Well, they’re the worst, I think.As bad as you could possibly imagine.
“Found it!” Mum calls from upstairs, where she’s been hunting down a newspaper clipping she’s saved for me.
I reach up to kiss him. “That’s fair enough. Love you, Dad.”
“In the end, I suppose, it all depends on whether Joel loves you back.”
Busted. I look down at the carpet.
He does love me, Dad. He just can’t bring himself to say it.
64.
Joel
Warren and I are sitting on the deck of a bar overlooking Fistral Beach, a pint apiece and a portion of nachos between us. The sky and sea are shimmering, the surf pumping.
Even though it’s just after lunch on a Monday, there seem to be plenty of people around. They’re chatting on the sand, pausing by our table in shorts and flip-flops to shake Warren’s hand and comment on the waves. I’m starting to feel distinctly suburban, sitting here in my trainers and jeans. Though I fit right in, in terms of having nowhere else to be, I guess.
This is how we’ve spent the last couple of days. Mostly outdoors, in front of a series of spectacular vistas. Tentatively getting to know each other. Trying to make sense of the missing years.
He doesn’t introduce me to anyone as his son. He just says,This is Joel. And people shake my hand too, ask how it’s going.
“Do they know?” I ask him now.
Warren dips a nacho methodically between sour cream, guacamole, and salsa. “Do who know what?”
“Friends, acquaintances. About you. The dreams.”
He shrugs as he chews. “Some do. Some don’t.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “And what do they think?”
“You’d have to ask them.”
“I don’t want to. I’m asking you.”
“I reckon some think I’m bonkers. Some believe me. Most don’t care.”He plucks another nacho from the pile, pulling a string of cheese with it until it twangs. “One thing you learn as you get older, Joel, is that people care far less about your private business than you might think.”
“But... why? Why did you tell them?”
He smiles. “Because I finally decided it’s easier than carrying the thing like a dead weight around my neck.”
I sip my lager, stare out at the waves. Then I recount the story of my university doctor. Explain how judgmental my dad and brother can be.
Warren looks out to sea as he listens. “People are a bit more open-minded these days,” he says, when I’ve finished. “Look at Callie. And your friend... Steve, is it?”
I frown, say nothing.
“Or maybe it’s just the people I knock about with. The things some of them do... Once you’ve ridden a forty-foot wave, you start to see life a little differently. It’s a kind of narcotic, and most of the people I know are on it. They wouldn’t give more than a passing thought to me and my crazy dreams.”
“You’ve surfed forty-foot waves?” I say, after a moment.
He snorts. “Not me. Big waves and old men don’t mix. You, on the other hand...”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Exactly, Joel.” He leans forward. “If there’s one thing I’ve realized over the past few years, it’s that getting out of your own head for a bit works wonders. Doing something different. Trusting the world around you.”
