Perfectly Ordinary People(35)

‘Is who what?’

‘Your Dan,’ Dad said. ‘Is he Jewish?’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ I said, eliciting a glare from my mother.

‘I’m only asking,’ Dad said.

‘Yeah, well, don’t. Because I’m not going to tell you. I’m never going to answer that question.’

‘Because he is, then?’ Dad said.

‘No, because I don’t know. Because I’ve never asked. And I never will ask. Because I don’t care one way or another. And nor should you. Nor should anyone ever.’

‘Tell us about your holiday,’ Mum said. ‘Tell us about Portugal before I slap this old fool myself.’

And so I did. I told them about the little sandy island and the cheapest restaurant on earth. I told them about Faro and the dunes and Dan’s parents. And then I segued rather elegantly into asking Dad where Grandpa Chris was living, and was stunned to learn that he was near the coast in south-west France.

‘Is there any particular reason that we didn’t get to spend our holidays on a beach in the South of France?’ I asked.

‘Well, to start with, when you were little, he lived in Vauxhall.’

‘Not the most fabulous holiday destination,’ Mum said in a rare moment of sarcasm.

‘He moved there when he retired. Like your Daniel’s parents did to Portugal.’

‘It’s Dan,’ I said. ‘Not Daniel.’

‘Ooh, OK,’ Dad said. ‘Sorry, I forgot how touchy we’re being.’

‘I’m not being touchy, Dad. It’s just that I don’t even know if his actual name is Daniel.’

‘You didn’t see his passport?’

‘I did not.’

‘Or his plane tickets?’

I frowned at this. ‘Maybe, but I don’t think so. Or maybe it just said Dan, so I didn’t notice.’

‘What do his parents call him?’ Mum asked.

‘They call him, Dan!’ I said. ‘Jesus! Everyone calls him Dan.’

‘And does he speak Portuguese?’ Dad asked.

‘He does,’ I confirmed. ‘Like a dream.’

‘It’s a funny language,’ Mum said. ‘It sounds funny. Sort of like Spanish, but drunk.’

‘Unlike Gaelic,’ Dad said, ‘which doesn’t sound funny at all.’

‘Anyway,’ I said, noticing that they’d derailed me from my mission. ‘Have you got an address for him?’

‘For Dan?’ Dad asked.

‘For Grandpa!’

‘Oh, sure. Of course. Somewhere.’

‘And a phone number?’

‘That too, I expect. But why?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe I fancy a holiday in France.’

‘I’d think twice before staying at his place.’

‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Is it awful? Have you been?’

‘No, never. But he’s a bizarre old bugger.’

‘This is your father we’re talking about.’

Dad opened his palms towards the ceiling and shrugged. ‘Sometime bizarre old buggers have children. And sometimes they have wonderful children like your dad.’

‘So was there some kind of falling out?’

‘With who?’ he asked. ‘With Dad?’

I resisted the desire to say, ‘Well, that is who we’re talking about, isn’t it?’ Or – a family favourite – ‘No, I was talking about the Pope.’ Instead I said, ‘Yeah, I’m assuming there’s a reason why we saw so little of him. And Genny, for that matter.’

Dad wrinkled his nose almost indiscernibly. ‘Not really. Other than the fact that they were funny buggers.’

‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’ I said. I turned to Mum. ‘Do you know?’

She half-heartedly shrugged, and then, speaking through a mouthful of tart, an act she delicately hid behind her fingers, said, ‘I just don’t think they were very family oriented, that’s all.’

‘That’s it!’ Dad said, sounding a bit too keen that Mum had come up with an answer. ‘They just weren’t very family oriented. Not after the divorce they weren’t, anyway.’

‘But they still lived together, right?’

‘In the same building,’ Dad said. ‘Not together.’

‘I remember that,’ Mum said. ‘We went there once or twice, didn’t we? He had that funny little bedsit upstairs.’

‘So you carried on seeing them, then?’

‘A bit. From time to time. But it was . . .’ Dad sighed, and frowned with the effort of trying to remember. ‘It was like you had to book an appointment,’ he finally said.

‘Oh, gosh, yes, I remember that,’ Mum agreed. ‘They hated it if you just turned up unannounced.’

‘That is a bit of a French thing,’ Dad said. ‘People do like you to call in advance. But you’re right. They weren’t keen. Didn’t like surprises.’

‘And this is both of them? Either of them, I mean? As they were living in different flats . . .’

‘Yes, they were both pretty funny about it.’