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pub.’
    ‘That’s ages away!’ I exclaim. ‘You could have shared a cab with Natalie and Mike.’
    He shrugs. ‘I don’t mind walking.’
    ‘Me neither. Anything to delay the inevitable,’ I say nervously. ‘He is so going to flip out at me.’
    ‘I can’t imagine Mr Taylor flipping out at anyone.’
    I screw up my nose. ‘OK, so he doesn’t really flip out as such. He just puts these enormous guilt trips on me. It makes life even more unbearable.’
    A good twenty seconds pass before he gently says, ‘I’m sorry about your mum.’
    ‘Thanks,’ I reply quietly.
    ‘What about your dad? I mean, your real dad,’ he asks after a moment.
    ‘What about him?’ I reply.
    ‘You don’t have to tell me, but do you ever see him?’
    ‘I don’t even know who he is, let alone where he is. My mum would never say.’
    He sucks the air in through his teeth. ‘That’s tough. I’m mad at my dad, but at least I know where he is if I really need him. Do you think Mr Taylor knows who your real dad is?’
    I frown. ‘I doubt it. Why would he?’ Then again, Mum knew Stu when they were teenagers. They went out for a bit and broke up. She was eighteen when she fell pregnant with me, but she and Stu didn’t get back together again for years afterwards. ‘Maybe I’ll ask him.’
    He glances at me. ‘Do you really want to know?’
    ‘Definitely,’ I say resolutely. ‘Not knowing has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Well, you know, until Mum . . .’
    My voice trails off. Obviously this pales in comparison to Mum dying.
    We turn left at the roundabout and start to walk up the hill. I think that’s the end of that particular conversation, but then Tom says, ‘Maybe your mum didn’t tell you who he was for a reason. What if he’s in jail or . . . worse?’
    I think about that. My mum clearly didn’t want me to know anything about my dad – there has to be a reason for that. But even if he is a low-life, I need to understand where I came from.
    ‘What could be worse than jail?’ I bat back.
    ‘I don’t know.’ He looks uncomfortable.
    ‘I suppose he could be dead,’ I muse aloud, and then I’m swamped by a dark feeling. I halt on the bridge and place my hands on the wall, staring down at the railway lines below. Tom pauses beside me.
    ‘Sorry,’ he says softly. ‘I don’t know why I just said that.’
    ‘You’re right, though.’ I turn to look up into his eyes, which are full of compassion. ‘What if he is dead? I always thought he was out there somewhere, but what if he’s not?’
    ‘Mr Taylor’s OK, isn’t he?’ Tom says uneasily, hooking his thumbs into his jeans pockets. ‘I mean, I know he’s not your real dad, but haven’t you lived with him for years?’
    ‘Since I was about eight.’ I hesitate. ‘Sometimes I think he must hate me.’ I say it so quietly, that I’m not sure Tom has heard me.
    ‘Of course he doesn’t,’ he says. ‘Why would you think that?’
    A train passes loudly underneath us and I watch it go before speaking again. ‘I’ve known him all my life, but even when I was little I sensed that there was something off about the way he sometimes looked at me.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ Tom asks uneasily.
    ‘I don’t know. It was like he resented me.’
    ‘Oh. Maybe he was sad that your mum had you with another guy instead of him.’
    ‘Stu can’t have children,’ I reveal, glancing sideways at him.
    ‘Well, that definitely makes sense, then. You probably remind him of what he couldn’t have.’
    ‘I bet he wishes I never existed,’ I whisper, looking away again.
    I feel Tom’s hand on my back and I tense up, feeling incredibly vulnerable. I don’t usually let my guard down like this. After a moment, he lets his hand drop and stands beside me, gazing down at the railway tracks. I can still feel the warmth of his body beside mine, but I wish he’d left his hand where it was.
    I sigh. We both speak at the same time, but I only hear my