It has been like the heaviness of a late February evening, the oppressive build, a slow gathering of thick clouds, the air low, wet and solid. And he has been anxious, each day half expecting to come home and find the boy sitting in their kitchen, sullen, quiet, with Freya trying to talk to him politely and Ella just staring at him shyly. He has been dreading this, not sure how he would deal with it, how they would all deal with it, and he has to confess that he’s often wished he’d never begun this ridiculous journey of trying to find this young man who may not even be his. At work, he’s sitting out on the balcony with Lorna, the company’s interior designer. The bare branches of the plane trees scratch the clear blue sky and the traffic below hums faint above the stillness of day. It’s early and they are both reading the paper, pausing to swap sections. She shows him a dress she likes and asks him whether he thinks it would suit her. She’s always going out with different men, and often wants his advice on her love life.
