I Could Love You by William Nicholson Page A

out,’ he says. Then remembering his father went to London today he adds: ‘Mostly.’
    ‘Alan works from home.’
    ‘Doesn’t Guy work from home?’
    ‘No. He has an office.’
    Alice smiles as she watches Caspar’s thoughts come and go on his open face. Six years old and he’s as precious to her as the day he was born. Her little half-brother.
    ‘What’s all this about Guy anyway? Why do you want to see him?’
    Guy, her own father, hasn’t so much as called her the entire term, her first term in London, even though she’s been living in a hall on Maple Street, five minutes from his office.
    ‘I just do.’
    ‘Well, then, I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you phone him?’
    A big smile lights up Caspar’s face.
    ‘Yes! I could phone him!’
    Alice gets out Guy’s number and Caspar presses the phone buttons for himself. To her amusement, Guy evidently answers in person.
    ‘Hello? Are you Guy? I’m Caspar. I want to see you.’
    She watches him as he listens intently, nodding.
    ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘She came home today.’ Then, after listening some more, ‘All right.’
    He puts down the phone.
    ‘He’s coming to see me.’
    ‘What! Here?’
    ‘Yes. Tomorrow afternoon.’
    ‘Blimey.’
    ‘What does blimey mean?’
    ‘It means I’m surprised.’
    Alan now emerges from his study where he retreated to deal with his emails as soon as he got home. It turns out he travelled on the same train from London as Alice, which is a bit spooky.
    ‘Dad,’ says Caspar, ‘have you stopped using your computer?’
    ‘For now.’
    ‘Can I go on it?’
    ‘Okay. But just for half an hour.’
    Caspar hurtles away to Alan’s study.
    ‘Bloody computer games,’ sighs Alan.
    ‘How was the meeting?’ says Alice.
    ‘Oh, you know. The usual. Pretty damnable, actually. I have to start again from scratch, more or less.’
    ‘Oh, Alan.’ She’s had this conversation with him so many times before. ‘You shouldn’t be doing film work. You should go back to writing plays.’
    He smiles and shrugs. He looks so defeated she wants to hug him.
    ‘How was your term?’
    ‘Okay,’ she says. ‘I’m glad it’s over.’
    ‘No better than that?’
    ‘I like my course. I’ve made some friends.’
    ‘But no one special.’
    ‘Not yet.’
    ‘You will. There aren’t many out there like you, but there are some.’
    He takes her in his arms and they have a hug.
    ‘You’re my special friend,’ says Alice. ‘You and Mum.’
    ‘I’m your stepfather. You’re supposed to hate me.’
    ‘I don’t hate you. I love you.’
    So easy in his arms. Why aren’t there boys her age like Alan?
    ‘Guess who I met on the train?’
    ‘Who?’
    ‘Chloe Redknapp.’
    ‘Chloe Redknapp!’ Alan was their teacher, all those years ago. ‘The blonde bombshell.’
    ‘She’s exactly the same, only now she plays her games on boys.’
    ‘She was a monster. She used to bully you.’
    ‘The funny thing is she seems to have no memory of all that. She was really quite friendly.’
    ‘I’m all in favour of Chloe Redknapp. You and I bonded over her. That’s why you fixed me up with your mother. For which I’ll be eternally grateful.’
    ‘Oh, Alan. I just wish you were doing the writing you like. You look so miserable.’
    ‘What have I got to be miserable about? I’m lucky to be in work.’
    ‘Does Mum know?’
    ‘Oh, I’m always moaning to her.’
    She takes his hands, looks solemnly into his eyes.
    ‘You’re to say to her, I’m packing in the films, I’m going to write a new play. We’ll have less money, but we’ll be fine, and I’ll be so much happier.’
    He says nothing for a long moment.
    ‘Like I said,’ he says at last. ‘There aren’t many out there like you.’
    Alice goes to her room and unpacks her suitcase, slowly reestablishing her presence in the familiar space. She hasn’t said so to Alan, and she won’t say so to her mother, but she hates her hall of residence in London. Her room there is small