Frank Maloney’s gruff voice was like a blanket and a book on a cold winter day. Shay lay back on his bed—he definitely could smell Ollie this time—and folded his free arm behind his head. “What are you up to?”
“Walking the hounds. I thought I’d try out that flash new phone you sent me so I could talk to you when I was out.”
“It’s not flash, Dad. It’s the oldest iPhone in the world.”
“Not as old as me, though, eh?”
“You’re not that old.”
“Feel it, son, without your mother here nagging me along.”
His tone was matter-of-fact, like it had been since Shay’s ma’s funeral, but Shay still couldn’t get used to it. It was like Frank had shut the door on grief so absolutely that missing Shay’s mother had become a casual conversation.What do you want from him? Tears and hysterics every time you speak?
Shay shuddered. Fuck no. His father had always been his rock, even when his life took turns Frank didn’t truly understand. Crying didn’t make a man weak, but Shay was weak enough to be glad it had never happened.
“So where are you off to now?” Frank pressed when Shay failed to fill the gap. “I told Sheila next door you were in Scotland, but I got that wrong, didn’t I?”
“I called you from Newcastle last night.”
“Ah, that’s right. You’re moving around so much I get confused.”
“Well, I’m heading to Sunderland now, so you can tell her that when you next see her.”
Shay would bet his banjo that would happen sooner rather than later. Frank mentioned Sheila every time they spoke, and Shay was okay with that. His father—God willing—had decades left to live. Shay didn’t want him to be on his own.
Frank said something. Shay snapped back into the present. “Hmm?”
“I said, where are you at with that family tree thing? I couldn’t make head or tail of the stuff you sent me on that Anna girl. She sounds bonkers.”
“She wasn’t bonkers. Just different.”
“Aye, well that makes sense if you have her blood, then, eh?”
Warmth flooded Shay’s chest. He was so lucky to have a father who thought like Frank. Who had nothing invested in Shay’s life but love and support. Not everyone had that—hell, half the band didn’t have it. “I don’t know what’s coming up next, just that Ollie is taking me somewhere tomorrow to show me something.”
“Ollie?”
“The bloke from Sky.”
“Oh aye. You’ve mentioned him before.”
“Have I?”
“Every time we speak, son.”
Oops. “So why didn’t you know who he was?”
“Because you call him Ollie, don’t ya? Not the bloke from Sky. How am I supposed to keep up?”
Frank Maloney was sharp as a tack. If Shay had mentioned Ollie every time they’d spoken since he’d left Derby, then Shay was willing to risk another bet on him knowing why. “Don’t start.”
“Not starting anything. Just pleased you’re having fun. How long have you got left?”
Shay did a quick mental count up. “Two weeks, give or take,” he said faintly. “Shit. It’s gone so fast.”
Frank shouted to one of the dogs. Shay pictured him tramping around the fields, his beloved deerhounds racing ahead of him, all long legs and silver fur. Hemissedhim, but the prospect of the tour ending was something he couldn’t quite contemplate.
Ollie would go back to London, and Shay would go wherever this crazy life took him. He wasn’t ready for that.
