Then a red-faced girl arrives, puffing like a bull. ‘One burger. One pie. That’s it.’ She crashes the plates down on the table and swings back round towards the bar. Pieces of beer mat go flying into our laps.

My burger bun has already gone limp. I bite into a chip. Everything tastes of snot today.

Dad picks up his knife and fork and releases the steam from his pie lid. ‘He’s the brainy type, then.’

‘Kind of.’

Dad loads his fork with pie, blows. ‘You can do it on your own, anyway. No need for extra help.’

‘It keeps him quiet.’ I wipe my mouth on a stiff serviette and examine the browned blobs of lipstick I’ve left behind. I give it a minute, then I say, ‘Why did you leave?’

He swallows. ‘I thought you knew.’

‘The Power of Love’ comes on the jukebox. Jennifer Rush. I hate that one.

‘I tried with your mother, God knows. But in the end – ’ he looks off towards the swing doors, searching for something. ‘There’s not much you can do when you find out you don’t want to be together any more.’

I look up to the bar and Joan raises her glass to me.

Dad reaches over the table for my hands. His fingers are damp and hot. ‘You’re cold,’ he says.

‘I’m ill.’

‘I’m sorry.’ His eyes look massive and black. His eyebrows strain in his forehead.

‘It’s OK,’ I say, hoping he won’t cry.

‘I didn’t know what to do.’

His fingers are tight on mine. I think of how I never showed him the rip in my palm that day at the pools.

‘Dad.’

‘Yes, love?’

‘I’ve got to blow my nose.’

He lets go of my hands and I rummage in my bag for a tissue. They’re all reduced to strings. I blow, and taste the saltiness of snot on my upper lip.

It takes Dad five goes to get the gas fire lit. Finally it bangs into life and I kneel in front of the burners, warming my hands in the hissing heat.

Dad comes in with the tea. ‘Get that down you.’

We drink. After a bit, he says, ‘Is there anything you need?’

‘Like what?’

‘Anything. I’m still your dad. It’s my job to get you whatever you need.’ His voice sounds scratchy and worn out.

‘I don’t need anything.’

‘What about Shane? Does he need anything, do you think?’

I look over at him. He’s slumped in the chair, eyes closed. His chin looks baggier than it used to. His checked shirt pokes through a small hole in the elbow of his jumper. He opens his eyes and catches me staring. ‘Something the matter, love?’

I shrug and he comes and kneels by me. We sit in silence and breathe in the burning dust.