We fell silent for a moment and then Josh came around the JCB and sat down with me.
‘So, my dad? Was he any good? I mean, was he a good therapist?’
I shrugged. ‘Yeah, in some ways. But in others, no. Like, I enjoyed our sessions and he did stop me from self-harming. But he left something behind. Inside me. It’s still there.’
‘Something? Like what?’
‘Like a cancer. It’s like he got rid of the symptoms, but he left the tumour.’
‘That’s shit,’ says Josh. Then he says, ‘I hate my dad.’
His words stopped me in my tracks. ‘Really? Why?’
‘Because he’s having a fucking affair.’
‘Whoa. How do you know that?’
‘Because I’ve seen him. He flaunts it. And my mum’s too much of a soft touch to see what’s right under her nose. They nearly split up last year and I reckon that was because of an affair, too.’
‘What do you mean, you’ve seen him?’
‘I mean, I’ve seen him. With this girl. All, like, touching her hair and stuff. Not even trying to hide it. And it’s like … My mum is the best person in the whole world. She’s so sweet and loving and kind; she’d do anything for anyone. And he just plays about like he can do whatever he wants and then come home and she’ll have cooked him a nice meal and she’ll listen to him moaning on about how stressful his job is. And I just wonder, you know, how someone whose job it is to look after people, to fix their minds, to nurture and cure, how they can do what he does to another human being every single day of his life. It makes me sick.’
I had so much I wanted to say. But I just tucked my hands between my knees to warm them up and stayed silent.
‘And that’s one of the things I want to change this year. Like I was saying on New Year’s Eve. No more Mr Nice Guy.’
‘What are you going to do?’
His head dropped. He said, ‘I don’t know.’
‘She’s called Alicia Mather,’ I said.
His head shot up. ‘What?’
‘The woman your dad’s having an affair with. Her name’s Alicia Mather. I know where she lives.’
He blinked. ‘How?’
‘I’ve been watching too. I’ve seen them. He met her at work. She’s a psychologist, like him. They started dating in the summer. They spent the night at a hotel just before Christmas. She lives in Willesden Green. She’s twenty-nine. She’s got two degrees and a PhD. She’s pretty smart.’
He didn’t speak for a moment. Then he looked at me with those eyes, so like Roan’s eyes, and said, ‘Who are you? Are you real?’
I laughed.
‘You’re really pretty,’ he said.
I said, ‘Thank you.’
‘Am I dreaming you? I don’t get this. I don’t get any of this.’
‘We’ve met before.’
He said, ‘What? When?’
‘Last year. You did a couple of beginners’ classes at the martial-arts place. I spoke to you in the changing room. Do you remember?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes. I do. You had pink hair then. Didn’t you?’