Shepherd had driven down from Manchester in his own car, a dark green Honda CRV. He’d left the Volvo in the car park below the city-centre loft where his
On the back seat of the CRV a carrier-bag contained two PlayStation cartridges that he’d bought in a toy shop in Manchester. He’d spent the best part of an hour there but hadn’t been able to think of anything else to buy his son. He climbed out, walked to the front door and rang the bell. He saw a blurred figure through the frosted glass, then Moira opened the door, smiling brightly. As always, her makeup was immaculate. ‘Daniel, you made it,’ she said.
Shepherd smiled back and forced himself to ignore the implied criticism. He felt bad enough that he had had to cancel his last two visits at short notice without his mother-in-law reminding him of his shortcomings.
Moira was the only person who used his full name. She always had, ever since they’d first met. He’d asked her to call him Dan but she’d paid no attention and Daniel he had remained. Friends and colleagues alike used Dan or his army nickname, Spider.
‘Liam’s in the garden,’ she said.
‘How is he?’
‘Fine.’
‘He sleeping okay?’
‘Daniel, he’s fine. Really. Can I get you a cup of tea?’
Shepherd declined her offer and went through the kitchen into the garden. Liam was kicking a football against a low brick wall. His face broke into a grin as he saw his father walking across the lawn. ‘Dad!’ he yelled, and rushed over, grabbed him round the waist and hugged him hard. ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d really come.’
‘I said I would, didn’t I?’ said Shepherd, but he felt guilty. He never deliberately set out to let his son down, but the nature of his work meant that he rarely knew what he’d be doing or where he’d be from one week to the next. He gave his son the carrier-bag. ‘I got you these,’ he said.
Liam let out a whoop as he saw the PlayStation cartridges. Then his face fell. ‘Gran doesn’t let me play video games,’ he said.
‘Never?’
‘An hour a day,’ said Liam, grimly.
‘That sounds reasonable,’ said Shepherd.
‘Mum always let me play as long as I wanted.’
‘No, she didn’t, and you know it,’ said Shepherd. ‘She said it was bad for your eyes.’
‘Can I play them now?’
‘Let’s go to the park for a kickabout.’
Liam picked up his ball and they went back into the kitchen. Moira was standing by the kettle, waiting for it to boil. ‘I’ve got cake,’ she said.
‘Liam and I are off to the park. We won’t be long,’ said Shepherd.
For a moment she looked as if she was going to protest, but then she forced a smile.
The park was a five-minute walk from the house. Liam bounced the ball as they walked.
‘So, are you okay?’ asked Shepherd.
Liam shrugged.
‘You know your gran and granddad love you, right?’
Another shrug.
‘And the school here is okay, right?’Tom and Moira had arranged for Liam to attend the local school until Shepherd had things sorted in London.
‘It’s okay.’
‘It’s not for ever.’
Liam was clutching the ball to his chest. ‘Are you sure?’
Shepherd stopped walking, put his hands on his son’s shoulders, then knelt down in front of him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Are you dumping me?’ He was close to tears.
‘Dumping you?’
‘With Gran and Granddad.’
‘Of course not.’
‘They say I can stay with them for ever.’
‘They’re just being nice.’
‘They keep saying it’s my room. But it’s not my room. My room’s in our house, isn’t it?’ His lower lip trembled.
‘No question about that.’ Shepherd ruffled his son’s hair.
‘Why aren’t I living with you?’
The question’s blunt simplicity was like a knife in Shepherd’s chest. He pulled Liam into his arms and buried his face in the boy’s neck. Liam dropped the football. ‘You’ll come home soon, I promise.’
‘I miss you, Dad.’
‘I miss you, too.’
‘Why
‘Because I’ve got to find someone to take care of us.’
‘I can take care of us,’ said Liam earnestly.
‘There’s a lot to do, Liam. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, shopping. I’ve got work, you’ve got school. We need someone to do that sort of thing for us.’
‘Like a maid?’
‘Yeah. An au pair they call them. She’ll take care of the house and us.’
‘Like Mum used to do?’
‘Yeah.’
‘But she won’t be my mum, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Because I don’t want a new mum.’
‘I know.’
‘I keep dreaming about her.’
‘Me too.’
Liam sniffed. ‘Where’s my ball?’
Shepherd released the child and looked around. The ball had rolled into the gutter. He retrieved it and gave it to his son. They walked in silence to the park. Shepherd didn’t know what to say to him. Yes, he wanted him back in London, but there was no way he could take care of Liam and carry on working without domestic help. Liam was only eight, too young to be a latch-key kid, and public transport where they lived was so unreliable that he’d have to be driven to and from school every day. There was no way Shepherd could make that sort of commitment while he worked for Hargrove.
There was a football pitch at the park and they wandered over to the closest set of goalposts, passing the ball back and forth between them. Shepherd stood in the goalmouth and Liam took penalty shots but his heart clearly wasn’t in it. There was no power in any of his kicks and he didn’t seem to care whether he got the ball past his father or not.
Shepherd tossed the ball back to his son. ‘Give it some stick, Liam.’
Liam placed the ball on the penalty spot, took a few steps back, then tapped it towards him. The ball rolled across the ground and stopped at Shepherd’s feet. ‘That’s terrible.’ Shepherd laughed. ‘The worst shot I’ve ever seen.’
‘This is stupid,’ said Liam.
‘What’s stupid?’
‘This.’
‘Football? You like football.’ Shepherd picked up the ball and threw it back to the boy.
Liam caught it and held it to his chest. ‘You don’t really want to play.’
