He had disliked clause 6.1 the first time Shirley had read it aloud and he had disliked it more the second time, because best interests of the child was a container you could fill with anything. With a photograph. With a phone call. With a sentence that begandid you know that, Mr Ashworthand whatever followed after it.
He had signed the agreement in June. Shirley Jennings's office on Deansgate. Black pen, medium nib. The same brand he used at school.
He had signed. Gemma had signed. The witness had signed. Three signatures on one sheet of A4, and inside that sheet of A4 was a small boy and the right to wake him up on weekday mornings and give him jam on toast cut into four squares with the crusts off.
The kettle clicked off. Neil poured water onto the teabag. Added milk. Sat down at the kitchen table opposite Freddie, whowas drawing a pirate ship with six masts and an opinion on the shape of the flag.
‘Dad. Do pirates have pets.’
‘Depends on the pirate.’
‘Mine does. A parrot. But the parrot is called Orange and he doesn't like shouting.’
‘Sensible parrot.’
Freddie nodded, satisfied. Back to the flag.
Neil drank his tea and did not look at the fridge again.
He had read clause 6.1 forty-one times since signing it. He had counted, for a while, and then he had stopped counting because counting was becoming the thing he did instead of living.
Bath time. Freddie argued with the shampoo about whether pirates washed their hair. Neil's position: the sea contained fish poo. Argument settled.
The Gruffalo, twice. Eyes drooping at the second ‘roasted fox.’
‘Dad.’
‘Mm.’
‘Is Mr Cavanaugh coming to our house ever?’
Neil's hand stilled on the page. ‘Why would he come to our house?’
‘Because I want to show him my drawings. The ones on the fridge. He'd like the dragon.’
‘I expect he's busy, mate.’
‘You could ask him.’ Enormous yawn, whole face disappearing into it. ‘You're his friend, aren't you?’
‘He's a colleague.’
‘What's a colleague?’
‘Someone you work with.’
‘Is that different from a friend?’
‘It can be.’ Neil tucked the duvet. Straightened the dragon. ‘Go to sleep.’
‘Dad?’
‘What.’
‘I think he'd like the dragon.’
‘Noted. Sleep.’
Eyes closed. His breathing changed within thirty seconds, the abrupt collapse of a child whose body overruled his curiosity.
