A pause that might be down to nothing more than him being as taken aback as me by this out-of-the-blue observation.
But a pause that nonetheless prompts me to thinknotof his hand reaching for mine earlier, but, before I can help myself, of the child I know he still yearns for, but which I can never give him.
A pause that reminds me once again of how hard he hit it in all those bars this year, whilst barely being able to pick up the phone to me.
A pause that makes me question whether he really does understand what Tim’s just said.
Because really, what else could he have said to him in response?
We don’t have long with Tim. Just a little over a half hour. Roger remains with us for all of it, perched beside Tim on the windowsill, holding an oxygen mask ready for whenever Tim needs it to get him through another wheezing fit.
Tim doesn’t eat.
He doesn’t drink.
He claims he’s not hungry or thirsty, but I worry, from the way his pale, papery hands tremble, that he’s scared to risk spilling anything in our company.
But despite his frailty, and despite his forgetfulness, he still has plenty to say, and it quickly becomes clear that he’s come to this meeting with an agenda of his own: one that goes well beyond thanking me for my card.
He’s obviously discussed it with Roger, because although Roger didn’t have to remind him about my card, he does prompt him on other things.
Like, Nick’s accent.
‘Oh yes,’ says Tim. ‘Yes. I’d like to hear it please, young man.’
‘Absolutely,’ says Nick, in his Robbie voice, without missing a beat. (No pause for this.) ‘It’s my absolute honour to oblige.’
‘Ha,’ says Tim, beaming up at Roger, ‘he’s got it.’ He turns back to Nick. ‘Perfect.’
‘Thank you,’ says Nick, with a smile of his own, happier than I’ve seen him all week.
‘You’ve even got the bit of Yorkshire,’ Tim says. ‘Rob never lost it. It annoyed the hell out of his father. But he held on to it anyway.’
‘Toannoy his father?’ says Nick.
‘A bit of that, I’m sure,’ says Tim. ‘But I think he was also holding on to Iris.’
He’s got plenty to say to me about Iris. That much at least he has no need for Roger to remind him about. He wants me to know how intelligent she was, how sharp and quick-witted, and kind and thoughtful. ‘And fun. Lots of fun. You should have seen her dance. Will you be dancing in the picture?’
‘I will,’ I say, enjoying his use of the wordpicture. ‘I’ve learnt to jitterbug.’ I’ve loved it, actually. It was the only part of rehearsals I didn’t mess up. ‘We’re shooting some of that this week.’
‘With a band?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘And have you discovered Iris’s bedroom yet?’
‘What?’ says Felix, hearing about it for the first time.
Briefly, I fill him in.
‘I’ve been spending some time up there,’ I say.
‘She spent an entire night up there,’ says Nick.
‘Yousleptthere?’ says Felix.
‘Yes … ’
