It was still shocking for Tom to see him like this. His dad had always been big: in character and stature. Some of Tom’s earliest memories were of watching him play rugby at the local club. There were bigger men, but his dad had a kind of raw power that sent him barrelling through opposition players as though they weren’t there. He was the same in work: he had started as a bricklayer, and slowly built up his own small construction company, but, even when he was the boss, he took pride in working harder than all the people he employed.

The only person who works harder than me’s your mam, he once said. And she’s doing the most important job too.

It wasn’t just rugby and work. His dad ate more and drank more than the other dads too. For every memory Tom had of him playing rugby, he had ten of him standing by the bar in the clubhouse, the pint of beer in his hands rarely full for long. He was a fun, happy drinker, the person everyone wanted to talk to in the pub.

And now he was vanishing in front of Tom’s eyes, being eaten from the inside by the cancer that had grown in his stomach. The treatment would slow the inevitable, but that was all it would do. And in the meantime, his father slipped away by degrees.

‘Son,’ his dad said. ‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘I’m not looking at you like anything.’

‘You are. You’re looking at me like you pity me. Fear, disgust, I can take. But don’t pity me, son.’

Tom felt tears spring to his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. It’s—’

‘It’s just it’s hard to watch someone go through this, especially your dad. But trust me, I’m OK. It bloody hurts, I won’t lie, but I’ve had a good life Tom. I’ve no regrets.’

He lifted a mug of tea and took a swig.

‘No regrets?’ Tom said.

‘Maybe one. I wish we’d been able to help Roland.’

‘Why couldn’t you?’ Tom said. ‘I’ve thought about it often. Whether I could have done anything to stop him going off the rails.’

‘You couldn’t,’ his dad said. ‘And neither could we. We tried, believe me, but he had to walk his own path. We all have to walk our own path.’ He paused. ‘People are who they are, Tom. It’s hard to watch your own child make the choices Roland made, but at the end of the day they were his choices to make. We treated him the same as we treated you, but you’re different people.’

‘At least he’s better now,’ Tom said.