“One of those things. He was a bouncer. He was breaking up a fight one night, and the fella pushed him a little too hard. Dad fell and hit his head on the curb. One in a million chance.”
I didn’t know what to say. What does anyone say to that?
“In a way, we were lucky,” he said, surprising me. “We moved over here because we have so much family,” he smiled, a quirk of his lips as if he was remembering something. “For weeks, we were surrounded by aunts and cousins. Our feet barely touched the ground, which in hindsight I think was more for my mum, than for us kids. We got up to so much mischief, this great big pack us running around the estate, while mum got to be with family.”
Watching the way he talked about his family was fascinating. So many people who talked about their families seemed to doso with a kind of long-suffering attitude. Patrick had a sense of reverence in the way he spoke. Like he knew exactly how lucky he was.
As someone who didn’t have much family to speak of, it was nice.
“Oh my god, what am I doing?” Patrick said suddenly, putting a hand on his forehead, effectively shaking me out of my observation.
“What, what’s wrong?” I sat up straighter, wondering if I’d missed something.
“Bad enough I tell you about the massive family you might need to meet one day, but bringing up my dead dad on a first date is a new low for me.” He groaned and dropped his head into his hands.
I laughed, holding my hand in front of my mouth as I felt my cheeks heating.
“It’s fine!” I said through the little bubbles of laughter.
Patrick groaned again.
“You can’t fancy someone you feel sorry for. Bollocks, um, I’m quite good at footy, long legs, you see. I am fantastic in the kitchen. Never met a kitchen gadget I didn’t like. Except air fryers. Pointless bit of kit, that. Um, what else…”
By this point, I was curled in on myself, holding onto my stomach with one hand and waving him to stop with the other.
“Stop,” I wheezed, “it’s fine!”
“She thinks I’m funny. I think we saved it, boys!” He rubbed his hands together, before shooting me a horrified look. “That’s not a pity laugh, is it?”
In response, I only laughed harder.
The candle on the table sputtered out long before we’d finished talking. We’d eaten and drunk so much that I felt like I might need to be rolled home.
The wait staff moved efficiently around us, stacking chairs on tables, blowing out candles and somewhere, the ambient music was turned off.
“I think they’re politely trying to tell us to leave,” he grinned, leaning across the table, flicking his eyes to the side where a couple of the wait staff were not so subtly leaning against the bar.
“Oops,” I giggled.
“Can I walk you home? Or call you a taxi?”
The restaurant was about half way between my dorm at HSJ and the Frequency offices.
It was a fine evening for late September, and the way home was only about thirty minutes on foot, versus waiting that for a taxi.
“I don’t mind walking,” I said, shrugging, “but what will you do on the other end?”
He looked at his watch. “We’ll make it before the tubes shut for the night.”
The nearest underground station to my dorm was not one of the twenty-four hour lines, and I looked sceptically at my watch.
“Come on Kaiya, have some faith.” He winked.
“Better leave now then,” I said, gamely, getting up from the table.
We’d already paid, so as soon as we stood, the wait staff swooped in, clearing away our glasses.
Patrick and I shared a look of barely suppressed laughter, and he helped me into my coat, lightly brushing his fingers up my arm as he did in a way that felt unexpectedly intimate. My breath faltered as warmth bloomed in the wake of his touch, and I hadto suppress the urge to look down. I’d forgotten my body could feel like that.
