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“Well. I’ll make sure they don’t. And in return…”

“What?”

“Fancy a cup of tea? I’ll make it. I’ve got some nice biscuits in.”

I couldn’t say no to that, could I?

25. Stewart

Ihad breakfast at home because Dylan was fretting and running around like a battery-powered toy, so I left him to it, under Jean’s watchful eye. She’d turned up early with two large shopping bags full of food.

“Food suitable for growing children,” she’d said.

Then Dylan had carted out car seats, only then realising they were probably not suitable for a three-year-old and a nine-year-old, so we’d once again rearranged everything and put Jasmine’s seat back in my car.

He was not ready for this.

I was not ready for this.

And he was wearing a suit, to my slacks and open shirt.

Typical Dylan.

I had thought it and taken it all back in shame. This was a huge change for him. And for me. The whole thing had made me feel a little uneasy.

We didn’t fit in each other’s lives. Wrong time. Wrong place. And I didn’t like it.

I needed to step back.

Hence, I was sitting here, spitting crumbs at my son’s kitchen table at seven in the morning. The tea was hot.

“Good tea,” I mumbled.

He looked up at me from under his fringe.

“So this Dylan,” he said tentatively, taking a sip out of his own cup.

“Yes.” I nodded. “I didn’t mean that kind of tea.”

He shook his head.

“Dad, I miss Gray and I’m being all emo, but I don’t do well without him. Isn’t that stupid?”

“Not really.” I smiled. “It’s no fun when you’re not with the person you love.”

“He lives next door, Dad. You can just sprint across the grass and he’s there, that Dylan bloke. Gray’s in bloody LA, and his phone is off again. I know it’s because it’s in the middle of the night, but anyway.”

“He’s fine. Gray no doubt misses you as much as you miss him.”

“I know. But. Yeah. This Dylan.”

“Yes?”

He was fishing. But it made me smile.

“I need that tea.”

“You’ve got tea.”