‘Your mum had terrible sickness with Dina. Not so much with you.’
‘I haven’t had much. Just a bit at the beginning. On my wedding day actually.’
‘Good, glad you’re feeling okay. Thought it was a bit strange you not having a cuppa.’
‘I’ve gone right off caffeine.’
‘So, July?’
‘That’s right.’
He nods and picks up his mug. Blows on his tea before taking a sip. I’d thought he might at least have given me a hug or something. But old habits die hard. Dad never has been one for displays of affection.
‘Have you heard from Dina lately?’ I ask.
‘Not for a while, no. Still in Thailand I take it?’
‘That’s the thing, Dad. We texted before Christmas, but I haven’t heard anything since. I tried her mobile yesterday but the number’s out of service.’ I’m hoping my sister didn’t change her number on purpose, just to worry me, or to cut off contact. I wouldn’t put it past her. ‘Have you got another number for her?’
Dad gets up and reaches for a pad on the counter. ‘Here. This is the only one I’ve got.’ He passes it across the table, and I see the familiar digits written in Dad’s scrawl.
‘That’s the same number she gave me. The one that doesn’t work anymore.’
My father turns and picks up the ancient house phone from the counter. He painstakingly presses the buttons and waits. Seconds later he replaces the receiver with a frown. ‘Hmm, you’re right, but I’m sure she’ll call once she gets a new phone.’
‘I hope so. It’s not great to think of her over there with no way for us to get in touch.’
‘Hang on.’ My father opens a kitchen drawer and roots through a multitude of junk before pulling out a scrap of grey cardboard that looks as though it was torn from a cereal carton. He hands it to me. ‘That’s the hostel where she’s staying.’
I examine the address on the card, written in dad’s handwriting. ‘Have you got a phone number for the place?’
He shrugs and shakes his head while I try to bring Google up on my phone before remembering that Dad doesn’t have broadband or any type of mobile signal here.
‘Okay, well at least it’s something to go on. I’ll go home and see if I can find a number for the hostel.’ I stand and gather up my wet coat and bag from the back of the chair next to me.
‘You’re not staying longer? I could make us a sandwich. I think I’ve got some ham in the fridge.’
I’m not sure if I want to stay for lunch. Usually we run out of things to talk about after five minutes. I look up at my dad’s expectant expression. At his baggy jogging bottoms and old navy fisherman’s jumper. At his two-day-old chin stubble and his bloodshot eyes. He’s only in his early fifties, but somehow looks much older. ‘I can stay if you like?’
He grimaces and slurps his tea. Maybe he sensed my hesitation. ‘Don’t worry. Second thoughts, you get off and find that number for your sister. I’ve got this engine to sort out.’
‘I can keep you company while you work.’
‘I work best when I’m on my own.’
‘Fine.’ I shrug on my coat and slip the piece of cardboard into my bag. ‘I’ll give you a ring if I—’
‘Yes, yes. See you soon, Zoe.’
He follows me into the hall, almost impatiently, and I wonder if he’ll mention my pregnancy again. But he doesn’t. Just ushers me out of the house like I’m an unwelcome distraction. It’s always like this with Dad. We almost connect, and then it all falls apart before we get anywhere. You’d think I’d learn not to be disappointed each time it happens.
I let the rain soak me as I head back to my car. Dad closes the front door before I’m even inside the vehicle, dripping all over the seat and steering wheel. Anger sweeps over me and I can’t wait to leave. I tell myself I’m not even going to bother trying to find a number for the hostel. But I know that’s a lie. Dina might be the last person I want to speak to, but she’s still my baby sister. I need to know that she’s okay. If not for me, at least for Dad.
I’m back home a little over ten minutes later, sitting in my warm, clean and tidy kitchen, feeling a little calmer. A quick Google search on my laptop yields a basic website for the Thai hostel. There’s a contact page with a map, address, email address and phone number. I call the number and, after interminable ringing, it’s eventually answered by a guy with an Australian accent.
‘Hello, can I help?’
‘Hi, is that the Lazy Days hostel?’
