‘There’s no need to be melodramatic, Albie! When have I ever …? Albie …’ He was pretty nimble on his feet, and I was having difficulty speaking now. ‘Please, can we … this would be a whole lot easier if we could …’ I stopped, hands on my knees, hoping that he would not disappear. I glanced up, and he was there, kicking at the path with his heel.
‘I wanted … to apologise … for what I said in Amsterdam …’
‘What
‘I’m sure you can remember, Albie.’
‘But just to make sure …’
Perspiration was dripping from my forehead onto the footpath. I saw the drops hit the ground, counted them, one, two, three. ‘I said I was … embarrassed by you. And I wanted to say that I’m not. I think your behaviour was over the top, I think there was no need to start a fight, but I didn’t express myself very well and I wanted to apologise. In person. For that. And for other times when I may have overreacted. I’ve been under a lot of strain recently … at work and, well, at home too and … Anyway. No excuses. I’m sorry.’ I straightened up. ‘Do you accept my apology?’
‘No.’
‘I see. May I ask why?’
‘Because I don’t think you should apologise for what you really think.’
‘What do I really think, Albie?’
‘That I am an embarrassment.’
‘How can you say that, Albie? I care about you very, very much. I’m sorry if that’s not always been clear, but surely you can see—’
‘Everything you do, Dad, everything you say to me, there’s this … contempt, this constant stream of dislike and irritation—’
‘Is there? I don’t think there is—’
‘Belittling me and criticising me—’
‘Oh, Albie, that’s not true. You’re my boy, my dear boy—’
‘Christ, it’s like I’m not even your favourite child!’
‘What do you mean, Albie?’
He inhaled sharply through his nose, his features bunching up, the face he used to make as a small boy when trying not to cry. ‘I’ve seen the photos you’ve got stashed away. I’ve seen you and Mum look at them longingly.’
‘They’re not stashed away, Albie. We’ve shown them to you.’
‘And don’t you think that’s weird?’
‘Not at all! Not in the least. We’ve always been honest about your sister. She isn’t some secret — that would be awful. We loved Jane when she was born, and then we loved you too, just as much.’
‘Except she never fucked up, did she? She never embarrassed you in public or fucked up at school. She got to be perfect, whereas me, your stupid fucked-up son—’
And here I must admit I laughed. Not maliciously, but at the melodrama of it all, the adolescent self-pity. ‘Albie, come on, you’re just feeling sorry for yourself—’
‘Don’t laugh at me! Don’t! Can’t you see, everything you do shows how stupid you think I am!’
‘I don’t think you’re stupid—’
‘You’ve told me I am! You’ve told me! To my face.’
‘Have I?’
‘Yeah, you have, Dad! You have!’
And I suppose I might have told him that, maybe once or twice.
I closed my eyes. I suddenly felt very tired and very sad and very far away from home. The futility of this whole expedition seemed suddenly overwhelming. I had told myself that it was not too late, that there was still time to make amends for the raised voices and bared teeth, the indifference and thoughtless remarks. I had regrets, certainly, about things I’d said, things I’d done, but behind it all there had always been … wasn’t it obvious that there had always been …
I sat heavily on a stone bench. An old man on a bench.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Albie.
‘I am. I’m fine. I’m just … very, very tired. It’s been a very long journey.’
He came to stand in front of me. ‘What are you wearing on your feet?’
I stuck a foot out, turned it from side to side. ‘You like them?’
‘You look ridiculous.’
‘Yes, I’m aware of that. Albie, Egg, will you sit a minute? Just a minute, then you can go.’ He looked left, then right, already planning his escape. ‘I won’t follow you this time. I swear.’
He sat down.
‘I don’t know what I can say to you, Albie. I had hoped the words would just come, but I don’t seem to have made a very good job of expressing myself. I hope you know I have regrets, things I shouldn’t have said. Or things I should have said but didn’t, which is often worse. I hope you have some regrets too. You haven’t always made it easy for us, Albie.’
He hunched his shoulders. ‘No. I know.’
‘The state of your room, it’s as if you do it deliberately to annoy me.’
‘I do,’ he said, and laughed. ‘Still. You can have it back now.’
‘You’re still going to college then? In October?’
‘Are you going to talk me out of it?’
‘Of course not. If that’s what you want to do with your life—’
‘Well I am.’
‘Good. Good. I’m pleased you’re going. I mean not pleased you’re leaving home, but pleased—’
‘I get it.’
‘Your mother’s terrified of what it will be like without you.’
‘I know.’
‘So much so that she’s thinking about leaving too. Leaving me. But you’ve always been close, so I expect you knew that.’
‘I did.’
‘She told you?’
He shrugged. ‘I sort of guessed.’
‘Do you mind?’
He shrugged again. ‘She doesn’t seem very happy.’
