Man and boy

'She seems to go for fucking fruitcakes, if you ask me. You know what's going to happen, don't you? You're going to become one of those weekend dads - sitting in Pizza Express on a Sunday afternoon trying to think of something to say to this stranger who used to be your kid.' 'Pat and I will never be like that.' 'Don't bet on it.'

'I'm not saying it's what I would have wanted. But don't you see? We fuck up our lives again and again and it's always our children who pick up the bill. We move on to new relationships, always starting over, always thinking we've got another chance to get it right, and it's the kids from all these broken marriages who pay the price. They - my son, your daughters, all the millions like them - are carrying around wounds that are going to last a lifetime. It has to stop.' I shrugged helplessly, knowing that he was disgusted with me. T don't know, Nigel. I'm just trying to be a good father.' 'By giving up your son.' 'It feels like the least I can do.' 'The way it's going to work,' I told Pat, 'is that you can leave as much of your stuff at our house as you want. Your room will always be your room. Nobody is ever going to touch it. And you can come back whenever you want. For a day, for a night, or forever.'

'Forever?' Pat said, pushing Bluebell by my side. His voice was very small.

'You're going to live with your mother. But nobody's going to make you live there. We are both going to look after you. And we both want you to be happy.' 'You're not arguing any more?'

'We're trying to stop arguing. Because we both love you very much and we both want what's best for you. I'm not saying that we will never argue again. But we're trying, okay?' 'Do you love each other again?'

'No, darling. That time of our life is gone. But we both love you.' 'Where will I sleep at Mummy's place?'

'She's preparing a new room for you. And it's going to be great - you can spread out your Star Wars toys all over the floor, turn on a bit of hip-hop, drive all the neighbours crazy.' 'And nobody's allowed to touch my old room?' 'Nobody.' 'Not even you?' 'Not even me.'

We were at the park now. The asphalt road winding around the lake spread out before us. This was where he loved to ride Bluebell, taking off at such a speed that the swans rose up from the water's edge when they saw him coming. But Pat made no move to get on his bike.

'I like it now,' he said, and it tore me up. 'I like it the way it is.'

'Me too,' I said. 'I like to make you breakfast in the morning. And I like to see you with all your toys spread out on the floor in the afternoon. And I like it when we get a Chinese takeaway or a pizza and watch a film together on the sofa. And going to the park together. I like all that stuff.' 'Me too. I like it too.'

'And we're still going to do all of that, okay? Nobody can stop us. That's never going to end. Not until you're a very big boy who wants to go off with his friends and leave his old dad alone.' 'That's going to be never.'

'But give it a good try, okay? Living with Mummy, I mean. Because she loves you very much, and I know that you love her too. That's good. I'm glad. I'm glad that you love each other. And although it makes me sad to see you go, it's not the end of anything. You can come back whenever you want. So try to be happy with Mummy. Okay?' 'Okay.' 'And Pat?' 'What?' 'I'm proud that you're my son.'

He dropped his bike and came to my arms, pressing his face against me, overwhelming me with what felt like the very essence of him. He filled my senses - his unruly mop of blond hair, his impossibly smooth skin, that Pat smell of dirt and sugar. My beautiful son, I thought, tasting the salt of our tears.

There was more that I wanted to say but I couldn't find the words. It's not perfect, I wanted to say. It will never be perfect. I'm not so dumb that I don't know that. But given the way that things have turned out, it's probably the best that we can do. It's not perfect. Because the only perfect thing in my life has always been you. My beautiful boy. My beautiful boy. My beautiful boy. Gina took Pat into his new bedroom and I stood there in the middle of their flat with a box of Star Wars toys in my arms, feeling as lost as I had ever felt in my life. 'Here, let me take those,' Richard said. I gave him the box and he set it on the table.

We smiled at each other awkwardly. He was different from what I had expected - more self-effacing, gentler, less of the brash suit than I had imagined. 'This is a big day for Gina,' he said. 'A big day for all of us,' I said.

'Sure,' he said quickly. 'But Gina - well, as you know, she's a Libra. Home, family - it's all central to her.' 'Right.'

He wasn't quite what I had expected. But that didn't mean he wasn't a bit of a dickhead, of course. 'How about Pat?' he asked. 'What sign is he?' 'Please Clean Up My Room,' I said. Gina came out of Pat's new bedroom and smiled at me. 'Thanks for helping him move.' 'No problem.'

'And thanks for everything,' she said, and for just a second there I recognised the Gina who had loved me. 'I know how much he means to you.' 'Love means knowing when to let go,' I told her. I didn't see it coming. I swung the MGF on to the main road and suddenly the black cab was swerving to avoid me, horn blaring, rubber burning, the driver's face twisted with rage. Heads turned to look at the idiot in the sports car with the torn roof.

I pulled over to the kerb and sat there breathing deeply, trying to get my heart under some kind of control as the traffic ebbed and flowed around me. My hands were shaking. I gripped the wheel until my knuckles were white and the shaking began to stop. Then I slowly started to make my way home, driving with exaggerated care because I knew that my mind was on some other road, that it kept wandering away to a black and white image of a father and son glimpsed once in a photograph album, and the fragment of some old song about being a stranger in paradise.

'Anyway, Dad,' I said out loud, really needing to talk to my old man, really needing to know what he thought. 'Did I do the right thing?' forty We heard the church before we could see it.

The big black Daimler swung left into Farringdon Road, and as we trundled down that long narrow channel to the river, the bells were ringing for Marty and Siobhan.

We turned left again into the little Clerkenwell square and the church seemed to fill the big blue sky. In the back seat of the limo, Marty shifted uneasily inside his morning suit, squinting out at the guests being handed buttonholes at the entrance to the church.

'Should we go round a few times?' he said. 'Keep them waiting a bit?' 'That's what the bride does, Marty. Not you.' 'And are you sure you've got the -' I held out the two gold rings. He nodded. There was nothing else to do but to do it.

We got out of the Daimler, the bells so loud now that they were all you could think about. Marty kept buttoning and unbuttoning his morning coat as we made our way up the steep stone steps to the church, smiling and nodding at the people we knew, and even the people we didn't know. We were halfway to the top when Marty trod on something and I had to catch his arm as he stumbled.

Marty picked up a nine-inch man made of moulded plastic. He was sporting a lavender jacket, spangly silver trousers and a white satin shirt. And he was either wearing a cummerbund or his stomach was heavily bandaged. He had lost one of his little white shoes.

'Now who the fuck is that meant to be?' Marty said. 'Liberace?'

'Not Liberace,' I said, taking it from him. 'That's Disco Ken.'

With the sun streaming through the stained glass windows behind her, a small girl came flying down the aisle of the church, holding on to her hat, which was the same colour as the yellow party dress she was wearing. 'Peggy,' I said.

'Disco Ken,' she said, taking him from me. 'I've been looking for him.'

Then Cyd was there, looking at me from under the brim of a big black hat. It was a little too big for her. Maybe she had bought it before she cut her hair. 'I'll be inside,' Marty said. 'On the altar.' 'At the altar,' I corrected him. 'I know where I'm going to be,' he said. 'Good luck,' Cyd smiled at him.