Page 182 of In at the Deep End

“No reason.”

“Dad.”

His father shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the act of squeezing a tea bag. “I haven’t seen much of you lately.”

He arched his eyebrows. “You see me every day.”

“Not really. You’re this ghost who divides his time between lurking in the conservatory, working—or in Owen’s barn—or digging up Owen’s garden. We get to see you when you want feeding or laundry doing.” Dad placed the mug in front of him, then took the seat opposite.

“You just nailed it. I’ve been working. You know, the job you found for me?” Matt smiled. “Haven’t we already had this conversation?”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“And the dissertation’s almost finished.”

“I know that too.”

He frowned. “Then what are you asking?”

His dad stared at him. “I suppose I’m asking whether you’re happy.”

Matt stared back, the question so unexpectedly direct that for a moment he didn’t know what to say.

What came to mind was Owen.

His smile when Matt arrived. The sound of his laughter. The way he’d once reached for Matt without even seeming to realise he was doing it. The memory of the island, of lying beside him and knowing, with a certainty that had frightened him at the time, that he wanted more than Owen had promised.

All those little pieces of Owen filled his mind, his days, his hopes.

“Yes.” The answer came easily. He meant it.

At least, he thought he did.

Dad studied him for another moment. “Good.”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

He let out a chuckle. “You got an A in that weirdness test, didn’t you?”

Dad laughed. “Maybe I’m just checking on my son.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Because I can.”

Matt shook his head, smiling.

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

Dad’s softly spoken words caught him some place deep.

Matt swallowed. “Yeah.”

“About anything.”

“I know.”