‘Tom?’ I turned to see Dad standing there. He looked worried, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in his trouser pockets.

I thought about stropping off but I’d have had to walk back for the bus.

‘What do you want, Dad?’ I adjusted my bag on my shoulder.

‘I just wanted to talk… I’ve missed you. It’s quiet at home without you.’ His voice was subdued but not slurred, which was good.

Was I meant to say I’d missed him too? Had I missed him? Kind of. Not as much as I should have though. I didn’t miss the stress or the constant worry of how I’d find him. I didn’t miss the bloody fish fingers.

We looked at each other. I didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m listening.’

‘I’m getting some help… for the drinking.’ He didn’t look at me as he said it. He was talking to his trainers. ‘The doctor has signed me off work for a bit. I’ll still get paid.’ That was all he worried about. I shook my head. He faltered. ‘It’s not easy you know.’ His voice was back to normal. Making me feel this was somehow my fault.

‘I didn’t say it was. It’s not been easy for me either.’

He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Sure.’ There was a long awkward pause. ‘I’m joining a group.’

‘Little Mix?’ I asked, surprised at my own attempt at humour in this situation.

Dad didn’t seem to get it. ‘Dunno. I’ve not been along yet. It’s a local group for recovering alcoholics.’

‘Isn’t it a bit early for that?’ It hadn’t been long since there were three empty whisky bottles in the house. At what point did you stop being a drunk and start being a recovering one?

‘I’ve got a counsellor too.’

‘Great.’ I know I sounded sarcastic but Dad seemed to be acting like everything had changed and until I saw it for myself nothing had.

‘I told Mr Gill you were looking after your gran so he’s covering your paper round.’

‘Thanks.’ I briefly made eye contact.

‘Have you been all right with…’

I waited to see if he’d fill in her name. I was insulted that he couldn’t remember. ‘Maggie. The seventy-two-year-old lady you almost knocked out!’ I was getting cross. I unclenched my fist and focused on my breathing.

He seemed a little startled by my words. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t remember, son.’

‘I do.’ I was glaring so hard it made a muscle by my eye twitch.

He rubbed his hand over his chin. He’d shaved. ‘She’s looking after you all right.’ It wasn’t a question; he was looking me over. I’d had my hair cut, my clothes were ironed and Maggie had taken the hem down on my school trousers.