Nobody Real. Steven Camden

you,” says Dad as we walk back down the high street.

      It’s nearly six and everything is closed. A couple of hours’ walking quietly through the park is as good as any therapy session.

      I drop my used wet wipe in the bin outside the British Heart Foundation shop, belly full of chicken and chips.

      “No problem.”

      We reach the shop and Dad starts patting his pockets.

      “Maybe I should get a dog, with the park right there and everything?”

      “Yeah? And who’ll be the one who ends up walking him?” I say.

      He fingers his bunch of keys for the right one. “Not you. You’ll be gone.”

      “Dad …”

      “Don’t worry. I can handle myself.” He holds up the shop door key proudly. “See?”

      There’s a sadness in his smile.

      “Shall I come in for a bit?” I say. “I could wash up?”

      “I’ll be fine, Mars. Tell Coral I said hi.”

      He opens the door.

      “I could come over tomorrow, cook you dinner?”

      He shakes his head. “No need, Mars. You enjoy your Sunday off.”

      “I’ll come on Monday then, help with the shop?”

      I watch the realisation that Diane is gone sucker-punch him in the ribs. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

      He hands me his keys.

      “OK then, call me if you need me, Dad, yeah?”

      He nods an autopilot nod and closes the door.

      You’ll be gone.

      I watch him through the glass. He looks older from behind, his body fading into shadow as he walks to the stairs.

      Coral’s wearing eyeliner.

      “Oh, hey! I just sent you a message,” she says, pointing back at the house. I can smell perfume.

      “You look nice,” I say.

      She looks down at her outfit – navy-blue trouser suit, shimmery white top. “You think? Not too much?”

      “Not at all. Who’s the lucky guy?”

      “Nobody special. Dom from work, you remember him? He came to my work birthday meal?”

      She brushes fluff from her arm. The light dances in her perfectly cropped Lego hair.