Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (23) - Flipbook - Page 88
I begin to thaw. It’s fine.
“I’m going to see my son,” I say, and brace myself to come to terms with why I can’t.
Maud and Steve share a mild shrug. “If you want a shower, right is hot, left is cold,” says
Maud.
Jeff is in his room, walls neatly tessellated with maps and diagrams and, bizarrely, the
station timetable of Gare du Nord. I loom awkwardly, keeping my toes between the
lines in the carpet.
“Hey buddy. It’s me, Jason. The fact is I’m your father, like it or not, and I haven’t
been a role model, I hope I haven’t, but I love you and you should have a better life than me
because my life is rubbish and I love you so much.”
Jeff doesn’t turn from his MacBook Pro. Defeated, I sit on his bed.
“What are you working on?”
He says, “The cross country tournament is biased against Year 8 who race first after
lunch. But my model accounts for relative rates of digestion.”
What a kid. I don’t deserve him. But I know now to try.
“Could your model apply to the cultivation of new orchid seeds?” I ask.
“I think so,” says Jeff, after thinking. “But the model is based on numerical metrics,
so I’d need that. And you probably need to drive off.”
There’s no criticism in his voice but my heart picks up its own dagger, taking aim.
“No more,” I tell my son.
“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”
81
32
