‘My mother was British, my father an American doctor and professor. I wanted to be an actor, but they considered it a waste of a decent brain. They agreed for me to train in theatre arts if I took a teaching qualification later. As soon as I had something on paper, I scattered myself across both sides of the Atlantic, pretty much falling into auditions straight from a cheap plane seat. Teaching went out of the window when my career took off. After Stratford we had Joe and stayed in New York for a few years.’
‘But you didn’t really stay did you?’ Joe’s mouth is set in a firm line.
‘We all turn into our fathers in the end,’ Vince fires back.
‘God forbid I turn out like you,’ says Joe.
‘Rather eat my own toenails than turn into mine,’ I mutter.
‘Why are you back in London?’ Vince asks. ‘Problems handling your own responsibilities?’
Wondering what he’s referring to, I ask about the costumes Joe’s mum used to make as part of her job at the RSC. In their animated faces I see the likeness even more. ‘She especially loved creating tiaras with fresh flowers, jewels and silk,’ says Vince.
‘There’s one in your bedroom. On the dummy?’ I blurt out. Both men turn and raise an eyebrow, like they’ve been practising the move for days. I stammer out an explanation. ‘I wandered in one time, when I got lost looking for the stairs.’ I don’t say a bedroom and bathroom can give so much away to a dedicated snooper.
‘That’s the remains of Florizel. He’s resided in my room for thirty years.’ Vince puts his hand on his chest. ‘Like Joe’s mother he has a place in my heart and watches over me while I sleep.’
‘It’s a shame she wasn’t in your heart when she was alive.’ Joe looks down at the golden parcel on his plate as a second waiter places down a small selection of vegetables that are unlikely to fill us up. My salmon comes pink and juicy and we eat, making chit-chat that’s light as a stone.
To break yet another awkward silence, I point to Joe’s dinner with my knife. ‘Ever considered going vegan? I have but I couldn’t do without milk in my latte. And I’d turn veggie but I don’t like the phrase “plant based”. I always imagine I’ll be picking grass out of my teeth.’
‘I need to taste the food I create so vegetarian is a stretch for me. But I like to order alternatives when I eat out. Taste this.’ Joe holds out his fork and I savour the garlic cream filling almost as much as his attention.
‘I believe I was born a human. Cows were designed to eat plants.’ Vince rips into cock and hungrily eyes his bull. His dish is so meat-heavy a vampire could bite its throat.
‘I’ve gone off poultry since I was twerked by a turkey,’ I say.
Joe grins. ‘You were traumatised by the time you got to me. Covered in feathers.’
The waiter offers more drinks. Joe and I decline but Vince orders a whisky chaser. ‘Can’t cope with a hangover anymore, Joe?’
‘Getting up at dawn every day is hangover enough.’
Vince sips on his wine as a lump of the finest cow melts in his mouth. ‘Daisy’s been telling me about your coffee van.’
Joe smiles. ‘Yeah, it’s going well. Let’s hope I don’t accidentally trade it in for a Ferrari when I’m your age.’
‘I hope you can afford to.’ Vince wipes his chin with his serviette. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to finish this.’
‘Engorged with all that bull? Or perhaps bloating on the wine?’
A little weary of the father-son squabbling, I excuse myself to visit the bathroom where I spend some time washing my hands in a palatial water fountain. It’s so nice I take a selfie of it, comparing it to a Trevi Fountain I’ve never seen. I can post it on Friday’s #LoveTheLittleStuff hashtag.
As I walk back to our table, Vince is swilling his wine around his glass, deep in conversation with Joe who has his back to me. Both men talk in low voices. Ducking behind a pillar, I pretend to receive a voicemail.
‘I didn’t know. She kept it from me too,’ Vince says.
‘I find that very hard to believe,’ Joe replies.
‘I’m not a liar. She didn’t tell me until towards the end. And forbade me from telling you. Of course, I was torn, which is why I eventually brought you back.’
‘With minutes to spare.’ Then Joe lowers his voice, and I strain to hear his words.
‘Both of them? What are you going to do?’ Vince replies.
‘The right thing. For now. Until we work something out. Don’t say anything, please.’
‘The right thing?’ I echo. ‘What’s that then?’ I lift my napkin from the seat and sit down.
