‘I’ll phone them,’ he said the next morning. ‘That Mr McGrath, I’ll speak to him. See what he has to say.’ I carried on eating my cornflakes. He looked across at me. ‘But things like these, Luke, they’re never simple. Don’t get ahead of yourself. And don’t say anything to Jon.’
He phoned Mr McGrath that afternoon. He explained why he was ringing, what he was thinking, and then waited for a list of reasons why it wasn’t feasible. He waited to hear that there were waiting lists, regulations, procedures and processes. But Mr McGrath just told him to come in for a chat the next day. So after he dropped me off at school Dad drove to the red Social Services building in town and found Mr McGrath’s small and cluttered office. They talked about Jon. They spoke about his situation. It was very sad, they said. Tragic. They shook their heads. Two men on the same side. Then Mr McGrath turned his attention to Dad. How did he know Jon? How long had Jon been coming to the house? Did Dad have any contact with Jon’s grandparents? How did I feel about it all? How did he think Jon would feel about the idea? Did Dad realise that there would be police checks, interviews, references requested? There would be scrutiny. Dad was bombarded for the next twenty minutes. He left with a mountain of pamphlets, leaflets and forms. He was told to read them all and to think hard about how serious he was about all of this.
When I got back from school I didn’t find him in his workroom as usual. He was sat at the table by the front window that looked out onto the falling fields and further down onto Duerdale. All the paperwork was scattered in front of him. The sun was already setting and the town’s lights were beginning to come on. The long, straight bypass that cuts across the length of the valley was the first to light up and it always reminded me of a runway at night. The town followed. A cluster of lights springing on and lighting up the estates to the south of the town and the terraced streets nearer the centre. It looked like a golden spider web settling into the black of the valley, an ugly town turned pretty for the night. He glanced up when I walked in and he looked like he’d just got off a long-haul flight. I asked him if he was all right and he stood up slowly, stretched and twisted and said he was. He’d just been thinking, that was all, thinking all afternoon.