Page 30 of Love at First Sight

‘Ooooh, interesting,’ Cal chimes in. ‘So they have duvets and blankets because it’s cold in an underground bunker? I always thought that it would be warm if you dug deep underground.’

‘No,’ Henry says. ‘There’s no sun underground, is there. So it must be cold.’

Cal nods slowly. ‘Yes, however, I thought that the ground absorbs all the heat so that it is warm.’

‘Oooooh,’ says Henry. ‘I never thought of that.’

‘Neither have the car in front,’ I point out. ‘Since they’ve got all those with them.’

Henry yawns.

‘I’m tired,’ he says. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

‘Oh my god,’ Cal says, mostly for my benefit. ‘I didn’t know kids actually said that!’

Henry doesn’t hear him. That or he can’t be bothered to reply.

‘You learn something new every day,’ I say, and then I turn to Henry. ‘Babe, just because it’s a special day and there’s traffic and I don’t want you to fall asleep because then you won’t sleep later … do you want half an hour on my phone to play the maths game I downloaded?’

‘Yes!’ Henry says, suddenly perking up. ‘Can I? Can I?’

‘You can,’ I say, fishing out my phone and handing it to him. ‘But with the sound off, please. Deal?’

‘Deal!’ he says, greedily taking it from me. He doesn’t even know what he’s just agreed to; he stopped listening after I said on my phone to play . But at least it’s something to do for a bit. Traffic is no fun for anyone.

‘You’re so good with him,’ Cal says, eyes dead ahead.

‘With Henry?’ I ask, and he nods. ‘Well, thanks. It is literally my job to be good with him though.’

Cal rolls his eyes. ‘Sorry I tried to compliment you,’ he says, taking the piss. ‘How dare I.’

‘Well!’ I say. ‘Yeah, thanks, but also, it’s not even really my job, if that makes sense. I love him! It’s very easy to be kind to people you love!’

‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Cal says, and on reflection, I decide he’s probably right. Look at my dad. I do believe he loves me, and yet. ‘Oh no. Your face has gone all serious and frowny. I said the wrong thing, didn’t I?’

‘No. I was just thinking about my dad. Maybe it’s not easy to be kind to the people you love.’

‘Hmmm,’ Cal says, mulling it over. ‘The situation’s no better, then?’

‘Nope,’ I say, as the traffic starts moving and we start to gain some traction. ‘I’ve been using Stray Kids to distract myself, whilst also unknotting all my feelings.’

‘That’s a good turn of phrase.’

‘Unknotting my feelings?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘That’s exactly how it feels, isn’t it? When you’re all messed up inside and you have to sit in it, figure out what feeling belongs where until things are clearer.’

I look at him.

‘What?’ he asks.

‘No, nothing.’

‘You seem surprised I just said that.’

‘Because I am surprised, I suppose. Emotional intelligence in—’

‘Don’t say men,’ Cal warns. ‘Do not say most men don’t have emotional intelligence.’

I press my mouth into a firm line.

‘Thank you,’ he says, noticing that I am not about to make the conversation any worse. ‘I’d hate to have to give my famous TED Talk on how toxic feminism putting men down to the extent where we feel disempowered and useless will eventually give way to a rise in incels and Andrew Tate fanatics.’

‘You’ve given this thought.’

‘Of course I have,’ he replies. ‘You want Henry to grow up to be loving and kind and thoughtful, right? Well then, he has to be loved, treated with kindness and told he’s thoughtful.’

From the back Henry exclaims, ‘I am thoughtful!’

‘Yes you are,’ I agree, reaching back to grab his foot and give it a squeeze. To Cal I say, ‘Well. I accept what you’re getting at. Consider me schooled.’

‘You’re welcome,’ he replies, satisfied.

It gets dark at about nine, and with it Henry nods off.

Poor love, he’s done very well, considering we’re now into our fifth hour in the car.

Bloody traffic. We stopped once, for a wee and a leg stretch, but aside from that we truck on, crawling in the traffic.

Our snacks have long gone, the radio plays Friday Night Bangers for us. And then my phone rings.

‘Oh, shit,’ I say, looking at the screen. ‘It’s my dad.’

Cal raises an eyebrow. ‘First time since the fight?’

‘Yeah. I should get it. I didn’t think …’

But I can’t finish the sentence. I’m shaking! I’m actually shaking.

Cal leans over and turns the music off. ‘I’ll try not to listen.’

I’m aware of the heaviness in my chest. A daughter shouldn’t feel like this when her dad rings, it’s not right. I hate it. I decline the call.

‘Maybe I’ll call him back later,’ I say to Cal. ‘When I’ve had time to prepare.’

Cal nods. ‘Fair enough.’ But then the phone rings again. Cal looks down and sees Dad’s photo on the screen, his name flashing. ‘He must really want to talk,’ he says, and so this time I answer.

‘Hi, Dad,’ I say, and whatever he’s about to say is dwarfed by an almighty sob, a wail so piercing it gives me goosebumps. ‘Dad?’ I repeat, but I’d be surprised if he can hear me over the noises he’s making. ‘Dad!’

‘Oh, Jessie,’ he says, in between cries, but he doesn’t qualify that with anything, simply carries on crying. He’s so distraught it makes me think somebody has died. But who? Mum, maybe?

‘Dad,’ I say again, after a minute. ‘Dad! Breathe!’ I’m almost shouting, and it makes me sound mean. I glance back at Henry, who thankfully hasn’t woken up. ‘Dad,’ I whisper. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Jessie,’ he says. ‘She’s gone. Simone. She’s left me.’

I am stunned, and so shocked I realise I’m holding my breath.

‘What?’ I exclaim. ‘Why? What happened?’

‘It’s that saxophonist. The one with the shirts. I always knew he fancied her, but I never for one moment thought she fancied him back! They’ve eloped to bloody Morocco together. True love, apparently. Nothing to do with the big inheritance he’s just come into, I’m sure.’

I don’t know what to say. Did Dad always know Simone’s a gold digger? My heart aches for him. Surely he doesn’t think so little of himself that he’d be with a woman in spite of the fact she’s with him mostly for his wallet.

‘Dad,’ I say. ‘This is spectacularly awful. I am so, so sorry. What can I do?’

Cal focuses on the road ahead.

‘Come over, would you?’ Dad asks. ‘I can’t …’ More crying, like it hurts him to say it. Then eventually: ‘I can’t be alone.’

I explain that I’m visiting Ali in the Cotswolds, that I won’t be back until Monday.

‘I can see about a train, maybe,’ I say, scrambling to come up with solutions. ‘But I doubt there’ll be anything until morning.’

Cal leans across and whispers, ‘We can drive you back.’

I tell Dad to hang on and hit mute, so he can’t hear the discussion.

‘Noooo,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Henry needs to see his mum. It’s fine. I can take a train tomorrow.’

‘Ali will understand,’ Cal says.

‘She won’t,’ I reply, and it just slips out. I can’t tell what the expression on Cal’s face means, and I feel horribly guilty. He purses his lips and looks out of the driver’s-side window, thinking.

‘Let’s drop Henry and then turn right back around,’ he says. ‘If your dad needs you, I think you should be there.’

‘Simone left him.’

‘I gathered. Tell him you’ll be there in the next, what? Three hours? Two and a half if we’re lucky, which we should be now. Roads will be clear at that time.’

I unmute the call.

‘Dad, somebody can give me a lift. I’ll come, okay?’

‘Okay,’ he says, voice small.

‘Can you take a shower and eat something?’ I ask, and he mumbles something about a beer first. Before we hang up, I say, ‘I love you, Dad.’