There’s a soft knock at the door, and Hugo is quick to close out the video on his screen. A moment later, his dad steps inside with an armful of laundry.
“I heard there was a sock emergency,” he says, tossing the laundry onto Alfie’s bed.
“I think we’re well past emergency.” Hugo spins around in his chair. “He’s been wearing the same manky old pair since Thursday.”
“Why doesn’t he just borrow some of yours?”
“Mine aren’t as lucky, apparently.”
“Ah,” Dad says, sitting down beside the pile on Alfie’s bed. There’s a ghost of a beard along his jawline, and he runs a hand over it, looking at Hugo with a serious expression. “You know, I wanted to talk to you. I was thinking more about what you said at dinner the other night. The truth is, I was an only child, and all I ever wanted was—”
“—a big family,” Hugo finishes.
Dad laughs. “I suppose it’s possible I might’ve told this story before.”
“A few times,” Hugo says, but he doesn’t really mind. Dad’s father died when he was little, and his mum worked three jobs to keep them afloat. At night, with only the TV for company, he would play a game with himself, imagining a house full of brothers and sisters.
“We had eight plates, for some reason,” Dad says, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “I suppose you had to buy them as a set. I used to wedge them onto our tiny table and pretend we were about to have a big dinner together. Which was obviously a bit pathetic. But it’s the reason I like to set the table now.”
“You never told me that part before,” Hugo says, and Dad smiles at him. It seems impossible that a man with six kids could have a smile specific to each one, but he does.
And this one is Hugo’s.
“It still feels like a gift to have a person for each plate,” he says, reaching out to place his hand over Hugo’s lighter one. “And you should know I’m going to miss setting yours while you’re away.”
Hugo nods, slightly overcome by this. “Now I’m feeling a bit guilty that we’reallleaving next month,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Six plates in one go.”
“That’s different. You’ll be right up the road. I’ll keep them handy for weekends.” Hugo’s face must shift, because Dad gives his shoulder a little pat as he stands to leave. “Everyone grows up dreaming of something different, Hugo. And that’s okay. It’s what makes life so interesting.”
Alfie comes crashing through the door then, dropping his rugby kit and falling onto his bed in the manner of a dying man.
Dad shakes his head, but he looks amused as he points to the scattered laundry. “Clean socks for you.”
“Cheers.” Alfie sits up and peels off his old ones, which are damp with sweat. “Might be time to retire these.”
“Please don’t let us get in your way,” Dad says, winking at Hugo, then closing the door behind him.
Once they’re alone, Alfie motions at Hugo’s laptop. “So what’s new in the world of crackpots and freeloaders?”
“They’re not—”
“How do you know one of these girls isn’t planning to steal your identity or something?”
“I don’t,” Hugo says with a shrug.
Alfie frowns. “What’re you gonna do if Mum and Dad find out?”
“They already said I could go.”
“Right, but not with a stranger. Hard to imagine they’ll be too keen on that.”
Hugo ignores this, returning to the in-box they set up yesterday. He sifts through the emails that have come in so far, way more than he would’ve expected at all, let alone in twenty-four hours. When he gets to the most recent one—Mae Campbell from Hudson, New York—he pauses for a second, trying and failing not to be so delighted at the thought of her video. He’s saved by a new email coming in. At the dinging sound, Alfie vaults off his bed and throws himself onto Hugo’s, still in his sweaty clothes.
“What’ve we got?”
Hugo opens it to find a message from Margaret P. Campbell of Naples, Florida, who is eighty-four years old. In the picture she included, she’s on a roller coaster, her halo of stark-white hair whipped back by the wind. She’s smiling a huge, gold-capped smile.
“This is definitely the one,” Hugo says, only half joking.
