Page 8 of How To Tackle A Crush
He likes it when I agree with his logic. Always has. Even when he was three he hated being dismissed. I learned early that listening properly matters more than sounding clever.
“Granny said they’re millions of years old,” he continues.
“Granny knows these things.” I’m pretty sure my mum spent a lot of time on Google before the museum visit. She’s a first-class grandmother. A dinosaur expert, she certainly is not.
“I asked how they know.”
“And?”
“They look at bones. I like bones,” he says.
That would worry most parents. With Alfie it means science books and documentaries and questions about fossils over breakfast.
My eyes drift to the photo on my desk without meaning to. Alfie at Christmas. Missing teeth. Hair sticking up because he refuses to let anyone brush it properly. That serious little face he gets when he’s concentrating.
There was a time I saw that face through screens more than in person.
Hotel rooms. Time zones. Calls squeezed between training sessions. Him asking when I was coming home.
Now I can say tonight and mean it.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“I think T-Rex would win though.”
“Against the Stegosaurus?”
“Yes. Bigger teeth.”
“Hard to argue with bigger teeth.”
“He could just bite him.”
“That does sound like a weakness.”
Alfie laughs. Quick. Bright. The kind of laugh that still surprises me sometimes.
This is why I said yes to Carlisle.
Tuesday morning phone calls about dinosaurs instead of missed calls from agents.
“Will you pick me up from school?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Can we watch the earth programme again tonight?”
“The one we watched last week?”
“Yes,” he whispers as if it were a secret.
“Sure. But not too long. Tomorrow is school again.”
“I know.” A beat. “Grandad lets me stay up if we watch space programmes.”
“That sounds like very irresponsible behaviour.”
