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My son did not worship me, and that was fine. To be worshipped would have made me uncomfortable, likewise ‘adored’. But ‘friendly with’, I could have lived with that. ‘I always thought that daughters were more forgiving of their fathers,’ I said. ‘It always seems like an easier relationship than fathers and sons. I wonder why that is?’

‘I suppose it’s because you’re freed of the obligation of being a role model. Or at least the comparison is less direct. Whereas with a son …’

‘Perhaps. I’d never thought of that.’ Had Albie ever aspired to be like me? In what respect? If I thought long enough, perhaps I’d come up with something, but now Freja was pouring wine.

‘I feel the same about sons. I’d have loved a son. A handsome, rather old-fashioned boy who I could mould and dress up and then hate his girlfriends. Besides, you mustn’t idolise girls. If you had a daughter, that would bring its own problems too.’

‘I did have a daughter.’

‘You did?’

‘My wife and I. Our first child was a girl, Jane, but she died.’

‘When?’

‘Soon after she was born.’

A moment passed. Over the years I’ve noted that some people, when told we lost our baby, seem almost angry, as if we’ve played a trick on them. Others try to shrug it off, as if it doesn’t really count, but thankfully this is rare. For the most part people are thoughtful and kind and when the situation arises, as it sometimes does, I have a facial expression I produce, a smile of sorts — Connie has one too — to reassure people that we are okay, and I produced it now.

‘Douglas, I’m very sorry.’

‘It was a long time ago. More than twenty years now.’ My daughter would have been twenty this year.

‘No, but still — it’s the worst thing that can happen to a couple.’

‘I didn’t raise it to be dramatic, but Connie and I, we have a policy of never avoiding the subject either. We don’t want it to be a secret, or something taboo. We want to be … straightforward about it.’

‘I understand,’ said Freja, but her eyes were reddening.

‘Please, Freja, I don’t want to spoil the evening …’ No, not twenty, nineteen years old — just. She’d be about to start her second year at university.

‘No, but still—’

‘I don’t want to cast a gloomy spell.’ Medicine, or architecture, I’d imagined. Or perhaps she’d be an actress, or an artist. I wouldn’t mind …

‘So your son …’

‘Albie is our only child, but our second child.’

‘And is that why you’re here? Because of your son?’

‘That’s right.’

‘He’s gone missing?’

‘He’s run away.’

‘And he is …?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘Ah!’ She nodded, as if this explained everything. ‘Is he sensible?’

I laughed. ‘Not always. Rarely, in fact.’

‘Well he is seventeen, why should he be?’

‘I was very sensible at seventeen.’

Freja shook her head and laughed. ‘I was not. Are you particularly close?’

‘No. Quite the opposite. That’s why I’m here.’

‘Do you talk to each other?’

‘Not really. Do you? With your daughters?’

‘Of course. We talk about everything!’

‘With my son and I, it’s like a rather awkward chat show. Albie’s this surly young pop star who doesn’t want to be there. “So, how are things? What have you been up to? Any future plans?”’

‘But if you don’t talk to each other, that must be a worry.’

‘It is. It is.’

‘Perhaps we should change the subject. Except to say, I don’t mean to underdo — is that a word? Underrate, underestimate your concern, but if he has access to money and a phone for emergencies—’

‘He does—’

‘And he’s an adult, more or less. Why not just let him be?’

‘I promised my wife I’d find him.’

‘The wife you are separated from.’

‘Not yet,’ I said defensively. ‘We’re not separated yet. We’re just not in the same city. We are … geographically separated.’

‘I see.’

We sat quietly until our waiter had taken our plates away.

‘Also, we argued, my son and I. Things were said and I’d like to make amends. In person. Does that sound insane?’

‘Not at all. It sounds very noble. But if I had to apologise to my daughters for all the foolish things I’ve said to them, we would never talk about anything else. I think, as a parent, one has the right to make some mistakes, and to be forgiven for them. Don’t you agree?’

120. daughter