Read Like Father for Free Online Page B

the land for building and put the money into the Hope Springs Trust.”
    They came to a clearing in the trees. From here, they could look over the vegetable plots to the main school building, Wishbourne Hall, a solid, red-brick construction with narrow windows that made it look vaguely monastic.
    “That’s good,” said Cassie. “I made that eight or nine.”
    Danny looked sideways at Cassie. She was waiting for him to ask what on earth she meant. Smirking. He looked down, and walked in silence.
    “Sentences,” she said, finally. “All in a row. Don’t stop. Go on: tell me more. I want to know about this place. It’s like, another little village stuck slap bang in the middle of Wishbourne. Different rules.”
    “We have an open day in a couple of weeks. You’re early.”
    They came to the lake and followed the path around one side.
    “So where are they, then?”
    Again: waiting for him to ask what she meant.
    He looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
    “The springs. It’s called Hope Springs. There must be springs.”
    Danny had never thought of it like that. “There’s a stream,” he said. “It runs into the lake. The spring must be up the hill somewhere.”
    “So, it’s Hope Streams, then, really. Or Hope Stream . Not Hope Springs at all. I might come and change it one night, on the sign at the bottom of the drive. Cross out the ‘Springs’ and write ‘Stream’. Just for the sake of accuracy. So what are you doing here? How did you end up in a place like this?”
    “Things got tight,” he said. The official version of events, as far as anyone here knew. “Dad lost his job. We couldn’t afford to stay in London. Mum sold up and bought a stake in Hope Springs Trust and a lease on a flat in the Hall.”
    “What about your dad?”
    Danny stared at her. What did she know? What had she heard?
    “You’re like, your dad loses his job but it’s your mum who sells up and buys into the kooky club. There’s a jump there. A gap in your story.”
    He swallowed.
    “They separated. It’s just me, my gran and my brother, Josh, now.”
    One of the willows had a big branch that split off from the trunk just above ground level and swept out over the lake where the stream rushed in. Cassie stepped out onto it and sat with her back against the main trunk.
    “Parents,” she said. “Larkin was right, wasn’t he?”
    Danny looked at her, lost again.
    “Philip Larkin. The poet. They mess you up. That’s what he said parents do. They fill you up with all their faults and then they give you some more, too. Only he said it better than that in the poem. There’s a lot of truth in poetry.”
    Too much truth, perhaps, thought Danny.
    “There was a crow sat on a plough,” he recited. “He hasn’t gone, he’s still there now.”
    Cassie snorted out a laugh, and shifted so that Danny could sit with her. “Like I say,” she said. “A lot of truth. Your crow poses the big question of existence: why are we here? Simple. It’s because we haven’t gone. Poetry has all the answers.”
    “Your parents?”
    “Divorced.”
    Danny leaned down to pick up a stick, then sat tracing shapes in the water with it.
    “Everything was fine,” said Cassie. “They’re still best friends. But one day Dad just announced that he’d decided he was gay and that was it. Not a lot you can say to that. I didn’t tell anyone for ages. I used to just tell people he was in prison, but I couldn’t do that once he started visiting with his boyfriend. It took a bit of adjusting, but it’s cool now. Are you shocked?”
    Not shocked, just confused. Thrown off guard. She kept asking difficult questions, saying things that made him uncomfortable, like the claim that her father was in prison. Too close to home. Also, he was aware of how close they were sitting.
    He stood. “Shall we look for the spring?” he asked.
    They followed the stream. It was easy enough at first, but then a wide bed of nettles and brambles made them leave its