my wrist in front of all of them and said:
Ten years. And you come back today, of all days.
And he was not wrong. He was the only person on that porch who was not wrong about anything.
It has been fourteen months.
We go about every six weeks. It is eight hours and Leo sleeps most of it.
My father and I are not fixed and I do not know if we will be. He has apologised once, properly, at a kitchen table, and then not been able to look at me for about a day afterwards.
My mother and Leo are a different matter entirely. She has him on the phone twice a week. She has taught him to make something with pastry that I cannot make.
There is a photograph of Rhys on my hallway wall now too. I did not have one for ten years.
