Theo exhales. “You’re not allergic, Mabel; you just don’t like them.”
She gives him a withering look. “It’s the same thing.”
“We’ve been through this: it’s not the same thing.”
Mabel folds her arms. “Well, I need another pizza. I’m starving and it’s my period and I’ve got a heavy flow.”
Theo blushes. He calls over the waiter and orders her a Margherita.
The rest of us sit in silence, eating our pizzas. Callum drives slices into his mouth with one hand, while tapping furiously on his phone with the other. Theo must be too exhausted to argue with him. Mabel, meanwhile, devours a packet of breadsticks—then mine and Theo’s, too.
When her second pizza arrives, she declares she isn’t hungry.
Callum finally looks up from his phone. “I’ll have it!”
Without saying a word, Theo lifts the plate from in front of Mabel and plonks it down in front of Callum.
By the time we’ve paid the bill and are walking out the door, it’s a relief.
Archie’s attention is caught by a shop across the road. “Dad, can I have an ice cream?”
“Of course you can, squirt,” says Theo. “You ate all your pizza.”
“CanIhave an ice cream?” asks Mabel, tartly.
I can’t contain myself any longer. “I thought you weren’t hungry.”
She gasps. “Adam, it’s good for period pains!”
I can’t argue with that.
We buy five ice creams. Theo tries to encourage the kids to try some Italian flavors—like his favoritebacio, which he tells them is chocolate and hazelnut—but they insist on ordering what they usually have at home. I choose a scoop ofpistacchioand another ofstracciatella, which reminds me of the Wall’s Viennetta my mum used to love. Both are delicious. Even better, we manage to commandeer one of the few tables outside.
As he licks his chocolate, Callum continues tapping away on his phone. But he struggles to do both at once and spills ice cream down his football shirt. As he grabs a napkin to wipe it up, Theo catches sight of what’s on his screen.
“Cal, what’s that?”
Callum shields his phone. “Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
Callum tugs at his fringe. “It’s just something my mates sent me.”
“I’d like to see it, please.” Theo stabs his plastic spoon into his ice cream.
Callum pretends he hasn’t heard and continues licking his.
“I said, I’d like to see your phone,” Theo repeats in a tone that’s much firmer. This time, Callum knows not to argue.
Theo takes hold of the phone, looks at the screen, and flicks through several images. His face sets hard. “These images are inappropriate for a fifteen-year-old.”
Callum huffs. “Dad, I didn’taskto see them!”
I hold out my hand and Theo passes me the phone. On the screen is an explicit GIF of two men having sex. As I scroll down, I discover it’s the latest of several images of gay porn Callum’s been sent over the last hour. Each is accompanied by jokes about “fags,” “faggots” and what they—we—do in the bedroom.
All of a sudden, I’m back on the school bus, being pushed up and down the aisle, listening to words likepoofandqueer, listening to boys tell me what happens to men who have gay sex, that when I grow up I’ll have to use tampons because I’ll be incontinentand will end up dying of AIDS. I feel nauseous and push away my ice cream.
“Can I see?” asks Archie, banana-flavored ice cream smeared around his mouth.
