I don’t even realize I have a huge, soppy grin on my face.
“Friends?” I say, reaching out my hand, and he takes it, as I wonder just how long it will take me to persuade him otherwise.
* * *
We leave Raoul’s and walk along the canal and into Regent’s Park. Neither of us can stop talking, and I’m aware both of us have been smiling all day. Nothing has happened, and clearly, if I’m to get sober, which I now have to do, nothing will happen, but still, it feels like the most perfect romantic day imaginable, like something out of a Richard Curtis film, like the kind of day that only happens on a big screen or to other people.
It is such a perfect day, the earth-shattering news that my father is not my father doesn’t even feel quite so important. I tell Jason all about it, because it is one of those days where the laughter and fun devolve into something deeper, more meaningful, and I realize I want him to know everything about me.
“That’s pretty big stuff,” he says, when I have finished and we are sitting on the grass by the bandstand. “You’re going to get in touch with him, presumably?”
“Yes. My mum wanted to write and let him know, and hopefully he’ll write back. I suppose I have this fantasy of going over there and finding out I have this amazing family who all welcome me with open arms. It probably wouldn’t be like that, but I have to believe I’d have more in common with him than I did with the man I always thought was my father.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“I don’t know. It’s a lot to process.” I turn to him. “My whole entire life I wanted brothers and sisters and I can’t quite get my head round the fact that I may have them, that I may finally have everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“It sounds like this could make an amazing book. Depending on what happens, of course, but I could see you writing a memoir.”
I sit back, a light going on in my head. I have never thought of writing a book, but isn’t that every journalist’s dream? Gina ghostwrote a book for a pop star a couple of years back, although I’m not sure that counts, and Jackie has cowritten a couple of self-help books, but I never really thought about it.
I could see myself writing a book, though. And I could write a memoir, now that my father is no longer. I drift off into a fantasy of Nantucket, of finding the perfect family who welcome me into their heart, of writing about the hell of my childhood, and the joy of finding this new, improved family.
It’s a brilliant idea, and soon Jason and I are planning the logistics of my new, improved life.
* * *
I am dropped home just after nine. We spent the afternoon in Regent’s Park, before walking down to Baker Street to watch a film. Everything about the day had been perfect, and after the film, Jason phoned a friend “from program” and asked her to sponsor me.
Not that I need it, but I will do it for Jason. He’s already said that although he won’t sponsor me, he will be my “friend,” and that the primary purpose of anyone in AA is to stay sober and help other alcoholics to achieve sobriety.
I’m not an alcoholic, but I do believe that today may mark the beginning of a whole new world.
For starters, not for one second today did I think about alcohol. We went to All Bar One before the film to grab something to eat, and not only did I order a ginger ale, I didn’t then spend the rest of the evening looking around me at others drinking and wishing I could do that too.
When I got home I went to the fridge and pulled out the bottles of wine and beer and did the unthinkable. Opened them and poured the contents down the sink.
I may not be an alcoholic, but if I stand any shot at all with Jason, I have to get sober. I’m not doing this for myself, I’m doing this for him, but the end result is the same, and taking a quick bath, still smiling the whole time, I replay every moment of the day, astounded at how life can change so quickly, how I have met someone who feels like he’s going to be significant, and how I