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I shook my head. ‘Not really. We don’t talk much. Not about anything important, anyway.’
‘It was difficult, for the two of you, when your father left?’
I nodded. Talking about Dad was usually something I avoided at all costs. But oddly, with Léo sitting across from me, the words didn’t get stuck in my throat the way they usually did. ‘Once a month he’d arrange to take me out somewhere. For lunch, or to the park or whatever. I’d be there at the window, waiting for him, all dressed up. Every time a man turned the corner into our street my heart would thump hard in my chest. I’d watch as they got closer and closer, crossing my fingers, standing on tiptoes, straining my neck to get a better view, but it would never be him.’
Léo finished his drink, tipping his head back to reach the last dregs. He placed his glass back on the table. ‘He did not show up?’
‘Never. Not once. I’d be there for hours sometimes, hovering about like an idiot. Eventually my mum would tell me to forget it, to go and do something else. She took great delight in it, actually, as though she’d got one up on him. As though she was delighted that he’d finally exposed himself for what he really was.’
‘You really think that is what she thought?’ asked Léo looking dubious.
I traced a fingernail over a swirly floral logo on the front of the menu. ‘I think so, yeah.’
A waiter came to clear our plates, gathering up crumbs and sweeping them efficiently into his free hand.
‘Do you want more to eat, Hannah?’ asked Léo. ‘A glass of wine?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Do you find it hard to talk about your dad?’ asked Léo once the waiter had gone.
I shrugged. ‘There’s not much to say, is there? I haven’t seen him for years.’
‘You never tried to contact him?’
I inspected a strand of my hair, pulling it taught across my face. ‘Once.’
‘You want to tell me about it?’
He had lovely eyes, I thought, almond-shaped and so dark that I couldn’t make out his pupils in this light.
I shook my head. ‘Thanks, though.’
I rubbed my arms, trying to warm them through, listening to the melodic beat of the music.
‘Anyway, it’s your turn now,’ I said.
He sat back, crossing his arms. ‘My turn for what?’
‘To tell me something I don’t know about you.’
He laughed dismissively. ‘That is not so interesting.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ I said, ramping up the drama, drumming my fingertips on my chin. ‘Now … what do I want to know …?’
He shifted in his seat.
‘You know what? I’m just going to go for the jugular,’ I said.
‘This sounds ominous,’ he said, asking a passing waiter for the bill. ‘L’addition, s’il vous plaît?’
‘We’ve talked about my relationships, but what about yours?’
He shook his head. ‘What about them?’
‘Are you seeing anyone?’ I asked.
He pushed his hand through his hair, ruffling the back of his head.
