37
DAY 22.
Dad.
JONAS THOUGHT HE HAD HEARD THE METALLIC JANGLE of the wind chimes, but had gone back to sleep. It was only when he heard the choking sounds that he opened his eyes. There was someone in the room. It was Dad; he was sitting on the edge of his bed.
And the choking sounds were him crying.
Jonas sat up in bed. He placed a hand on his father’s shoulder and felt it shaking. It was odd; he had never noticed that his father had such narrow shoulders.
‘They . . . they’ve found her,’ he sobbed. ‘Mum’s . . .’
‘I know,’ Jonas said. ‘I dreamt it.’
The father swivelled round in surprise. In the moonlight seeping through the curtains Jonas could see the tears running down his cheeks.
‘It’s just us now, Dad,’ he said.
His father opened his mouth. Once. Twice. But nothing came out. Then he stretched out his arms, wrapped them around Jonas and drew him close. Held him tight. Jonas laid his head against his father’s neck, felt the hot tears wetting his scalp.
‘Do you know what, Jonas?’ he whispered through the tears. ‘I love you so much. You’re the dearest thing I have. You’re my boy. Do you hear? My boy. And you always will be. We’ll manage, won’t we? Don’t you think?’
‘Yes, Dad,’ Jonas whispered. ‘We’ll manage. You and me.’