Page 71 of Be More Capybara

‘Harry! We’re back,’ Helen shouted up the stairs as she let Nigel into the house. ‘We got you duck in hoisin sauce.’

‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

A stay of execution. But Nigel would rather get the “meeting the offspring” element of the evening over and done with.

‘Forgive the mess,’ she said as she hung her coat on the stand at the bottom of the stairs.

‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Nigel said. ‘I always felt at home here.’

‘We were never a family that stood on ceremony.’

He followed her into the kitchen and put the bag of takeaway containers on a free stretch of work surface.

Rocky was sitting patiently by the back door.

Helen sighed. ‘Harry, when did you last let Rocky out?’

‘Lunchtime,’ the disembodied voice shouted from upstairs.

‘Sorry, Nige. I’ll get some plates out in a sec. Rocky needs a trip to the garden.’

As soon as she unlocked the back door, Rocky disappeared outside like a shot. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said, following him.

Nigel found plates and cutlery and laid the table.

‘I couldn’t find the glasses,’ he said as Helen and Rocky walked back in.

‘I moved them over the fridge.’

‘The one cupboard I didn’t look in.’ He grabbed a couple of white wine glasses, unscrewed the top on the chilled Chablis they’d bought from the off-licence next door to the Chinese, and poured out two generous helpings.

‘Shall I dish up?’ he asked.

‘Please.’

He opened the tubs while Helen finished washing her hands. If you’d timed that initial kiss better, this might be your regular Friday routine now. He tried not to dwell on that thought.

‘Hi.’ The disembodied voice now had a body. A six-foot-four one with the physique of a Rugby player, a shock of ginger hair, and a large set of over-ear headphones around his neck.

At the risk of stereotyping, Nigel guessed this son took after Angus. ‘Hi. You must be Harry.’

‘Yeah.’ Harry nodded, then turned his attention to the food. ‘This one mine?’ he asked, picking up the duck.

‘Yes, and the fried rice.’

‘Thanks.’ He grabbed a tray from beside the kettle and started to leave the kitchen.

‘Manners!’ Helen called after him.

‘What? I said thanks.’ He carried on out into the hall and up the stairs.

‘It’s fine,’ Nigel said.

‘It is not fine. The first time he meets you and he all but blanks you.’

‘He’s a teenager.’

‘Is this how your children treat people?’ Helen asked, clearly exasperated.