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We’ve had this conversation, but it seems safer to have it again than to try and have a new one. “It’s mostly better.”
For a bit he goes back to his tea, and I leave him to it. I’ve got some experience with men of that generation, and they tend not to be talky unless they’ve got a real need for it. And I suspect Les might have on account of his having come all this way and still hanging about.
“He’s a good lad,” he says at last.
“Sometimes,” I half-agree. “Although to be fair, other times he’s a bit of a bellend.”
Les takes another sip of tea. “Well, he gets that from his old man.”
“No offence, but I really don’t think he does.”
“It’s what you’re supposed to say, though, isn’t it?” It’s warm in the house, but Les still has his coat on, almost like he’s hiding. “Not very fashionable to sayoh, well he gets that from her side of the family.”
My own mug of tea is just sitting there, hot between my hands. “I think you can if he does. It’s all right to admit other people have influenced your kids. That’s normal. Good even. Takes a village and all that.”
“Still.” And thestilljust hangs there for a long time, like he knows what to follow it up with and isn’t quite able to. “Don’t think I was a very good dad.”
I want to tell him that’s not true. I want to tell him it’s not trueincredibly badly, even though I don’t have any idea what kind of dad he was. In the end, I compromise on, “I’m sure you were.”
“Your son doesn’t grow up that resentful if you’ve done your job right.”
I want to tell him that’s not true as well. And I’m on better ground here because I’ve been living with Jonathan for a while now. “I don’t think he’s resentful. I think he’s just, y’know, bossy.”
There’s silence again, and Les makes good progress on his tea. I don’t really fancy mine, so I plonk it on the floor and make a mental note to chuck it away before somebody trips over it or Gollum takes a liking to it.
“He were different,” Les explains to the floor, “when he were younger.”
“Most people are.” I’m trying to be reassuring, but there’s also a part of me that’s curious, that wants to know how and why. “And coming south must have been tough on him,” I add, thinking back to what he’d said about being the gay northern kid in a London comprehensive.
And once again, Les becomes very interested in his mug. “We’d not much choice.”
“No?” I can’t think of a better answer. I want to show I’m listening but not to sayplease keep on talking about this thing that’s clearly upsetting you and I have no right to be interested inin case that comes across badly.
“My mam and dad couldn’t take care of us, Wendy’s could.”
I don’t ask for clarification becausealso, I couldn’t support my family myself which, for a man of my generation, was literally my only reason for existinggoes very much unsaid.
“What happened?” I ask. Then follow up immediately with, “not that you have to say if you don’t want to.”
“Credit crunch.” The tea’s nearly gone now but Les is still holding onto it like he’s frightened it’ll do a runner. “Used to work in steel. No steel in Rotherham anymore.”
“You must have had transferrable skills.”
“Yeah, but so did every other bugger.”
There was that.
“I worked,” he went on, “just not in the kind of job I’d trained for or for the kind of money I used to make. Got back on our feet eventually—sort of—but by then the damage was done and Jonathan…well, let’s say he’d learned some lessons he shouldn’t have had to learn.”
I lean forward with my elbows on my knees. “You’ve got to be proud of him, though.” I’m not quite sure why I go there, given what a dick he’s been to me lately, but right in this moment I can’t bear the idea of Les Forest thinking he’s let his son down.
“Of course I am.” There’s something like bitterness in his voice, and something like guilt. “But it’s a hard thing to know your son reached for the stars because he was determined to be as little like you as possible.”
“That seems a bad way of looking at it.”
He makes an imperceptibly small movement that could maybe be a shrug. “Is what it is.”
Substituting business for usefulness, I pick up my tea and take Les’s now-empty cup. “You were in a bad position,” I tell him, though I’m sure a hundred people have told him the same thing, “and you made the best of it you could.”
