Nobody Real

“What are you doing, Dad?”

His eyes stay closed, still mumbling something to himself.

“Dad.”

He slowly lowers his bare feet and stands, blinking slowly, readjusting to being the right way up.

“Better. Feel my face.” He pushes back his black pipe-cleaner hair. I don’t move.

“Come on. Feel my face.”

He takes my hand and presses it against his cheek. His skin is stubble-rough over sharp cheekbones. “You feel that? Morning, gorgeous.”

He leans in and kisses my cheek. I smell Imperial Leather soap and tobacco.

“Circulation, Mars. You know, in some cultures people believe that ideas exist in the blood. More blood to brain, more ideas.” He taps his temple.

“So vampires must be geniuses then,” I say, looking out of the tall window on to the sleepy high street.

Dad smiles and sits down at the little table. His yellow legal notepad is pristinely empty.

“Exactly.” He starts to roll a cigarette. “Is it Saturday already?”

“It’s Friday, Dad.”

“Don’t you have an exam?”

“I finished. Yesterday.”

Dad jumps up like someone just tasered his arse. “Yes! Freedom! Come here!”

“I still have to wait for results, Dad.”

He lets go. “Who cares about results?”

“Erm, UCAS? The universities?”

“You’ve aced them. Coral’s academic skills have rubbed off.”

“I’m glad you’re so sure, Dad.”

Dad’s not listening. “We should celebrate! This is the best summer ever. No more school, getting ready to leave. Have you got any weed?”

“Dad …”

“No, course.” He nods to himself. “Is that my shirt?”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Hmm. Looks like one I used to have.” He sits back down and finishes rolling his cigarette.

“I’m just here for coffee,” I say. “You want one?”

The kitchen is a thin sideboard city of dirty dishes and hanging pans.

There’s still half a large glass bowl of tar-black coffee in the diner-style maker.

“How’s my big sister?”

I pretend I haven’t heard him as I search for the least dirty cups and swill them out.

“Did she get you a gift? I bet she got you a gift.”

I bring the pot through and Dad holds up his empty cup.

“What was it, vouchers? Coral loves her vouchers.”

“No gift needed, Dad.” I pour. He raises a finger.

“I’ll get you something then! What do you need? I could get you a new sketchbook?”

“Still got the last one, thanks.”

“Anything in it?” he says, his smile almost desperate.

“Not really.”

His face drops for a second. “Can’t rush ideas, Mars. New trainers then?”

“From the man who doesn’t even own a pair of socks?”

He lights his cigarette. “I do own socks! I have multiple pairs of socks. Casual socks, dress socks, sports socks.”

“Yeah?”

“Just because a person doesn’t reveal something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Besides, socks are for sheep, Mars. I want to feel what I’m walking on.”

“How convenient.” I nod towards the small room full of paper. “Busy night?”

Dad blows smoke. “All part of the process, my young padawan. Did Diane seem pissed off to you?”

“Not particularly.”

“Excellent.” He sips his coffee. “I’m getting closer, Mars, I can feel it.” He moves his fingers like he’s playing piano in the air.

“That’s great, Dad.” I go back to the kitchen and pour coffee for me and Diane.

“You sure you don’t have any weed? Even a little resin?”