“You know, I used to think that too. But let me tell you a secret...” Dylan lowered his head and Hector leaned forward to listen to him. “Old people might seem boring, but that’s ’cos you’re not listening to them properly. Take my mate Frank. He’s really old, but he told Libby an amazing story, and now because of that, she’s on a mission to help him. That’s not boring, is it?”
“I suppose.” Hector looked unconvinced. “Does your job make you rich?”
“Nah, but it does make me happy, and I think that’s more important.”
The boy’s brow furrowed as it always did when he was thinking hard. “My mummy’s job makes her angry, not happy.”
“Oh, Hexy,” Libby said, and she reached out to ruffle his hair. “I think your mum loves her job too, but it can be quite stressful.”
“Some people like having stressful jobs,” Dylan said to Hector. “And some people like jobs that are really creative or mean they can be outdoors all day. Everyone’s different. I like working with people and helping them—I think it’s the best feeling in the whole world.”
“Hmm...” Hector was still looking thoughtful.
“What about you? What do you want to be when you grow up?” Dylan asked him.
“An astronaut and a footballer,” Hector said quickly. Then he paused. “Do either of those jobs help people?”
“ ’Course they could, if you want them to. You could be a helpful astronaut or a helpful footballer.”
Hector looked pleased with that and sat back in his seat, satisfied. Dylan turned round to face the front again and Libby stared at the back of his head, utterly confused. Of all the things she would have predicted about this man, being great with four-year-old boys was definitely not one of them.
CHAPTER
12
Dylan, which football team do you support? Have you ever been to London Zoo? Do you sleep with your hair like that?”
For the past ten minutes, Hector had been grilling Dylan, and now Libby knew he liked pasta more than pizza, had never seenCarsbut had seenToy Story 2, and would rather be eaten by a lion than a shark. Hector had even moved forward to sit next to Dylan, leaving Libby to ride in relative peace.
“Do you like Lego?” Hector asked.
“I love it,” Dylan said. “I still have the original Lego X-Wing Starfighter I was given for my twelfth birthday.”
Libby rolled her eyes. Of course Dylan was a grown man who still had Lego.
“Cumberland Terrace,” the electronic bus announcement said.
Libby looked out the window and saw they were pulling up at a stop on Albany Street, the road where she and Dylan had put the posters up on Monday. She leaned forward to see her poster, but the one on the bus stop had disappeared. Libby kept looking as the bus moved off down the road, but there wasn’t one on the lamppost either or on the next bus stop. They’d all gone.
Dylan must have been looking too, because he turned back to face her. “I see not many of your posters survived.”
There he was, the Dylan she knew: not the sweet, child-entertaining one, but the know-it-all, thought he was better than everyone else, delighted to point out her failure one.
“Are you going to say ‘I told you so’?” Libby said, crossing her arms.
“No, I—”
“I know you think this is a terrible idea, but I’m not going to give up at the first hurdle.”
“I never said you were,” he said, although Libby was pretty sure that was exactly what he was thinking.
“You may be completely unmoved by Frank’s search, but I happen to think it’s an amazing story. And I want to help him try and find this woman, before his daughter locks him up in some old people’s home.”
Dylan scowled. “I’m not unmoved by his story.”
“Then why are you so against what I’m doing? Surely, if you care for Frank, you’d want to help him too?”
“Of course I care about Frank,” he said, and there was a sharpness to his voice. “It’s just more complicated than you realize.”
