‘I’ll have a sup of that,’ Jim announced, ever the diplomat, and thrust out his water glass. Fel poured for him. ‘And–’ he drank it off ‘–and I’ll be off home. No, no, I’d better,’ he insisted, gathering himself. Sobriety, or a decent impression of it, had become like a jacket he shrugged on at will. ‘Reveille’s at five a.m.’ He got out of his seat and in one swift, elegant move that made Stella squeal, he gathered her into his arms and brought her out of her chair in a hug tight enough to wind her. ‘Auntie!’
‘Give over! Oaf!’
‘Thank you so much for tonight.’ He planted kisses on both her cheeks. ‘Such a terrific send-off.’
‘Great fool,’ Stella cried, flushing with pleasure.
It was clear enough, whatever we said, that Jim was determined to leave, so one by one we got out of our chairs and hugged him.
‘Till tomorrow.’ Stella sighed, kissing him. ‘Get some good sleep.’
Jim hugged me, kissed Fel on the cheek and came around the table and into Bob’s arms. Neither man smiled as they held each other, and the party fell silent a moment, solemn suddenly at this parting of father and son.
‘Here,’ Jim said, pressing something into Bob’s hand. The moment went by so fleetingly, I didn’t take it in. It was only much later, when I returned to Yorkshire, that Bob showed me what he had been given: a wristwatch from the rocketry school in Peenemünde, the logo from the film Frau im Mond surfing starlight on its engraved underside.
Georgy had the sense to hold himself back in this moment of leave-taking; or perhaps, rising from his seat, he had suddenly felt the effects of the evening’s alcohol. Jim and Georgy shook hands, more formally than before, their smiling eyes locking. For all Georgy’s earlier nonsense about reconciliation, the evening had, if anything, drawn the lines between our races even more clearly. Georgy said: ‘We’ll see you when you get there.’
He meant the Moon. Jim’s grin at the challenge was without mirth. ‘Your machines will. Have them prepare our supper for us.’
‘Don’t be late,’ said Georgy, still holding his hand.
Bob and I saw Jim to the door. When we came back in, we found Fel and Georgy staring daggers at each other across the table while Stella gathered up the empty plates. Georgy wheeled around in his seat. ‘Robert!’
Fel, a desperate expression on her face, looked from her father to me and back again.
‘Robert, tell Fel what it is you actually do.’
Stella passed me bearing plates into the kitchen. For all her doubt and her little-girl-lost routine, the meal had been a success. We had demolished every dish; there was barely anything but sauce in the serving bowls. Only Bob’s plate remained full. He took his seat and began picking at his dinner again, his face drawn. ‘Well—’ he began.
Chernoy interrupted him. ‘Robert measures the widths of holes, Fel. Day in, day out. Imagine that.’
I felt Stella come back into the room beside me, felt more than heard the breath she drew.
‘Dad,’ I said quickly, before she could say anything, ‘stop messing about. Come and help me clear up.’
Georgy shot me a look that might have been admiring. I ignored him; I just needed to get Bob out of the room. Let the Chernoys fight among themselves if they wanted to.
In the kitchen, Bob emptied his plate into the bin and handed it to me. He’d eaten hardly anything.
‘Too spicy?’
He shrugged.
‘Come and help me wash up.’
I washed, Bob dried. What did you do all day? I wondered. Traipsed around the city. Supped tea in cafeterias. Rolled up at the pub at last. What? You told Jim but you won’t tell me. ‘You should have gone to see Mum,’ I said.
Bob glanced at me, and quickly away. ‘I did.’
‘Right.’
‘You calling me a liar, lad?’
‘Yep.’
Stella came bustling in. ‘What are you two still doing in here? Come out! Leave that. There’s dessert.’ The party was coming to pieces in her hands. I felt sorry for her, but really, what else could she have possibly expected? Had she imagined that all the bits of unresolved family business she had hurled together willy-nilly this evening would unlock each other, as neatly as a stage comedy? But of course she had. This, after all, was the world she lived in: the scripted world of the stage, where complications only got tangled up in Act Two in order to unwind in Act Three.
Only there wasn’t going to be any Act Three. Not tonight: not with Georgy drunk and raiding the fridge for another beer, and Stella, suddenly losing her cool, pulling hard on his arm to stop him. The fridge door flew open and a carton of milk toppled out of the door and landed at my feet. I snatched it up but it had burst and it leaked all over my hands and down the front of my trousers as I juggled it into the kitchen.
By the time I came back, Georgy was shifting, none too elegantly, into a penitent gear. It was already arranged that Bob would stay over, so Georgy was going to have to mend fences somehow. He said to Bob: ‘I honest-to-goodness didn’t mean anything bad by it.’
Bob was the taller of the two men, but his baffled, hypnotised expression revealed that Georgy, even as an unaccustomed drunk, knew how to handle men like Bob: simple working men for whom even their own sense of self-worth acted as a brake on their self-assertion.
Fel ordered an autonomous cab for us. We rode most of the way home in silence, until at last she said: ‘Your mother dies tomorrow.’
I looked out through the window. It was a dry, clear night. Christmas Eve. I was surprised the streets were so empty. ‘Yes.’
‘No one said anything about it.’
‘No. Well, Jim and Bob went to see Mum earlier today. In the end, there is nothing to say, is there?’
‘Isn’t there?’
‘For crying out loud, what do you want me to say?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘That I’m losing her again? You need me to spell this out?’
‘It’s all right.’
‘That I’ve never particularly liked her?’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Love and like are different things. Deal with it. God knows I’ve had to.’
She put her arm around me. I tried to calm down. I did. Only I didn’t want to be put on the spot. I couldn’t bear the way Bob had sloped off again, and I couldn’t convince myself that I was any better. And the way the evening had ended: that still rankled. ‘Your father’s an arsehole,’ I said.
‘Yes.’ She offered nothing else. She didn’t laugh. She didn’t turn it into a joke. She didn’t want to be angry with me. She waited for me to calm down.
I took her hand. ‘I’m sorry.’
She squeezed my fingers. ‘What will you do tomorrow?’
‘Do?’
‘Are you going to Croydon to see Jim off?’
‘Of course.’
She took my hand and massaged it, as though trying to read something there. ‘And your mum?’
‘I’ve been to see her,’ I said. ‘There’s nothing left.’
‘There’s the birth.’
‘I’m not interested in that.’
We were approaching Moorgate when she said, ‘I’ll go there tomorrow. I’ll go to Ladywell. Someone should be there.’
I shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want to do. I guess you understand it better than I do.’
We got to the flat and undressed and huddled together under the duvet. I’d had enough. I couldn’t bear the thought of talking any more. But as usually happens whenever I try to force sleep upon myself, it didn’t last. In the middle of the night I woke up, brain ticking and buzzing as though it were already morning, only I was convinced there was a stranger in the room.
I stretched out for Fel but found only bedlinen. I sat up abruptly, sure that by doing so I would shake off what could only be a dream. A glitch of the sleeping mind.