Page 106 of In the Same Boat

‘I’m a big boy, I can sort my own life out,’ I remind him.

‘But I’m your dad, I love you, and I want you to be as happy as your mum and I were – we’d had you, by the time we were your age.’

‘I know, and I appreciate that,’ I insist. ‘But, Dad, you need to take care of yourself. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you’ve really liked Chrissy from the start, but that you were the one too scared to go for it, so you did all of this just to spend time together?’

Dad sighs.

‘I think you might be right,’ he admits.

He stares out across the marina. He doesn’t look at me.

‘I know what you had with Mum was special,’ I tell him. ‘But it’s not about finding that exact kind of love with someone else, it’s about finding someone to be happy with for what time we’ve all got left.’

‘I think Chrissy is that person for me,’ he says. ‘I know that she didn’t care about the yacht, not really. I cared more about impressing her than she cared about being impressed by me. I think she liked the idea of being swept off her feet… she just ended up feeling more like I’d tripped her up.’

‘But you did tell her the truth,’ I remind him.

‘I did,’ he replies. ‘And I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on her face. I just wanted to seem like the sort of man who could give her some excitement. I’ve spent years feeling unimpressive, people feeling sorry for me. What am I to people? A widower. Your dad. Some old bloke. And then I met Chrissy and I felt like I could be anything, and it felt great.’

He smiles faintly, but it fades almost immediately.

‘I liked how she looked at me when she thought I was that man.’

‘You don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not, Dad,’ I insist.

He looks down at his drink.

‘Easy for you to say,’ he replies. ‘You’re the man I was pretending to be.’

‘You wore it more proudly than I do,’ I tell him. ‘I worry people won’t like me for me, so I like to let them underestimate me, I let them think I’m some slacker gamer, so that if anyone ever did like me, I would know it was for me.’

‘You don’t need to test people,’ he says. ‘Especially not Sammie. That girl doesn’t have a bad bone in her body.’

‘I know that now.’

I know that I didn’t technically lie, but lying by omission is as good (or as bad) as. I’ve lived my life keeping certain things separate: work, money, family, the version of me Dad sees, the version of me who goes on dates.

‘You’ve never liked people knowing,’ Dad says quietly. ‘You should be proud of what you’ve achieved. Like I’m proud of you. Like your mum would be.’

A lump forms in my throat. I do my best to swallow it away.

We’ve had versions of this conversation before, just never this directly. When the business started doing well, Dad wanted to tell everyone – neighbours, the bloke he chats to at the petrol station, a woman in a queue at M&S. He was proud, and I understood that, but I hated the shift that happened when people knew. The sudden interest, the sucking up – I didn’t know what was genuine any more. It was easier to withdraw from dating, that’s for sure.

It was easier to let Dad be the proud one – he enjoys it far more than I do.

‘I didn’t think I impressed her at first, I didn’t even think she liked me, so I didn’t want the business to be the thing that won her over,’ I say. ‘And we were so different. She’s the kind of girl who runs a risk assessment before doing a risk assessment. I’m… I’m not like that at all.’

‘You’re a savvy businessman,’ he points out. ‘Risk is currency in business.’

‘I suppose so,’ I say with a sigh.

‘I guess we both pretended to be something we’re not,’ Dad says. ‘The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree, eh?’

‘It seems that way,’ I reply, allowing myself a chuckle. ‘I should have said something this morning too. You had that right.’

Dad doesn’t say anything. He gives me space to talk.

‘After last night, she said we’d made a mistake,’ I continue, hoping he reads between the lines. ‘That we should forget it. I thought she wanted me to agree, so I did.’