Page 53 of Second Story

We sit in quietness broken by menus arriving and by Joe tripping over telling the waiter, “My, uh... my date doesn’t have long. What’s quick?”

I find my voice once we’re alone. “Sorry about that.”

“About having to get back? Don’t be. This is...” He focusses on the candle between us. “This is good. Really good.” He snorts. “Just not what I expected.”

“Because you thought I’d bundle you into the back of the van, bang you in the dark, then race off to go clubbing without you?”

He laughs, and that’s even better. “Race away? No chance. Not in that old Transit. My dad could sort that engine knocking for you.”

“Yeah? How come?”

“Because he’s a traffic squad technician. Was, I mean. Retired now, but there wasn’t a vehicle he couldn’t fix. Even started a club to teach kids basic motor repairs, and…”

He pauses for so long I have to ask, “And?”

“And I just realised that what I’m planning is a carbon copy of what he did.” He chuffs out a laugh. “He’d never believe I listened hard enough to learn anything from him, let alone turn it into a workshop series.”

“You didn’t get along?” Joe is quiet for so long that I speak again. “I don’t even know my dad.”

“No?”

“Nope. All I really know is that he had a temporary place at the same care leavers’ unit as Mum. For older teens, you know, who are about to leave the system? Oh, and that he wasn’t as white as her.” I find a photo of Mum on my phone to show Joe how our skin tone differs.

He only seems to notice what I do share with her. “Look at that smile. There’s no mistaking you two are related.” I must model that smile for him. “There it is,” he says softly.

I slide my phone away, aware my cheeks have heated.

“Keep going,” he murmurs. “If you want to.”

I do. “Mum said that by the time she realised I was on the way, she couldn’t trace him. These days it would be different. Everyone is on social media, yeah? And she says not all kids who grow up in care turn into romance addicts like her. It was just that until him, she never had anyone of her own. To love, I mean.”

“Or to be loved by?” Across the table from me, Joe demonstrates a different kind of care than Mum said she had ever experienced until sharing a single night with my father. He’s sympathetic. Interested. And so, so gentle. “At least she’s a romance addict who got a happy ending.”

I must look blank.

Joe continues. “Because she got you.”

He isn’t joking. I’d hear it if he was. The waiter coughs to let us know he’s back with what turns out to be a tasting menu.

“Small bites for people in a hurry,” he tells us. “You’ll have to pick your favourites. Take longer over them on your next date.”

He leaves us, and I expect Joe to tuck in. He spoons servings onto my plate instead, and murmurs again. “She got you, Isaac. Sounds like a happy ending to me.”

It’s my turn to cough then. I need to in order to speak clearly. “I have no idea how she did it. She didn’t have anybody. Leaving care is different these days. Supported. She wasn’t.Didn’t have a family to help. I couldn’t have looked after a kid at seventeen.” It’s hard enough now. I take a bite of something smoky and delicious before admitting, “When I was seventeen and putting together my first uni application, she was thinking about applying too. Not to go to the same place as me, but she said it felt like her life was about to get started all over again, then boom. Lenny.”

“So neither of you went?”

I flash a quick look his way and nod. “Only because she almost lost him. Then she was pretty ill after. She couldn’t work for a while, so?—”

“You stayed and worked instead until Lenny started school?” His voice pitches lower. “I’m still hoping you all get a happy ending, mate. That you get her home safe and sound with every charge dropped.”

I keep my eyes on my food, sure if I look across the table, I’ll see more sympathy than I can deal with. Eating is hard while I’m choked. I finally manage to ask, “You really believe in those?”

“I have to, for kids. Not sure Dad does since this happened.” I’m aware that Joe sets down his fork to hold a hand up, studying his own skin like in the station car park before he clears his own throat. “That’s when he stopped his motor repair club for kids. Pretty sure he thought it was all pointless after he tried to teach me to stay on the straight and narrow but I chose not to listen.”

He raises his hands again, only this time he balls his fists like I saw on a beach my first night here, then drops them to his lap.

“He’d never believe that I kinda want to copy what he taught in that club. Dad could tell what was wrong with an engine just by listening. I know what a different kind of trouble sounds like when it’s coming for kids. What dealers will say to make them feel like big men, and what gang-recruitment lies sound like. And I can help kids recognise it so no one gets a chance to fuck them over.”

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