I followed Jon’s example. I asked Dad if he would give me a lift across town. He looked surprised, I never normally asked to be taken anywhere, but he went to grab the car keys. It was a couple of days after Jon had been admitted to hospital and it was the first night we hadn’t been to see him. I could just about remember the way and I made sure we drove past the dark crumbling mills and the breezeblock estates. It was all beautifully bleak and just as I remembered it. I was glad that everything around was being pummelled with black winter rain, painting the perfect picture for Dad, but when I glanced across at him I realised he probably wasn’t taking much of it in. His eyes were staring hard and straight ahead, looking for risk through the rain. We passed the last groups of estate houses and bobbled down the gravel road and the building loomed into sight, a dark, rain-lashed shadow ahead. I told Dad to pull over at the entrance to the drive and he stopped and turned the engine off. He glanced around, looking for clues. I pointed towards the sign standing to our right. He wiped the condensation from the inside of his window and peered and read. He looked back to me and asked what this was all about, why had I brought him here? I told him: because Jon brought me here. Because this is where he will end up; it’s the only place they could put him. Dad was already turning the car around in the tight lane as I spoke, turning it to face Duerdale Fell and the drive home. I couldn’t read his face at all. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if he was angry or not. We drove back to the house in silence and parted at the front door. I went straight up to my room and Dad went to his workroom.
It was late when he knocked at my door. A tentative tap that wouldn’t wake me if I was sleeping. I was in bed but a world away from sleep and said to come in. Dad slipped past the door, crossed the room and sat at the foot of my bed. I sat up, turned my lamp on and blinked heavily, shutting out the glare. Dad said he was sorry if he’d woken me and I told him he hadn’t, that I wasn’t even tired. He rested his hands on his knees and started asking questions about Jon. About how he came to live with his grandparents, how long he’d lived on the fell and what I knew about his mum and dad. Did he have any other relatives? I answered as well as I could. I told him I didn’t know how long Jon had lived here but I thought it was a few years. I told him his mum was dead and he never knew his dad. As for any other relations, he never mentioned anyone and I got the feeling that was because he didn’t know of any.
Dad sat silent, considering the information I’d managed to give him.
‘How would you feel about it?’ he asked. ‘Another person, here, all the time.’
I shrugged. ‘Well, he’s here a lot of the time anyway, isn’t he?’
He nodded. ‘He is, but this would be something else altogether. This isn’t fish and chips, a video and a sleepover. This is responsibility.’
He meant it was responsibility for him.
‘Mum wouldn’t have even had to think about it.’
He didn’t flinch, didn’t move a millimetre. I lay awkwardly, half propping myself up, arms aching, waiting for his response. He carried on sitting with his hands on his knees, staring ahead. Eventually he stood up and turned my lamp off. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Get some sleep.’