He’s tried to get his eldest son to open up to him. Several weeks ago, he had perched on the edge of Connor’s bed, remembering the nights he used to tuck him in, read The Tiger Who Came To Tea. It all seemed so long ago. He had passed Connor a bottle of Becks and although Connor had raised his eyebrows questioningly – this was not a normal occurrence – he’d taken the bottle and raised it to his mouth. They’d sat in awkward silence for a few moments sipping their beers, Connor’s eyes flicking back to his TV screen, his Xbox game still playing. Soldiers shooting each other. Bombs exploding. Aidan had glanced around the room, recalling the times he used to pace backwards and forwards, a newborn Connor cradled to his chest, hushing him in soothing tones, softly singing Bob Dylan songs. When colic had gripped his son, Aidan had taken him out in the car, driving him around in the still of the night, the engine lulling him to sleep. As the years passed, the sight of Connor in the rear-view mirror has changed. From giggling toddler to schoolboy, growing taller, but still eager to come out with his dad to visit the horses. Taking an interest in what was wrong with each animal. How Aidan could fix them. Once Aidan thought Connor would follow in his footsteps and become a vet. Now, although Aidan knows what Connor wants to do for a profession, he doesn’t know the essence of who he is anymore. They have lost their connection. That night in Connor’s room, Aidan had taken another sip of his beer and oh so casually asked his son if he wanted to talk about Hailey. He had watched the repugnance spread over Connor’s face.

‘No. I’m good,’ he had said and Aidan knew it was a lie.

‘When you were four and had finished preschool I heard you crying at night and you started wetting the bed again. We asked you over and over what was wrong and it was only a couple of days before you were due to start primary school that you told me. Do you remember what it was?’

Connor shrugged. ‘Something stupid.’ He began to peel the Becks label from his bottle, scratching at it with his nail.

‘You’d heard Mum and I talking about a case of MRSA at the hospital and how somebody had died and you were terrified you’d catch it from the toilets at big school. You were funny about using the toilets at preschool anyway, always waiting until you were home, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to last a whole day. You thought—’

‘Yeah, Dad, that’s not the same,’ Connor had cut in and Aidan felt a flush of shame stain his cheeks.