I’ve never met my father. I don’t even know his name.
“Why’s he here?” Because he isn’t taking me anywhere. This is my home. My place. I don’t want to be anywhere else except here in Bossiney with Mum and Ivy.
“He wants to meet you.”
“Why are you only telling me now?”
She shakes her head. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed if he didn’t show. I asked him to call when he was about half an hour away and he is. He’s in Bodmin.”
“And he’s coming here?”
She steps towards me and puts her arms around my waist. I’m now four inches taller than her but she still makes me feel small.
“He is. Give him a chance, Isaac. He can help you and he wants to.” Her grip tells me I have no choice. “And remember if you’re rude to him, it reflects on me.”
“Why’s it taken him so long to visit me? Why’s he not helped you?” I’ve asked this before and she’s always shaken her head.
“Because of who he is.”
“Why? Is he the Prime Minister or something?”
“Yes. That’s exactly who he is.”
* * *
I’m waiting by the gate when his car pulls up, a black estate with tinted windows. It isn’t as flashy as I thought it would be, but it’s out of place here where everyone has rust on their cars because of the salt in the air.
He steps out of the driver’s seat and takes sunglasses off his face. They look expensive. Everything looks expensive even though he’s wearing light trousers and a T-shirt. Even his haircut.
I push my fingers through my shaggy mess of dark hair, so much like his.
“Isaac.” He offers me a hand.
“William.” There’s no way I’m calling him dad or father.
He laughs. “I expected nothing else. I’m sorry I haven’t been here before.”
We stand facing each other, the sun warm above us, and say nothing because there isn’t anything to say.
“Do you want to walk into Tintagel?” It seems like the polite thing to offer and I don’t want to let my mother down.
“Maybe somewhere quieter. I have security with me and I don’t want to cause a scene.”
He means he doesn’t want to be spotted with me.
“Would you rather sit in the garden?”
He smiles and nods. “I think that would be best.”
I lead him through the house and think of what I’d say if he makes any comment on how small it is, or about the second hand furniture that my mother keeps so clean and tidy and restores.
He doesn’t say anything.
“Do you actually live at Downing Street?” Curiosity gets the better of me when we sit down on the wooden seats outside.
“Officially. But I have another residence that my family uses. I have another son, William. He’s a year older than you.” He doesn’t smile.
I should ask questions but I don’t want to. I don’t want him to know that I’m curious about this man who did nothing for me apart from provide the sperm.
