“I still say this term was easier than last term.”
“You’re just saying that because we read something you’d already read for fun.”
“You read it, too,” Jon pointed out. Melanie rolled her eyes at him. “Anyway, you beat me in Maths again.”
“Okay, maybe Maths was a bit easier, but—”
Jon stopped dead in the middle of the platform. “Dad?”
Their dad rose from one of the benches just outside the station, a wan smile on his face. He was dressed down—for him—in just a button down shirt and trousers, no tie, which meant he hadn’t been seeing clients today. He was clenching something tightly in one hand, and Jon noticed a black strap of some kind wrapped around his wrist several times and leading to whatever he was holding, like he wanted to make extra certain he didn’t lose…whatever it was. He held out his arms for them, and the object fell with a jangle—his keys.
“There you are,” he said warmly.
Jon and Melanie crossed the platform and hugged him. He hugged them back just as tightly as ever, but Jon couldn’t help the slight surge of anxiety. He tried to keep his voice neutral, though. Lately their dad had been a bit quicker to anger than usual, and since they hadn’t had a lifetime of keeping ahead of his moods, he wasn’t sure what would touch him off. “What are you doing here?”
“I was already in Manchester, so I thought we should go out to dinner to celebrate the end of term,” their dad said. He pulled back from the hug, one hand on each of their shoulders, and looked down at them, his smile fading. “And, since I know you’re both intelligent enough to work out something is wrong, I need to talk to you about something important, but I thought we’d do it over a nice meal.”
In that moment, Jon knew that whatever was wrong was going to be something that would affect their lives forever. The last time they’d gone out for a “nice meal” and a serious discussion had been when the doctors dropped the news that dialysis likely wouldn’t keep their mum going long enough for her to get a new kidney even if they found someone willing to directly donate, what with the time it would have taken for compatibility tests to come back, and their mum had made the decision to go on hospice. Mouth suddenly too dry to respond, he simply nodded and, as they walked off the platform with their dad’s arms around their shoulders, reached behind his back to take Melanie’s hand.
She clutched it tightly, which meant she was having the same thoughts.
Jon held his tongue to keep from asking where they were going, since he didn’t recognize the route their dad took; he was a bit surprised when they wound up at one of their favorite restaurants in Manchester, one that normally didn’t take any time at all to get to from the station. Maybe he’d made reservations for a specific time and was killing time before they got there, although normally he would have said something first. Instead, he simply led them inside and spoke to the hostess on duty, who grabbed three menus and three rolls of silverware and led them to a nice, discreet table in the corner. The restaurant wasn’t particularly full this time of day, but it was still nice to have a modicum of privacy.
They ordered drinks and an appetizer, and once the waiter had gone off to fetch them, Melanie leaned forward. “I’m guessing this isn’t about work. Or about our schooling. Please tell me it’s one of the aunts.”
“The aunts?” their dad repeated with a puzzled frown. Suddenly his expression cleared. “Oh—in Sheffield. No, they’re all fine, as far as I know. We should write to them tonight. They’d like to hear from you.”
“Did they write back already?” Melanie asked.
Their dad paused in the act of unrolling the silverware. “Write back?”
“We posted letters to them Tuesday,” Jon reminded him. “For Easter, and for Auntie Liz’s birthday.”
“Christ, that was this week,” their dad murmured. He sighed and rubbed his face. “I had completely forgotten.”
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Jon said, not quite under his breath. Melanie kicked his ankle under the table.
“I have,” their dad agreed, which was a surprise. Jon had expected him to vehemently and furiously deny any such thing. “And I know I’ve been a bit…short with you both.”
“It’s—” Melanie began.
Their dad held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t say it’s all right, Little Moth. It isn’t and we all know it. You’re old enough to deserve to be treated like adults.”
Jon couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve always treated us like adults. Or, well, like people, I guess, which is…kind of the same thing, honestly.”
Their dad chuckled. “You’re not wrong about that.”
The waiter came back with their drinks, and they paused the discussion while they gave their orders. Once he had departed for the kitchen, their dad continued. “It was the temper that was worrying me. The forgetfulness I put down to just trying to keep up with the two of you as you got older, but I’ve never had a temper and it was a bit concerning, especially after I took it out on another barrister. I made an appointment with my doctor, just to…rule out any issues. I assumed it would come back as nothing, maybe stress and a bit of grief combining to finally boil over, and I’d just wind up seeing a therapist.”
Part of Jon was tempted to ask when he was going to start therapy. The bigger part of him, the part that was reading ahead in the Psychology textbooks, knew better. “So…what did the doctor say?”
Their dad was quiet for several moments. Finally, he spoke softly. “We’re not…entirely certain. There are a few more tests still yet to come back. But the preliminary diagnosis is some form of dementia.”
Melanie stared at him. “Dementia? Like Alzheimer’s? You’re not old enough for that!”
“There’s an early onset type that can run in families, but I don’t think that’s it,” their dad said, which was less reassuring than it could have been. “It’s possible, though. My mother officially died of pneumonia, but, well, she had dementia as well, which is how she got caught out in a rainstorm without her coat and hat in the middle of winter. That’s one of the things they’re testing for—Alzheimer’s—but it could be any number of genetic factors. Or it could just be bad luck.”
Jon bit his lip. Several questions crowded his brain, but he tried to think rationally. “So what’s the plan, then?”
“Well, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you two about,” their dad said seriously. “You’re adults—well, practically adults—you’re certainly mature. And you’re my closest family. I’m not asking either of you to be responsible for me—none of us are ready for that—but I would like you both to participate in the care planning. I want you to be part of the conversations around treatment and care. If you’re up for that.”
“Dad, of course,” Melanie said swiftly.
Jon nodded seriously. “We couldn’t help with Mum, but…we want to help you. And it’s best if we understand, right?”
“Right.” Their dad smiled. “I knew I could count on you two.”
The conversation turned to other matters, and they actually managed to have quite a nice meal. Their dad was encouraging about their end of term marks, and he shared a few details about what he’d been working on around his appointments. Jon could almost have fooled himself that it was just any old ordinary night out for dinner with his family, except for two things. First, their dad forgot where he was three more times over the course of the conversation. And second, Melanie’s expression every time he did got a little more scared.
“Who wants to practice their driving on the way home?” their dad asked brightly as they exited the restaurant.
Jon exchanged a glance with Melanie. Both of them realized that it was almost certainly because he didn’t feel confident in his ability to drive home. Since Melanie didn’t look like she was in any shape to follow the rules of the road—and their dad either wouldn’t say anything or would explode at her, which would make her yell back and make him start yelling at both of them—Jon held out his hand. “I will.”
Their dad fished the lanyard with the keys out of his pocket and handed them to Jon, who led the way to the car. If the Harlequin ever gave up the ghost, he mused, their dad would never be able to find their car again. Melanie climbed into the backseat without protest, and Jon tried to concentrate on the lessons he’d been taught as he carefully backed out of the parking space and onto the streets. He’d always had a fairly good sense of direction, so he was able to maneuver them the relatively short drive home without too much trouble.
As he pulled into the driveway and switched the car off, Melanie spoke, in a quiet, carefully controlled sort of voice. “Dad?”
“Yes, Little Moth?” Their dad twisted around to look at her with a faint smile on his face.
“Are Jon and I going to need to be tested for…whatever it is you’ve got too?”
Jon had to confess that that exact question had been worrying him most of the evening. Their dad’s face grew serious immediately. “Yes. If this comes back as a genetic condition, I am going to insist both of you be screened for it. In the first place, at least one of them might show up even earlier in successive generations, so if you did get it you need to be prepared. And in the second place, there’s always a chance you could pass it on to your own children, and I want you both to know that’s a possibility before you start considering it.”
Jon bit his lip and glanced over his shoulder at Melanie, then turned back to their dad. “Dad, I’m…you and Mum adopted me, remember?”
“I remember,” their dad said, patting Jon’s hand. At least he didn’t look annoyed or upset at the reminder. “But…well, you might as well know now. There’s a chance you and Melanie share the same paternity after all. Your mothers and your papa and I were, well…maybe you don’t need that many details, but I think you get the picture. You could both be mine. Or you could both be Paul’s. It’s why we were always so adamantly against having you tested for compatibility to donate a kidney to your mum. Not just because you were really too young, but because we were never sure what Mabel Sims would do, or try to do, if she found out.”
It was probably the first time he hadn’t called her your grandmother, and something in Jon relaxed, even as it conflicted with the new tension from this revelation. “Isn’t it more likely that, if we’re…I mean, I’ve got Papa’s eyes. The color at least.”
“My da had green eyes, too,” their dad said gently. “I agree that it’s more likely, but, well, I’d rather be safe than sorry, so if anything comes back as hereditary, we’re getting you both checked. And since I’m on the birth certificate, nobody will think twice about it.” He unfastened his seatbelt. “Come on, let’s go inside before the cats figure out how to work the oven.”
Jon hung the keys carefully on the designated hook, doubling up the lanyard so Skimbleshanks wouldn’t try and play with it. Melanie went to the kitchen to feed the cats, while their dad collapsed onto the sofa with a sigh. Jon started for their room, hesitated, then turned back. “Dad, do you mind if I practice piano for a bit?”
Their dad opened his eyes wide and stared at him. “Of course not! Why would I mind? Don’t answer that,” he added, holding up a hand. Either he’d seen something in Jon’s face or he’d guessed from their earlier conversations. “Go ahead, Little Flame. I’d love to hear you. It’s been a while.”
Jon and Melanie had both taken lessons when they were small, and Jon had continued on up until the previous year when he’d needed more time free to study, but he hadn’t played much since then. Partly due to time constraints, mostly due to their dad irritably shouting for him to knock off that racket. Tonight, though, he needed the calm of routine.
Scales, arpeggios, rhythm exercises—Jon went through his usual warm up and fundamentals, then pulled out the sheet music for the Chopin piece he’d been working on when he’d stopped taking lessons. He wasn’t exactly going to be playing at the Albert Hall anytime soon, but he did all right, or so he’d always been told. Anyway, wasn’t like anyone was going to be critiquing him. So he played. He stopped and started, went over a few passages to be sure he was getting the rhythms down, but then he went back to the beginning and managed to play through the entire first movement in one go without his tempo altering.
“Your mothers would be proud of you,” their dad said when he had finished. “I know I am.”
Jon couldn’t help but smile. He definitely felt more centered than when he’d sat down. “Thanks, Dad.”
Melanie pulled out the Parcheesi board and they played three rounds before having hot cocoa and biscuits, like they usually did at end of term. Melanie spent a long time in the shower when they went to bed, and when she came out, Jon was sitting up in bed trying to interest himself in a book their English Literature teacher had said he would enjoy. The opening pages were dry as dust and he hoped it got better, but he wasn’t so stubborn that he bothered pretending to be annoyed when Melanie tugged at the top of the book to lay it on his lap out of his way.
“It’s bad, right?” she said quietly. “This is bad? I’m not just making things worse in my head because I’m associating dementia with old people and assuming that means he’s going to die?”
Jon sighed and set the book on his nightstand. “It’s bad. Maybe not ‘he’s going to die tomorrow’ bad, but definitely ‘we’re going to have to take care of him long before we thought we might’ bad.”
“We’ll have to look into universities closer to home. He’ll never let us not go.”
“He also won’t let us give up on a good school just to stay close. I think he still feels bad we didn’t do Eton and Harrogate.”
Melanie grunted, then grunted again as Cosy, who was getting extremely fat these days, jumped onto the bed and walked over her lap to her accustomed spot. Paddiwack, slim as ever, followed, and the two cats curled up together as they always did, Cosy with her back against Jon’s hip and Paddiwack with his against Melanie’s. Jon stroked Cosy’s silky head. “Well, at least we know he’s not too terribly bad.”
“What do you—oh. Because she’s in here with us still.” Melanie pet Cosy, too, then rubbed Paddiwack in the spot under his jaw he liked and was rewarded with purrs that practically shook the bed. “I remember. Whenever Mum was sick, she’d sleep with her, and she was there all the time at…at the end.”
Jon nodded. “And…you know, he’s young, and he’s strong. He’s probably got ages yet. And maybe now that they caught it early they can…at least slow it down.”
Melanie sighed. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and it’ll be something reversible.”
Despite himself, Jon sighed, too. “When have we ever been that lucky?”