The three of them walked up to the playground, where Esme jumped on a swing and started to propel herself backward and forward. Dylan and Libby sat down on a bench opposite.
“Esme is great fun,” Libby said as they watched the young woman fly higher and higher on the swing. “How did you two meet?”
“A couple of years back, her mum had a nasty fall and broke her hip, so the two of them needed some extra help at homefor a couple of months. Ez and I have been mates ever since; we must have been to every tourist attraction and karaoke bar in London.”
“And she’s getting married soon?”
“Yeah, in November. Then she and Johnny are moving into an assisted-living flat together. I’m not sure she’ll have much time for me after that; she’s got the busiest social life of anyone I know.”
Dylan gave a soft laugh as he said this. Libby watched him watching Esme on the swing, and remembered how gentle he’d been with Frank on Saturday. It was strange to think that little more than a week ago, she’d been so horrified when Frank had told her that Dylan was his carer.
“Did you always want to be a carer?”
“Nah, I wanted to be a musician. I’ve played in bands since I was a kid, still do a bit now. But sadly, music isn’t going to put food on the table.”
“So how did you get into caring?”
“I sort of fell into it. I dropped out of school at sixteen; me and the British education system were not a good match. I pissed around for a bit, playing in bands and getting into scrapes. And then about fifteen years ago, I took a temp job at a care agency. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Well, you’re clearly brilliant at it.”
“I dunno about that. But I enjoy it and the hours suit me: I work a lot of night shifts, which I like, as it gives me free time in the day. I’d rather die than do some soul-sucking corporate nine-to-five.”
“Have you ever thought about changing careers?”
Dylan paused for a moment, knocking an empty Coke can back and forth between his feet. “A few years ago I did havethis crazy idea about going into nursing; I sometimes work with learning-disability nurses and they’re amazing. But I looked into it, and you need A levels and a degree and loads of other stuff, so it’s stupid to even say it.” He gave the can a kick, sending it skidding out of the playground.
“I don’t think it’s stupid.”
“I think your thirties are a bit late to be going back to school, aren’t they? I’d look like a right twat, sitting there with a load of spotty teenagers.”
“It’s not too late, if it’s what you really want.” As she said it, Libby thought about her own teenage ambitions. She was hardly one to talk about following your dreams.
“What about you?” Dylan said. “Did you always want to work in the gardening industry?”
“God no. It was my boyfriend... ex-boyfriend’s business, and I started working there because he needed another pair of hands.” This was the first time she’d mentioned Simon to Dylan, although he was clearly aware of his existence, thanks to Hector.
“What did you dream of doing when you were younger?”
Libby bit her lip. Would he laugh if she told him the truth, given he’d seen her terrible attempt at drawing?
“I wanted to be an artist.”
Dylan didn’t laugh. Instead he looked at her, his eyes serious. “So what happened?”
“My parents refused to let me go to art school.”
“Whoa. Like Frank’s woman on the 88?”
“I know. Weird, right?”
“Why didn’t they want you to go?”
“They said I’d end up spending three years smoking weed and have no job at the end of it. My parents are very goals oriented.”
“And you didn’t consider disobeying them?”
Libby shook her head. “I’m not as brave as Frank’s girl. Besides, there was no way I could have paid the fees without their support.”
