‘Unless you count the time when a group of teenagers doused all of Sheila’s sheep in orange dye after she refusedto sell them a rusted revolver from her antiques shop,’ I add. For weeks it looked like Sheila was breeding giant Cheetos.
‘That’s a charming anecdote, but it doesn’t quite answer my question,’ Graham says.
‘We know as much as you do, Father. But if you truly can’t get through lunch without finding out exactly who is moving into an empty shop unit you didn’t even know existed until ten minutes ago, I’ll gladly go over and ask the crew.’
‘I’m touched,’ Graham says with the compassion of an oyster.
‘By Monday, I’m sure the noticeboard will tell us exactly what’s going on,’ I grumble.
‘That’s a twee little tradition that you have here.’ Anna’s ‘twee’ sounds a lot like Graham’s ‘quaint’. ‘I heard that, for centuries, it used to be a way for fishermen to warn the town of oncoming storms.’
Graham frowns. ‘I was told it’s only that size because the carpenter who built it in the eighties misread the measurements. By the time they realised the mistake, it was already up.’
The conversation is derailed when a man in a varsity jacket joins the workers across the street, seemingly to give them instructions. As if he senses the attention, he turns and waves. He’s good-looking, with dark buzzed hair and the shadow of a beard. A look at Dad awkwardly mirroring the gesture tells me he’s made the same observation.
‘If I’m not mistaken, this man seems to know you, Matthew,’ Anna notes.
Dad clears his throat. ‘That’s Daniel. He’s new in town.’
‘That’sDaniel?’ I do a double take. Joni’s son smiles at each of us before his eyes stray back to Dad and stay on him longer than totally necessary.
‘So you know him but not what he’s up to in a shop that’s facing yours? What if he’s planning to open a cafe? You ought to be better informed, Matthew, especially if it comes to potential competition,’ Graham says.
‘I’d best check on our food,’ Dad mutters.
‘I’ll get it,’ I say, and I’m up before he gets the chance to escape.
Dad and I almost got into an argument about what to serve his parents. He insisted they receive no special treatment and get what’s on the menu like any other customer. I reminded him not to kill his own father with burgers and mac and cheese, so we settled for a salad, the soup of the day and sweet-potato wedges. Nowhere near as impressive as last week’s barbecue, but Dad’s cafe rarely has a free table for lunch on a Sunday for a reason; he has a knack for making even the most boring-sounding dishes into your new favourite meal.
‘Speaking of friends . . .’ Anna says, eating the soup without a word of criticism, ‘do you have a girlfriend, Luca?’
‘No,’ I say, mouth still half-full. ‘But I wouldn’t, because I’m gay.’
‘How about a boyfriend?’ Graham swerves without batting an eyelid. Anna smiles sweetly. I’m impressed by how unimpressed they are. Not that I expected them to be homophobic. But I can’t lie – they have something conservative about them in, like, a really,reallyrich way.
‘No boyfriend either,’ I say, glad Simo isn’t present. Idon’t feel awkward telling my grandparents about me, but the thought of Simo hearing it makes me squirm. I don’t want to think about why that is.
‘And is there someone you like?’ Graham wants to know.
‘Not at the minute,’ I lie, Simo still on my mind. Simo is always on my mind.
‘What about you, Matthew? Are you single?’ Anna attacks.
‘Yeah, are you single, Matthew?’ I grin.
‘Yes, happily,’ Dad says brightly. ‘And that’s enough of that.’
‘For how long?’ Anna continues.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Have you been single for long?’
‘That’s really none of your—’
‘Don’t tell me you’ve not met anyone since Poppy?’ Anna doubles down.
‘I didn’t say that.’
