I drag myself into the house. Mum is home early. When I start crying, she thinks it’s about Dad.
“Look, Millie, you think this is new territory, but you’ve been through all this before. It’s fine. You’ll be able to cope. Your dad was never, and never will be, the kind of man who sticks around. He has a peri … peri … peripatetic lifestyle!” Mum shouts. She’s pleased with herself because she’s remembered the long word she always uses for Dad. It means you never stay in one place for long. It also sounds a bit like “pathetic,” which is how I feel right now.
“Mum. Danny must be peri-peri then, because he’s leaving, too!”
Mum says, “Oh, darling! We aren’t doing very well, are we?”
I don’t really know what this “we” means, but I know that Mum calling me “darling” and being lovely to me always makes me cry even more than someone being nasty to me.
Mum gives me a huge hug. “Look, Millie! You’re going to have…”
PLEASE no, not the men speech. The “you’re going to have lots of boyfriends and you’ll get your heart broken, but you’ll be fine!” speech. She has a set of these—it’s like a head full of TED Talks ready to go.
I let Mum finish. You can’t stop her once she’s started.
“That’s all very well, Mum, but right now I only want one boy and he’s going.”
“I won’t lecture you!” Mum says solemnly (too late!). “I’ll just get the luxury ice cream out.”
Comfort eating is sensible at a time like this. Mum and me have a spoon each, take turns, and polish it all off.
As I’m fishing out the final chocolate chip from the crease in the tub (they always hide there!), Granddad texts.
Your dad has got a cheap last-minute flight. Come around tomorrow to say good-bye. It’s not good-bye, it’s au revoir.
My dad is leaving TOMORROW. I now know why he hasn’t told me himself. He hates the thought of upsetting me. Honestly, if it were up to him, I’d think he’d just go and call me from Ibiza. I feel like telling everyone how deadly serious my life is so I do. I message back.
I’ll be around. Dad is going, and now my boyfriend is going back to Canada, too. I think the universe is trying to tell me something.
Granddad replies very fast for someone with rheumatism.
It’s not the universe. It’s just life. Get used to it. Now what’s this flag?
This sounds harsh, but this is Granddad. Attached to the message is an image of a flag with a smiley sun on it. I’m not in the mood for trivia, but I text back.
Argentina
Granddad is straight on it.
Being sad hasn’t affected your brain. Good girl. People come and go. Knowledge is forever.
I know this is Granddad’s way of trying to cheer me up, but you can’t go to the prom with a fact or wearing a flag. Unless it’s China. That’s just red with a splat of yellow. You could pretend that little bit was a corsage.
My brain is designing dresses from flags. I need some sleep.