she had passed the grading and they named her ‘O Mar’ – the sea in Portuguese – which is also what I yell when she refuses to give me a lift to school.
Her note said:
L,
have gone to ’Gennith
for a party, back tom,
J x
Abbreviations say it all. Dad spent much longer staring at the note than it took him to read it.
Since Dad missed the grading, Mum has been with Graham at capoeira on Wednesdays and Sundays, and Graham is teaching her to surf whenever the waves are good. On one occasion, she even went abseiling. She makes a point of being full of energy.
This evening, we all had Sunday dinner together and, as per usual, nobody argued. She cut up her broccoli and I noticed dried sea-salt crystals on her elbows. These are the equivalent of another man giving your wife jewellery.
One of the things about the sea around Swansea is that it’s a dark, bluey-grey colour and nobody can see what your hands and legs are up to.
From my attic room, I have watched Graham’s Volvo pull up when he drops Mum off or picks her up. If I have my window open, I can sometimes hear the slide-guitar music he listens to. I imagine he is the sort of guy who only has two tapes in his car. Mum leans across to the driver seat and they have a one-armed hug and a cheek-kiss; sometimes the one arm rubs her shoulder.
When she goes out, Dad spends his time reading the Radio Times without listening to the radio. Also, the fridge is bursting with marinated lamb chops, sea bass, mackerel. When she is in, he goes up to his study and does marking, which, by the way, he has almost finished.
Somehow, they never go to bed at the same time.
Stay calm,
Oliver
(Baby Watch: Tampons Remaining: 8)
12.8.97
Word of the day: swell – a word used by surfers to refer to a series of waves. Also, a word relating to a building-up of emotion.
Dear Diary,
Jordana rang today. She tried to break up with me. I made things clear.
I said: ‘No. Now is not the time. I know it must be frustrating.’
I used very controlled language and did not raise my voice.
She said: ‘What are you talking about? You can’t say no.’
I said: ‘Listen, I understand where you’re coming from but this will have to wait.’
She said: ‘Oliver – I’m breaking up with you.’
I said: ‘No, you’re not. Look, trust me, you’re just having a nonage.’ A nonage is a period of immaturity.
‘What?!’
I put down the receiver calmly.
She was only angry because I had not enquired about her mother’s second potentially lethal operation.
I have had a realization: my father may be unattractive. He has these fine hairs on the end of his nose that, in sunshine, can look like dew. The whites of his eyes are often a yellowy-white – like seashells. He has one of those dark patches, a melanoma, on his forearm. It is not cancerous, merely repulsive.
I have bought him some Soltan Self-tanning Mousse, a pair of tweezers and Vitaleyes Eye Drops.
He has finally finished his marking.
No more excuses,
O
(Baby Watch: Tampons Remaining: 8)
Llangennith
I woke up early this morning because a tile came off the roof and shattered in the back yard. Mum is standing in the front room, still in her dressing gown, looking out at the bay. The sea looks frilly with breaking waves. Just visible above the beach, rainbow-striped kites strain in the wind.
‘Surfing today, Mum?’
‘The waves are too big – I’d get squished.’
‘What about Graham?’
‘Oh yes, he’ll be down ’Gennith probably.’
This is my chance. Graham’s off being heroic. Dad’s in Sainsbury’s – he goes at six on Saturday mornings to miss the rush.
I draft a short note in the mindset of my father. My dad’s handwriting is impossible to imitate so I print the note on the computer – using Garamond, the romantic font – seal it in an envelope and stand it on their dressing table.
Jill, now that I’ve finished marking essays and done the shopping,
I’m all yours. I’ve turned the dimmer switch down to halfway.
Why go out for rump steak when there’s marinated sirloin at home?
Ll X
I hang around on the landing, half-way up the stairs between her first floor bedroom and my attic room. I wait for her to come and get dressed.
She walks into her bedroom. I listen to the ripping paper. She must be opening it. There is a pause.
‘Oliver?’ is the word she says.
I wonder whether she is going to ask