Benjie hangs up.
‘But I love you,’ Angus finishes.
‘You miss him?’ Laurie asks.
‘All the time.’
‘What’s he like?’ Laurie asks. ‘Is he like you?’
‘In some ways, but he’s had more to deal with.’
‘It’s hard for you too though, Angus,’ I say. ‘Watching someone you love suffer is tough.’
‘It’s hard watching him try to keep up with his friends, he hates feeling different.’
Laurie sighs. ‘It’s not fair.’
‘Life’s unfair.’ He turns to her briefly. ‘You know that more than anyone else.’ Angus goes on to tell Laurie that a few weeks after Benjie was born Soph was convinced something wasn’t right, he wouldn’t settle. ‘I didn’t notice it so much then, but at around three months, he developed this rash all over his face, so bad he couldn’t sleep. Try telling a baby not to scratch. By the time Soph and I reached his cot, his face was a bleeding mess.’
‘No way,’ Laurie says. ‘Scary.’
‘People would stop and stare at us in the street. “Someone’s had too much sun!” they’d say. Parents still tell their kids to stay away from Benjie because they think he’s infectious. I’ve never wanted him to see how angry it makes me. I’ve always tried to give him as normal a life as possible. But it was hard when people assumed we were bad parents when we’d tried everything. God, you should have seen the things we did. We put him in Babygros with mittens, and silk pyjamas.’
‘Silk pyjamas?’ Laurie sounds confused.
‘They’re cooler. We’d cover his little body in wet bandages and smother him with cream and lotions to try and stop the itching. Soph even took the carpet out of his room, and replaced his curtains with blinds, but nothing helped. When he went to primary school Soph had to bandage his neck under his uniform. You want to stick out for being cool or being the funny one.’ Angus draws in a deep breath. ‘They went to Spain over the summer, Marbella. Soph’s mother, Granny Heather, has a holiday home there. While I’m not exactly best son-in-law-of-the-year right now, we actually get on well. She knows exactly where to go in a medical crisis, and exactly what to cook for Benjie, so at least a couple of meals a day feels less like Russian roulette. We go there each year, it’s our one safe holiday. I missed going this year, being with them all.’
‘That sucks,’ Laurie says generously, when we know she’s never been up in the sky, that ‘holiday’ is a foreign word.
‘It does, but listen, I’ve spent the summer with you. If I’m honest, there’s a part of me that’s relieved to have a break from the never-ending worry. I feel guilty saying that, but I can admit that with you two. It’s not so easy talking to friends when Benjie’s problems are day after day, week after week, year after year. Most of my mates assume he must be better now. Scottie doesn’t get it, but don’t tell him I said that.’
‘I won’t,’ Laurie agrees. ‘He’s scary enough.’
Angus laughs lightly. ‘I don’t know what it is about you two, being with you is like taking a truth drug. To think we were strangers only three months ago.’
‘What’s Amy like?’ I ask, wondering how she copes with it all.
‘Brilliant at everything, especially sport. Mind you, Benjie’s good at hockey. He was made vice captain last year, but in the last few months, after my massive stuff-up, he’s struggled to keep up with his fitness again. Benjie’s real passion is skiing. You should see him,’ Angus says with pride, as if watching him on the slopes right now. ‘He’s so free.’
‘Free?’ Laurie repeats.
‘The mountain air is great for his asthma.’
I notice Amy doesn’t get much of a look-in. That can’t be easy for her.
‘Soph tells me he’s still scared of being on his own at night,’ Angus continues. ‘He’s anxious about falling asleep and not waking up. She’s put a camp bed in our room, and he’s seeing a counsellor. He’s an amazing boy, the best, but the shit I’ve put him through…’
‘Angus,’ Laurie says with that defiance I’m getting used to, ‘you’re a good dad. Benjie’s lucky to have you. You made one mistake.’
‘A few, actually.’
‘But you love him.’
‘Yeah, I love him,’ he says, understanding what Laurie is getting at.
‘My dad died when I was ten. My step-mum woke me up in the middle of the night, said, “Your father’s dead.” Heart attack. She didn’t let me go to his funeral.’
The things Laurie says don’t shock me quite as much as they used to. But they still make me feel sad, and I tell her that. Her mum died giving birth to her, her dad died when she was aged ten, and she was left with a stepmother who didn’t love her, abused her, kicked her out of the house. And that’s probably only a fraction of it.
