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‘Especially as a kid.’ For a moment something dark passes over his face, but it’s gone again so quickly I can’t even say for sure that I wasn’t imagining it. ‘You must know a thing or two about drive, yourself? I imagine a medical degree is no easy stretch?’
It’s strange how far away my university life feels. As though it’s something that happened to someone else. ‘It wasn’t hard,’ I say, tilting my head to the side thoughtfully. ‘I think things with my mum were so shit I was just glad to have something else I could lose myself in, you know?’
He doesn’t say anything and, despite the fact I don’t really want to taint this weekend with anything serious or dark, I find myself elaborating. ‘I think it helped me feel close to her too. You know? She was an amazing surgeon. Studying something she’d perfected really felt right.’
‘She was proud of you?’
My heart twists painfully in my chest and I have to look away. The emotions well inside me, strong and forceful. ‘Yes.’ The plane has built up speed and now it pushes up into the air, its angle steep, taking us over Dublin quickly.
‘You’re an only child?’
My smile is bittersweet. ‘Uh huh.’
‘Your father?’
I expel a soft breath. ‘I don’t know him.’
‘You don’t know him?’ His fingers curl into my hair, flicking it gently.
I look back at him. ‘Never met him.’
‘Did she tell the guy about you?’ There’s a hint of judgement in his tone that I don’t like.
‘It’s not like that.’ I’m quick to defend Mum. ‘I’m not some secret love child or anything. I’m a test tube baby.’ Strange, I spent so much of my childhood hiding my scientific creation from anyone, ashamed of my unconventional conception.
‘Really?’
I nod. ‘Mum didn’t marry; she didn’t have a partner. No one she wanted to share a child with. And the years slipped by and she realised that the only way she was going to become a mother was if she took matters into her own hands.’
A stewardess steps into the cabin, her smile bright, her uniform a professional grey suit. ‘Can I get you anything to drink, Mr Brophy? Ms Davis?’
‘Champagne?’ he suggests.
‘Sure.’
‘And some light refreshments.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The stewardess leaves again and, though I’m hungry, I’m also disappointed because I don’t want to have to wait to get back in that bedroom.
‘So you have a father out there, somewhere. You never thought about looking for him?’
‘I guess that depends on your definition of fatherhood,’ I say thoughtfully.
‘Isn’t there only one construction?’
My lips twist. ‘That’s how a lawyer would look at it, I guess.’
He watches me thoughtfully. ‘But you don’t?’
‘I...’
The stewardess returns, wheeling a small trolley. She removes an ice bucket of champagne and places it on the table to Michael’s left, then reaches between us with a small, ‘Excuse me,’ pulling a small table from the armrest. She places a platter on it—oysters, cheese, meats, olives—then smiles and leaves.
Michael pours a glass of champagne and hands it to me. ‘You were saying?’
I watch the bubbles as they dance around the glass.
