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off me!’ and Faith is trying to step in between them and Celia picks up her handbag and hits Adrian with it a couple of times and shouts, ‘Let go of him!’ And that’s when Faith shouts at her. Something like, ‘Leave Adrian alone. He’s upset.’ And that’s when Celia says, ‘We came all the way down from Scotland. And this is the thanks we get.’
    In the end it’s Ant who sorts it out. He gets up from the table and walks over to Adrian and grabs him by the jacket, then pulls and pulls until Adrian has to let go of Dad’s shirt, but he doesn’t stop shouting so Ant keeps pulling him until he manages to get him out of the kitchen and down the hall and out of the house. Everything is quiet enough now to hear Celia crying but not so quiet that you can hear the tick and the tock of the clock anymore.
    Dad is standing by the sink, leaning on the worktop, puffing and panting like he’s just run a mile or something. Celia takes a tissue out of her bag and blows her nose really loudly. Faith sits down and puts her face in her hands.
    After a while she says, ‘I think you should go.’
    Dad sighs and shakes his head. He picks up his jacket that’s hanging on the back of the chair. He says, ‘I just thought . . . you’d all like the idea. A new life. After everything that’s happened, you know?’
    I nod and say, ‘A new baby will be nice, Dad.’ Even though I’m really hoping it doesn’t come late. Some babies come late. And if it came three days late, that would be my birthday and I’d prefer if it didn’t come on my birthday because then it wouldn’t really be my birthday anymore, would it?
    Dad drags his hand down his face. He looks pretty tired. His tie is crooked and a button of his jacket is hanging on by a thread. He nods and tucks his shirt back inside his trousers. He looks at Faith. ‘Maybe you’re right.’ Faith nods. Dad says, ‘I’ll ring you when I get home.’ It still feels weird. When Dad says ‘home’ and he doesn’t mean here.
    Faith picks up the chair that Adrian knocked over. Starts clearing the table.
    Dad says, ‘Your mother would be proud of you. Everything you’re doing.’ He nods towards me. ‘Come here, wee man. You’re not too old to give your dad a cuddle, are you?’ I am too old but I go over to him anyway. I feel a bit sorry for him. The way Adrian sort of hates him since he went to Scotland to live with Celia and the way Ant just kind of acts like he’s not here even when he is.
    I don’t think Adrian is right. I don’t think Mam hated him. She didn’t hate anyone as far as I know. She said hate was a tiring emotion and if you wanted to hate someone, you’d better get good and ready to put a lot of time and energy into it.
    Me and Faith walk Dad and Celia to their car. There’s no sign of Ant or Adrian, which is probably just as well. We wave and wave until they’re gone. That used to be Mam and Dad’s job. Waving and waving at visitors until they were gone. Once Ant and Adrian go back to the university in London, it’ll just be me and Faith. I hope nothing happens to Faith, I really do. Otherwise, it’ll just be me here, waving and waving until everybody is gone.

13 July 2011; Dublin
    I am being driven insane. Insanity fuelled by Thomas’s care. His consideration. His gentleness. It’s on a loop: the care, the consideration, the gentleness. Like supermarket music. It’s driving me crazy. The nicer he is, the crazier I feel.
    And since he’s living in my apartment, we’re way past the third-date stage. The date when I get to say, ‘It’s not you. It’s me.’ Even though it’s never me. Hardly ever.
    If I said that now, he’d ask, ‘What do you mean?’ and I’d have to have something to say, because if I didn’t, he’d say, ‘I’m entitled to an explanation at the very least.’ And he’s right. He’s right about everything. Except me. He said everybody is ready to settle down at some stage or another. But I’m not. I’m pretty