so,’ I said, even though I wasn’t actually sure. He shrugged and dumped it in the trolley. ‘You don’t mean your old grey suit?’
‘It’s a perfectly good suit.’
My dad was a man of few words and even fewer clothes. He wore his jeans until they fell apart and then he had Mum hem them into regrettable denim shorts which wore until the crotch split in two. And the less said about that particular family holiday to Lanzarote, the better.
‘It’s just, Mum’s gone all out on the dress so you might want to think about getting a new one,’ I suggested as I took in his stripy polo shirt and cargo trousers, each and every pocket filled to bursting with some sort of dad essential. ‘And you’ve had that one for a while, could be time to invest in a new one.’
He considered this, stroking his unshaven chin as we walked. Sunday was the only day my dad did not shave. It was a treat he held sacrosanct, along with his Chelsea bun from the village bakery and forty-five unquestioned minutes, in the toilet, with the newspaper.
‘It was good enough for your graduation,’ he said, turning his blue eyes on me. I had Dad’s hair but Mum’s eyes. Alan Reynolds had been blessed with dark brown hair and blue eyes, a startling combo he’d passed on to his youngest daughter, leaving me with Mum’s dark brown peepers. I knew they hadn’t done it on purpose but still, it was very genetically selfish.
‘And I graduated eleven years ago,’ I reminded him, the strain of doing the maths showing on his face. ‘Maybe it’s time for a refresher.’
‘Maybe I’ll see what they’ve got in Debenhams,’ he relented as he reached for a forty-eight pack of Mini Cheddars. ‘How’s work going?’
‘Good,’ I said, pushing the trolley on ahead. ‘It’s going well.’
‘You think you’ll stick this one out then, do you?’
My dad had worked the same job since the day he left school. Literally, he finished his last exam and went directly to my granddad’s shop and started training as a plumber. From there, he started to specialize in fitting kitchens and bathrooms and eventually opened his own bathroom design company, Reynolds’ Bathrooms. It wasn’t the most creative name since the dawn of time but it did what it said on the tin. I knew he was still half heartbroken that I hadn’t followed him into the family business but what could I say? Low flush toilets left me cold. And I couldn’t really see Jo leaving Cambridge with a degree in physics to join him on a January jolly to the Kitchens, Bedrooms and Bathrooms Expo in Cologne.
‘I think it’s very romantic, you know,’ I told him as we trundled around the corner and up the chocolate aisle. I lingered in front of a plastic pyramid of Ferrero Rocher.
‘What is?’ Dad asked, distracted by what claimed to be the world’s largest tin of Quality Street.
‘The second wedding.’
‘Oh. Hmm.’
When we were growing up, Dad wasn’t around very much. I’d never really thought about it until Mum’s changing-room confessional because, at the time, it didn’t seem that strange. I knew everything about my friends’ mums but I knew next to nothing about anyone’s dad. Some mums worked, some mums didn’t, but all of them took the lead with their kids. Dads went to work, dads came home and dads were, for the most part, not to be disturbed. Mums were there to answer questions and help with projects while dads were tired and only available to drive you to the ice rink on Saturdays if they really had to. When my mum was told she’d have to have a caesarean with Jo, I vividly recalled a long and involved debate between my parents as to whether or not I’d have to go and live with my nan for a few weeks, since Mum would be unable to take care of me. I’d made a very vocal case at the time, about how I was fourteen and hardly needed a babysitter, but that was how hands-off my dad was. Sure, he was occasionally around to crack a joke, give a girl a piggyback or destroy my burgeoning sense of self with a casual comment about how my Doc Martens would make all the boys think I was a lesbian, but we really didn’t know each other that well.
But I was tenacious and, apparently, a miracle worker. If I could get Patrick Parker back in my life, I