‘Both. I don’t care how he treats me. But I care about him being a bastard to Mum. I was there to put myself in the way.’

Grandpa’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Has he hurt your mother?’ Leon’s silence was his answer, and Grandpa’s lips flattened. ‘Well, I’m not so sorry to hear about his liver then. Sounds like he had it coming.’ The old man paused. ‘So that’s why you’ve been living at home. I should have guessed. I thought it was strange.’ He shook his head. ‘I never thought one of mine would end up like that. But let me tell you, boy, it didn’t come from me. I was wild when I was young, and I did some fool things, but I never touched a hair on your grandmother’s head. Don’t know where your father learned that rubbish. I smacked him a few times when he was a boy. But it was only a tap on the bum. It wasn’t abuse.’

Leon had often wondered where his father’s violence had come from, whether it was genetic, and he’d spent years worrying it might be in him too. A person might not realise they had mongrel inside till they snapped. Leon had seen how it came from nowhere then disappeared. His dad’s weakness was failing to acknowledge it, because that allowed him to avoid taking responsibility. Or perhaps that wasn’t quite right. In the past, his dad had apologised to his mum, begging forgiveness and promising it wouldn’t happen again. But it had, and that was what Leon feared most: snapping once and falling into his dad’s habit. If he did, he would never forgive himself. That was why he didn’t drink, a decision he’d made years ago.

He sipped tea in silence, grateful that the old man let him be. He was comfortable with Grandpa, so he would visit again. Maybe drop in once a week on his way home from work. They could get to know each other again.

A buzzer rang in the corridor.

‘Supper’s in ten minutes,’ Grandpa said. ‘You’ll have to go. Can’t miss out on my fruit cake.’

‘That sounds all right. What’s the food like here?’

‘Good, if you have no teeth. They serve up slop. Except for the fruit cake.’

Leon smiled. ‘Do you still have any teeth?’

‘Yep … even a few I can call my own.’ The old man shifted his tongue and popped out a denture.

‘That’s revolting.’

‘Let’s see how many you’ve got left when you’re eighty-six.’

The buzzer sounded again, and Leon stood up. ‘Okay. I’ll see you next week.’

Grandpa’s lips twitched and his face crumpled slightly. ‘You don’t have to come, lad.’

‘Maybe I want to.’