Page 10 of In the Same Boat

I blow every drop of air from my lungs.

‘We should probably get back to our friends,’ the brunette tells us. ‘They’re waiting for us on the dance floor.’

‘I’ll keep an eye on your drinks,’ Hank calls after them. ‘I’ll watch them like a hawk.’

There’s no way they’re coming back for those drinks. I’d be surprised if they even came to the bar again.

He turns to me.

‘I made that a bit weird, didn’t I?’ he says.

‘Just a bit,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t tell people that we live together.’

‘But we do,’ he reminds me.

Believe me, I know, and I’m not enjoying it at all.

‘Then maybe don’t mention that I slept in your bed when I was a kid,’ I point out. ‘Not without the one crucial piece of information that stops it being weird: you’re my dad!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he tells me. ‘If people know I’m your dad, they’ll know how old I am.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ I reply.

‘I’ll remind you that you said that when you’re in your fifties,’ he replies, keeping his voice as low as he can.

Hank – Dad – exhales, long and slow.

‘Well, we might not be having much luck, but it’s nice to spend time together, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Another beer?’

‘I’ll get them,’ I reply. ‘Stay here – try not to get in trouble.’

‘No promises,’ he says with a laugh.

It would be nice to spend time with my dad, under more normal circumstances, but finding myself living with him again was never part of my plan, and I’m sure it wasn’t part of his either, even if he is relatively newly single. He’s taking our temporary circumstances as a sign that we should help each other out. Spend as much time together as we can. I love him – he’s my dad, and he’s always been a great one – but this new dynamic is too weird. We’re not bros who go out drinking together, we’re father and son. But I don’t think he’s going to settle until he finds someone – and he seems hell-bent on finding someone for me too, but I was doing just fine without his help.

I spot the answer to his prayers, and mine, behind the bar. It’s not a person, it’s a poster.

I tip my head slightly to read the details, thanks to the wonky angle it’s been stuck to the wall at.

There’s an over-fifties singles night, here, tomorrow night. A fun, casual event with drinks and mingling. No pressure. It actually says that – little does it know that the pressure is on, because I need this to work. I need to get my life back.

‘I thought I’d stand with you, I feel like a creep, over there on my own,’ he says as he joins me.

I don’t say anything. My eyes are still fixed on the poster, like it’s the key to everything.

‘What?’ Hank says, following my line of sight, not realising what I’m looking at. ‘Has someone slipped something in your drink?’

‘No, no, I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘I was just thinking, maybe this isn’t your scene.’

‘This place?’ he checks.

‘This crowd,’ I reply.

He looks at me.

‘Oh, but it’s yours, I suppose?’ he asks. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’

‘No,’ I say quickly – hell no. ‘Which is why I’m thinking we might need a different approach.’