It had been more than fifteen years since they’d seen each other, but Dad wasn’t one for outward displays of affection.
‘I’m very well, thanks,’ Simon replied. ‘Hope you are too?’
Dad nodded. It was about as much as Simon would get out of him – he wasn’t much of a talker. Dad now turned his attention to me. ‘How’s work?’
The question threw me. It wasn’t his usual line of enquiry. He preferred updates on more important things, like if my landlord had done this year’s gas safety certificate and whether I was keeping an eye on that mole on my left shoulder.
‘Work’s fine, Dad.’ I felt ridiculously guilty, but I didn’t want to burden him with what was happening at the magazine. ‘I mean, a few minor niggles, but nothing I can’t handle.’
Dad raised an eyebrow. Damn, he had a sixth sense for trouble.
‘The dishwasher doesn’t work,’ I blurted out.
‘Get them to check the outlet pipe. Same thing happened to ours.’
‘Yes, good tip. Thanks.’
He nodded, then turned back to the barbecue, prodding the whitening charcoal with a skewer. As the orange flames held my attention, my ears tuned into a familiar song playing on Dad’s portable radio. A cover of Stevie Wonder’s ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You’ for saxophone and pan-pipes. Classy.
Dad’s got bizarre taste, but I owe my own love of music to him. In my childhood, I used to relish going through his old 45s, because among all the Cliff Richard and Demis Roussos, he had some real gems, like Roy Orbison and Glenn Miller.
Simon nudged me and pointed to the shed at the bottom of the garden. ‘Do you remember we used to play soldiers in there?’
I nodded. ‘Until Pete decided he wanted to put in a pool table.’
A second later, my brother emerged from the shed, carrying a cardboard box.
‘Nice to see you, Simon,’ said Pete. ‘Mum mentioned you were over.’
‘Great to see you, too, Pete,’ said Simon.
‘What’s in the box?’ I said, trying to peer into it.
‘Wedding stuff,’ he replied, as if it was perfectly obvious.
There was an awkward silence, which was only broken by the sizzle of the raw meat Dad slapped onto the griddle. A plume of smoke columned above us.
‘Where’s Alice?’ I asked.
A moment later she emerged from the shed.
‘Bet you they weren’t playing pool in there,’ whispered Simon. Alice had a smaller, lighter cardboard box. She stopped when she saw Simon and held my eye for a second, then said, all innocence: ‘Are you a friend of Zoë’s?’
I made the introductions, then Simon offered to carry Alice’s box inside, which went down well with the Frixos males.
*
I’d been ordered inside to open the extending table when Pete cornered me. ‘How long is Yankee boy staying for?’
‘Don’t call him that.’
‘Did he stay over last night?’
I ducked under the table to find the lever that released the two halves.
‘No, of course not,’ I said, my head level with Pete’s knees. ‘Help me with this, would you?’
Without looking, Pete flicked the lever. The two sides of the table moved apart a few centimetres. I yanked one side towards me while Pete went to the opposite flank and in one go, we’d heaved the table apart. ‘Mum said he answered the landline when she rang you this morning.’
