Page 36 of Commitment Issues
“Why does everybody think that? But yes,” I grudgingly admit, “those subjects are included.”
“And what are you going to do with yourself after you’ve finished?”
“You do realise this is beginning to sound like theand what do you intend to do with your lifefather-son talk?”
Now the floodgates to The Truth have been well and truly opened, I can’t seem to shut them again. I still think the most likely outcome of our less than conventional conversation is going to be him politely asking me to book a cab back to the airport in the morning, so why not be straight with him?
“Perhaps that’s because I’m old enough to be your father. As is Elliot, I should add. Not that age should be a barrier to anything in life. I’m interested, but if you’d rather not say…”
For a minute or two I don’t say. Truth is, I’m so used to people not being interested in a subject I’m geekily passionate about, I can be defensive and overly touchy. When strangers insist they’re interested, I always think they’re taking the piss. Would Andrew do that, or ask out of bland politeness? In the spotty moonlight, he looks at me seriously, and I know he wouldn’t. And so I tell him.
“You want an academic career?” He sounds thoughtful, rather than incredulous, which is how most people sound when I fess up to that, but I’m learning fast that Andrew isn’t most people.
“Yes. It’s been my ambition for as long as I can remember. Growing up, I never wanted to be a footballer, or in a boy band, like all my mates. I wanted to dig holes in the ground to find bits of long dead Vikings.” I blame watching lots of old grainy episodes of Noggin the Nog cartoons with Nana Doreen, who’d fed me tea and biscuits at the same time she’d fed my burgeoning passion. “But now I guess it’s crunch time. I’ve told you all about me, what I’m doing and why. Naturally you’ll tell Marcus, and I’m sure he’ll want me to leave. I get that. Just give me time to explain to Elliot.”
I hold my breath as I wait for the axe to fall. Of course he’ll tell Marcus, he’s marrying the guy in a couple of days, and there’s no way Marcus will want me to stay when he knows the truth.
“Go?” Andrew says, saying it as though it’s the most stupid word in the language. “Why would I want you to go? In fact, I very much believe you should stay. And, no, I shan’t be saying anything to Marcus.”
Without another word he turns and trudges off, leaving me gawping for the second time.
