Long Distance

 

 

Dad rings this evening.

“Are you all right, love?” he says.

I nod, then remember that he can’t see me. “Yes,” I say.

“Sorry I was so rotten, love,” he says. He sounds tired, like most of him is somewhere else. “I’m doing my best.”

“I know,” I say. I lean my head against the wall. “I’m sorry too.”

“Peace?”

“Peace.”

We’re quiet. I tap my heels against the stair, waiting for him to say something.

“Did you have a good afternoon?” he says eventually.

“I went to see my man,” I tell him. “This man I’ve met. He lives in a little house, like in a book, because he’s hiding from this hunt who are trying to kill him. He can make things out of nothing, like trees and flowers and magic potions.”

“Sounds useful,” says Dad. “Maybe you can introduce me next time I come and see you.”

“Maybe,” I say doubtfully. “Only he won’t let anyone but me see him. He makes himself invisible.”

“Oh well,” says Dad. He gives a little half-laugh, although I can’t see what’s so funny.

Hannah puts her head round the kitchen door.

“Dinner!” she says.

I cover the phone with my hand.

“D’you want to talk to Dad?”

Hannah shakes her head and vanishes.

“I’ve got to go,” I say.

“All right,” Dad says. He draws in his breath. “Don’t I get a kiss?”

I kiss my fingers and press them against the phone.

“There. Did you get it?”

“Wait—” says Dad. “Yes – no – no – oh, yes! There! Got it!”

“Your turn.”

“OK,” says Dad. I can hear him smiling. “Sending now. Ready?”

I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the time it takes a kiss to travel all the way from Newcastle down a phone line. The kiss zips down wires and across space. It shoots through the receiver, and lands on my cheek with a splat.

“Got it?” says Dad.

“Yes,” I say. “Got it.”

“Off you go, then,” says Dad. He sounds suddenly sad. I put the phone down, so I don’t have to hear.