‘I’ll pack now then, shall I?’ It angered him, how immature he sometimes acted around her. He tried constantly to keep the little boy at bay, but he always found a way to undermine him.

‘I forget sometimes you’re still just a child. But you remind me soon enough. It’s a serious question though.’

‘I don’t know what I’ll do.’ He shrugged moodily. ‘I’ll put a proposal together and then run it past you for your approval.’ He’d not have said it had his father been there. He waited for her comeback, but she said nothing. In the pause that followed they heard his footsteps coming down the stairs. Not before time, he arrived in the doorway and stood there with a wry half-smile. They waited. They seemed always to be waiting for him to say something.

‘You’re not going to talk about the bloody badgers again, are you?’

‘Are they back?’ He wandered over to the window and craned his head against the glass, scanning all the angles. ‘Seems not.’ He sounded genuinely disappointed. ‘I wonder where they are.’

‘Probably dead in the gutter.’

He looked again out the window, this way and that, and then for a long time his head hardly moved. Eventually he sighed heavily. ‘The sad truth is you’re probably right.’ He turned around. There was a cloud on the glass where his breath had been. ‘Anyway, enough of that. I mean, that’s just life and death stuff. What have I missed here?’ Neither answered and he sat down at the table with them. ‘It’s the girl, yes? The reason you want to stay? Just so we have all the necessary information, do you need to stay, or do you want to?’ Ben looked at him nonplussed. ‘I’m asking if she is pregnant.’

‘What? No. Of course not. I’m not that stupid.’ He felt himself begin to blush. He saw her face above his, the bulb bobbing and weaving behind it. He felt his hands on her hips, trying to lift her off him, and her weight pressing down even harder. He remembered how easily he’d allowed it to happen, that first time, down there in the basement, with the cold floor at his back, and other times since then. His father was talking again.

‘Not “of course not”,’ he was saying, ‘not at all. These things happen all the time. And she does have a certain – what word do I want, mother? – a certain charm?’ His wife stared at him.

‘I thought you hated her?’ Ben said.

‘Yes, I know you did. But I wonder why you’d think that. I’ve not said a word about her. I suspect that says more about your own prejudices than mine. It’s easily done. I’m old, or oldish,’ he winked at his wife, ‘and she’s certainly a little… unorthodox. Of course, the world didn’t have eccentric characters until about five years ago, so it’s all new for the likes of us. The modern way. But we’re trying to adapt.’

‘Please, now,’ his wife said.

‘Sorry, dear. Actually, I hardly know the girl; you’ve kept her well-hidden. Probably because of those very prejudices. But the few times we have spoken she’s been perfectly civil. Almost polite. Do you remember, mother, she said she thought that I looked exactly how a dad should look? I think she was making a joke at my expense.’

She was still staring at him. Ben could see her pulse throbbing wildly in her temple. ‘What is this?’ she said. ‘You’re on his side now?’

‘There are no sides. We’re talking.’

‘No. You’re talking. Or lecturing. Like you do.’ His mother had a habit of bullying people by saying what she thought. Many people assumed she bullied her husband too, mistaking his long silences for meekness or acquiescence. But he’d never been a talkative man. He thought far more than he said, and although he’d been whittled down in his son’s eyes from a hero figure to a small, ageing man, creased and stooped and fading, something of the Atticus Finch’s still remained. Ben’s respect had not diminished over the years, but shifted onto something else that was more real and enduring. He looked at his father now, standing pensively at the window.

‘It’s the worst time of year for badgers,’ he said.

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’

‘Spring, I mean. They have cubs. That means they must go further afield, cross more roads, to find more food. I’m sure I read that more than 50,000 of the poor buggers are squashed each year. Can you believe that? 50,000. When I saw that number, I thought of them all piled up, a huge, great mound of them. Isn’t that morbid? And 50,000 killed – or “dead in the gutter”, as you say – must mean 50,000 abandoned setts. Not all of them will have cubs in them, of course, but I’d hazard a guess that many do. Do you think they wait there, staring up the tunnel, or does hunger force them out? What a choice to be faced with; remain where it’s safe and slowly starve, or leave the only home you’ve ever known and venture out into a world you can’t begin to imagine, where who knows what nasties might be waiting.’ He whistled. ‘That’s some decision to have to make, isn’t it? A real quandary.’

He didn’t look at Ben, who until then had been thinking that this was the most he’d ever heard his father say at once.

His father returned from the window and sat down again. ‘When I came down here this morning,’ he continued, ‘and you were sitting there, and you were sitting there, at opposite ends of the table, facing each other, where could I sit but in the middle? I’m not lecturing, mother, but you did both make me referee.’

‘You’re so good at twisting things,’ she said.

‘It’s the truth.’

‘No, the truth is that what this boils down to is that he wants to give up on the chance of a lifetime because he’s got a girlfriend. And how long has he even known her? How long have you even known her, Benjamin? You can dress it up how you like, but that’s all this is.’

‘We were his age when we met. Remember? Nothing would have dragged me to the other side of the world. And it has nothing to do with time served. You know that as well as I do.’

‘It’s not the same thing.’

‘Maybe not. But we don’t know that. How can we know that? Our parents would have said just what we’re saying now.’

‘So, you think he should stay? That’s what you’re saying. Jesus, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’

Ben stood up. ‘Maybe I should give you a bit of privacy while you decide my life for me.’

‘Sit down,’ his father said. He sat. The wood was dark where the tea had sunk into it. He picked up the cloth and began sullenly wiping at it. ‘All I’m saying is that it’s not up to us. If he wants our advice, he can have it. But we can’t tell him what to do. We can try, but he doesn’t have to listen. Ultimately, what we think doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter what he thinks.’ He looked at Ben. ‘The only thing that ever matters is what we actually do. We are, all of us, the choices we make.’

The sun had moved up in the sky and the patch of warmth on the tiles had shuffled along a bit. Someone’s tummy rumbled and they all pretended not to hear it.

‘There are other scholarships.’ The little boy within again, sulking and petty.

‘Oh yes,’ his mother replied, ‘I might have a few spare ones in my purse.’ She stood up. ‘She’s just not worth it. I’m sorry. But she’s not. She’s not good enough for you.’

Her husband put his hand on her arm. ‘Hush now, mother,’ he said softly.

She stared at him. ‘But she’s not good enough for him. You know it, too. How can you be so calm?’ Her voice was rising.

‘Come now, be kind.’

‘Well, I’m holding you responsible then,’ she said, before walking out of the kitchen.

Father and son listened to the footsteps stomping along the hallway and up the stairs. A door slammed shut and then the house fell silent again. Ben realised this was the first time he’d seen them argue. Maybe they had always waited until late at night or when he was outside playing. He marvelled at the self-restraint that must have required, biting one’s tongue for hours without once letting the strain show. Or perhaps they had simply grown so familiar through the years that every argument had happened so often before that neither could be bothered to repeat it? Odd, that these people were still such strangers to him. He tried to recall the stories they’d told him and Charlie, about their own youth. There was something about a motorbike. Someone had walked up a path and punched someone else. It was his father who had thrown the punch. He couldn’t imagine it. At whom? He seemed to think it was her father, his future father-in-law, but that was incomprehensible to him. He glanced up. His father was staring at him and he gasped. That wry half-smile again. After a time, he climbed to his feet with an exaggerated, weary sigh.

‘Your mother was a fabulous dancer when we met, really something quite special. It was the first thing I noticed about her – the way she moved. Such fury and freedom. I was always too shy. She could never remember the words, of course, but the music, that was different. I wish she’d not given up.’ He put his hand to his son’s face. The son flinched but didn’t move away. ‘You mustn’t be upset. Sometimes she means concerned instead of angry. It takes time to learn these things.’ He smiled and nodded to himself, and then followed his wife upstairs.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Beth was standing outside the hotel door. Kyle was on the other side. She could hear the muffled sound of the television.

She had woken up that morning to see Tim standing again by the window. She didn’t know he’d been up for hours, that he’d already been to the park with Ruby and was now showered and changed. He was in a suit but didn’t wear it well. The shoulders were too wide and the legs were too long; they dragged beneath the heel of his shoes when he walked. He didn’t turn around when she sat up in bed. There had been a time when his faraway moods had intrigued her, made him into something enigmatic, quixotic even. She had since learned it meant only that he wasn’t listening to her.

‘Are you going to that party?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know my plans,’ she answered evasively.

‘Because I don’t want you to,’ he said.

Later, at the front door, he’d kissed her cheek and squatted down to hug Ruby. He’d held her for a long time and whispered something in her ear. Ruby had nodded and then hugged her father tighter. After she’d gone back into the house Tim and Beth had lingered on the doorstep.

‘We take each other for granted.’ Either he’d said it to her, or she to him. It was true both ways.

At lunchtime Beth deposited Ruby at her party and then walked the short distance to the hotel with nothing whatsoever on her mind. Any moment now she would back out. She kept walking until that moment came. Inside the hotel she looked around the lobby quickly to see if there was anyone there who knew her. A receptionist raised her eyebrows at her enquiringly, and she smiled in reply and hurried along. That took her to the lifts. As she arrived a door slid open and three people emerged. The lift in front of her was now empty. She saw herself in the mirror. She had put on that dress, with the appropriate underwear this time. Her hair was on her shoulders. Someone brushed past her into it and then turned around. For a horrible few moments they stared at each other in excruciating awkwardness until the lift door closed again and carried the other person away. Beth couldn’t remember now if it had been a man or woman. She glanced behind her. The receptionist was leaning over her desk, watching her. She felt compelled to act somehow. She stepped forward and pressed the button. Her heel clicked on the hard floor as she did so. She stared straight ahead until the lift arrived and when it did she entered without hesitation.

A tingle ran down her spine as the door closed on her. The receptionist had known her secret. Kyle was on the fifth floor. She pressed five and then watched as the white light turned behind the number one, two, three, four. She felt the lift jar to a standstill. The doors opened to reveal two men. For an awful instant she thought one of them was Kyle.