‘But it’s interesting.’

‘You are far too nice, Brendan.’

‘As you said earlier: is there anything wrong with that? And your daughter? Alison, right …?’

‘She followed her parents to Harvard. But then, in an act of rebellion, she went to Wall Street and became a Master of the Universe. Mutual funds. A true believer in social Darwinism. She gives money to the Republican Party and even voted for Trump. We don’t see much of each other – and she had a big political falling-out with her father a year before he died. Which was terribly sad … though, to Alison’s credit, when he got hit with pancreatic cancer and was given just weeks to live, she did drop everything and came back to be with us in LA. Ran her high finance business from our modest living room …’

‘Is that where she grew up?’ I said.

‘We once had a proper house not far from our apartment. But after Alison went east – almost fifteen years ago – and was clearly not coming back much we decided to downsize to an apartment. With a guest bedroom for her whenever she deigned to pay us a visit. Which wasn’t often. Still … when her dad was not long for the world she was there for him.’

‘Do you visit each other a couple of times a year?’

‘Mothers and daughters do a funny tango – and we have always had a complicated dynamic. Not just because she considers me a rabid socialist and I look upon her as a heartless plutocrat, but also because we just don’t really seem to like each other. Which is a terrible thing to admit. But sadly true.’

‘I know all about that. My daughter Klara is the center of my life. But she and her mom … it’s beyond terrible.’

‘At least she has you. And you have her. And your wife …’

‘That’s beyond terrible too. We’re married. But there’s no marriage … if you get what I’m saying. And it’s not just down to her. We’re kind of … lost.’

Bing. A text arrived on my phone. I ignored it. Bad manners looking at your phone while at dinner. But the bing binged again.

‘Please do take that if you need to,’ Elise said.

I pulled the phone out of my pocket. I glanced at the messages. There was one from my daughter.

Just home from work … want to drop by now?

I texted back:

Give me an hour. All cool?

Klara’s reply:

Life is never ‘all cool’. But I’m okay. Just feel like having a beer with my dad. You ‘cool’ with that?

I found myself smiling; Elise asked:

‘Good news?’

‘My daughter wants to buy me a beer.’

I could see Elise turn away, trying to mask the sadness I saw in her eyes. She finally said:

‘Lucky man.’

eleven

KLARA LIVED IN a crash-pad apartment in Echo Park. Not a bad street.