Page 170 of Lessons in Chemistry

“Homemade. I don’t like jar or packet sauces. I always make them from scratch.”

The corner of Dad’s lip twitches up. Is he at least a tiny bit impressed?

“It’s nice.” He twirls the same piece of pasta around his fork for a couple of minutes.

“Dad?”

“You should have told me you enjoyed cooking.”

“I did. I wanted to do it as one of my GCSE options. You told me it was a waste of time and that I needed to do a real subject.” I put my fork down long enough to make air quotes.

Dad shifts in his chair.

I wouldn’t normally speak to him like this, but Emory and Casey have emboldened me. “I also told you I didn’t want to do pharmacology, but you didn’t listen then either.”

Dad stares at his plate rather than meeting my gaze.

“I should have tried harder. Heck, I should have refused to do the course in the first place. I didn’t, because I thought I needed your money and the promise of a company in the future. But I don’t. What I need the most is for you to accept me for who I am. I will never be you. I don’t have your hopes and dreams. I’m not as brainy as you. I don’t have a head for science like you do. I’m me.”

Dad puts his fork down, clears his throat and stands. “Excuse me.”

He leaves the room and, a moment later, the house. I watch through the window as he gets in his car and drives away.

“Well, that was a mistake,” I mutter.

“No, it wasn’t.” Casey stands and hugs me from behind.

“I agree,” Emory says.

I gesture at the window. “He left.”

“Because he’s ashamed,” Casey says.

I blink. “Ashamed?”

“Of the way he’s treated you. Of not listening to you and not knowing how wonderful you are.”

“You called him a bully,” I whisper.

“Because he is.”

“I know.”

“But most bullies don’t like being called out on their behaviour. They hate it when someone holds up a mirror and forces them to look into it.”

“He’ll be back. Maybe not tonight, but he’s not going to drive home without talking to you first,” Emory says with absolute conviction.

I stare at the food on my plate, no longer hungry enough to eat it. “Do you believe that?”

Emory squeezes my hand. “Yes.”

“So do I.” Casey holds me tight.

“I hope so. Otherwise, we’re going to need somewhere else to live.”

“We have somewhere else. Casey and I still have our flat, remember? But it won’t come to that. Your dad has a lot to think about. Give him time.”

It’s not like I’ve got any other choice. Well, I could call him, but I don’t have the nerve to do that.