘So, marriage.’ Henry said, his voice not much above a whisper.
‘Yes. To the right woman this time.’
‘Good.’
‘Who sent you an invitation?’
‘Your bride. She’s a lovely girl. You are a fortunate young man.’
‘Am I?’ Owen knew it was true, but he’d be damned if he would agree. For months now, Sally, George and Lex had been plaguing him with requests to make peace with his father. And now it seemed Lex had played a trump card by inviting Henry to the wedding. ‘Should you be here?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’ Henry’s pale hand, bony like a skeleton, landed on Owen’s knee. ‘You’re my son. I wouldn’t have missed your wedding for the world.’
‘I meant your health. You look like death warmed up.’
‘That’s because I am. As the doctors keep telling me, I’m on borrowed time. Agh!’ Henry leaned forward, the hand on Owen’s knee clutching more tightly.
‘You’re in pain.’
‘I am,’ Henry gasped. ‘I … the drugs .…’ He swallowed, taking control. ‘They’re not very effective anymore. Now I know what a caterpillar of a cabbage white butterfly feels like.’
‘What?’ Owen took hold of Henry’s arm. Was the man rambling, incoherent with pain? Was this the first time he had touched his father?
Their eyes met. Both dark blue, one set fringed with long black lashes, the other edged in grey, less long, but the resemblance between the two was still remarkable. Owen saw his father’s eyes soften.
‘You don’t know about the Ichneumon fly and the cabbage white butterfly?’
Owen shook his head.
‘An example of nature’s cruelty. Take a delicate white butterfly with black wingtips fluttering around the cabbage patch. She’s a good mother, innocently seeking a place to lay her eggs, which she does on the underside of a cabbage leaf before flying off, unaware that her offspring are doomed.’
Owen shuddered, and he waited for Henry to take a breath and continue.
‘Some weeks later, the eggs have hatched, and the caterpillars, interesting black and yellow striped creatures, are feasting in the cabbage patch when along comes a mostly black fly, angular, evil … nature gave the Ichneumon fly a very suitable costume for its villainous role. It is, in fact, a species of parasitic wasp. Female. It too is looking for somewhere to lay its eggs.’
Owen felt sick … he’d never paid much attention to biology at school, but from somewhere in his memory, he extracted one fact. Some insects lay their eggs inside the living bodies of other creatures … animals, other insects, sometimes humans.
Henry flicked a glance at Owen. ‘You’ve grown pale, son. Is it wedding nerves, or have you got ahead in my story?’
‘Both.’
‘Ah, then I don’t have to tell you what happens to our black and yellow caterpillars.’
Owen shook his head.
‘Can I tell you something else?’ Henry asked, the hand still on Owen’s knee attempting a squeeze.
