Page 57 of The Mismatch

‘I’m not annoyed with you. I mean, your whole “my phone broke” excuse is complete bullshit but it’s fine. You don’t owe me anything.’

‘Soraya—’

‘We don’t need to have this conversation.’ She was smiling, despite feeling anything but happy. ‘I’m not a fan of being stood up. But it’s not like we were going out or anything. So, really, it’s not a big deal.’

He bit his bottom lip, studied her for a moment, his eyes pensive. ‘If I tell you the truth, will you listen to me?’

She shrugged and together they walked through the gates to Telegraph Hill. Ahead was a picturesque view of the city, the Docklands buildings bright and shiny against the grey sky.

They sat down on the cold grass.

‘I went back home,’ he explained. ‘To Leeds.’

‘Right …’

‘I went because my dad was missing.’ He spoke so quietly she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. ‘My mum was worried so I got the train up and we went looking for him together.’

‘Did you find him? Is he OK?’

‘Yeah, he’s fine. He went on a binge with one of his friends and didn’t want us to know. Left his phone in a pub, that’s why we couldn’t get hold of him.’

‘Does he normally go on binges?’ She wasn’t sure if she would have asked this question if she hadn’t heard what she had at graduation. She wondered, briefly, what she would have said if she didn’t already know.

She could tell Magnus was avoiding her eyes, staring out at the view.

‘Yeah, he drinks a lot. But he’d been sober for a few weeks, not that that ever lasts. That’s kind of why I don’t like going home. I only ever go at Christmas.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, the words sounding feeble.

His shoulders slumped, making her realise how tense he was.

‘I didn’t mean to, you know, upset you. It’s just once family stuff takes over, itreallytakes over. It probably sounds like another crap excuse …’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ she said, putting her hand over his. His vulnerability was touching. She had never met anyone else whose parent had an addiction; it was often isolating, like she was alone in her pain and suffering. ‘I get it.’

‘You do?’

She was given the opportunity to relate, unburden herself.

Yes, because my dad is a methadone addict.

Her dad had been addicted to drugs for the last twenty-eight years. It was the reason why he was barely aware of anything, too consumed by his various addictions. Soraya had only ever known her father whilst he wore this mask; she had never met the man he was before. He occasionally attempted to quit, but only managed to last a week at most. She would be surprised to see him with a healthy colour in his cheeks, rather than permanently red-faced. He seemed sadder at these times, but at least it was a human emotion, it reminded her that her dad was just that: a human being.

She didn’t know a great deal about how he became an addict. Her mum had once told her he began smoking opium with friends in the late eighties when they lived in Liverpool, and then he couldn’t stop. Doctors put him on small doses of methadone, and they had tried to wean him off by gradually lowering the dosage, until he was supposed to stop completely. His dependency meant that he could only go a few days without drugs, before he had to start the process again, and so it continued that way.

Generally, he was content with being on a low dose for the rest of his life. Sometimes he slept all day, taking a cocktail of sleeping pills, sacrificing a fix in order to have a blowout the next day with two days’ worth. Sometimes, he still bought drugs illegally, as well as taking his prescribed medication. He thought no one noticed his particularly high days, but they did.

When she opened her mouth, she felt sick. She could never say it aloud.

She willed herself to, but just couldn’t. Her mum had always told her to tell no one; since she was a small child she’d been given those solemn instructions. It was different from having an alcoholic parent, more shameful somehow, more scandalous. She couldn’t imagine saying the words, didn’t want to have to act like it was OK when it wasn’t, didn’t want to see the way Magnus would look at her differently once he knew.

He turned his head to face her, as if sensing her thoughts.

She gave him a small smile instead. ‘Yeah. Family is messy sometimes, but they’re family. You’ll do anything for them. I get it.’

His eyes were warm as he smiled back. She noticed, too, the same look he’d had in his eyes at graduation. The vulnerability, the disappointment. They really weren’t so different, not really.

‘I really am sorry,’ he said.