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“Well,” I tell him, “in that case you’ll have to talk to me. I’ll show you how to shave when the time comes.”
He looks up at me then. “Even if I’m fourteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think you’ll still be around?”
I think he means will I still be dating his mum. “I’m not planning on going anywhere,” I tell him. “When you finish your treatment, we can stay friends, right? Whatever else happens.”
His face brightens, and he nods.
“I’m glad Mum went to the party,” he says. “She’s been very sad.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m sure you have been, too. It’s a sad day.”
He brings his knees up under the covers and hugs them. “Not really,” he says. He looks at me, challenging me to scold him.
“Fair enough,” I say. “There’s no law that says you have to be sad. But it’s okay to have more than one emotion. You can be angry and sad at the same time.”
He rests his chin on his knees. He’s quiet for a while.
“Are you looking forward to Christmas?” I ask. “Do you know what Santa’s bringing you?”
He blows a raspberry. “I know he doesn’t exist. Christmas is something grownups invented for kids.”
I think about it. “I don’t know. Christmas is the time that families think about each other. We write messages in cards and think about what our friends and family might like to have for a gift. It’s often a time when people give more to charity. What’s Christmas spirit, if it’s not thinking about others?”
He studies me for a moment. “Juliette calls you Oscar the Grouch, but you’re not really grumpy, are you? You’re just griff.”
“I think you mean gruff. Although I’m sure I can be griff, too, at times.”
He giggles. Then he chews a fingernail. I think he’s fighting with himself as to whether he should say something.
“You can talk to me about anything,” I prompt him. “I won’t judge, and I won’t tell anyone.”
“Not even Mum?”
“Well, that depends. She’s your mum, and if it was about your health or wellbeing, I wouldn’t want to keep it from her. But otherwise, I can keep a secret.”
He picks at his fingernails. “I told Mum I don’t remember the day of the accident. But I do.”
My lips part, but no words come out. I wasn’t prepared for that. I feel a stab of guilt that he’s confessing to me and not his mother. But he obviously wants to talk. I decide I’ll worry about what to do with the information later. “What do you remember?”
“Dad picked me up from school, and he said he had to take a client around a property. He did that sometimes after school. I just stayed in the car and played on my Switch.”
“Okay.”
“He went to his office, and when he came back, he had a woman with him. She got in the car, in the passenger side, and he got in the driver’s side. He said her name was Sarah, and she turned around and shook my hand.”
I nod, wondering where this is going. Why did he lie about remembering?
“He started driving. They were talking in low voices. I wasn’t really listening—I was on that part in Zelda where you fight the troll crossing the bridge.”
“Yeah, that’s tricky.”
“I kept dying, so I was concentrating. But then I realized they were arguing. I pretended I wasn’t, but I started to listen. He asked her when she was going to leave. I didn’t know what he meant. She said after Christmas. He said he wanted her to leave now, and she said she couldn’t because of her kids.”
I stare at him, aghast. Oh Jesus. They were having an affair?
