Page 53 of The Book Swap

I squint. “That’s why you moved here though? To become some big shot in finance.”

The sound of horns beeping far below distracts me for a second, but Elliot doesn’t even notice. “That’s what I thought I wanted, but it wasn’t really. I just wanted to get away. Go somewhere new where I could be completely myself.”

His words sound like they’ve been written by a PR team. I’m finding it hard to believe anything he’s saying, and I know if we continue on this topic, we’ll fall out before I’ve even been here a day.

“Oh my God,” I say, instead, changing the subject. “Did you hear someone’s released a remix of Dad’s song?”

Elliot’s eyes light up. “Good on him. Let’s find it.”

We pull out our phones in a silent race to be the first to track it down, as though it might be impossible to find. It’s not. It’s everywhere. There’s even an “unofficial” video which has got thousands of views.

“Jesus. How did we not know about this?” Elliot says, his thumb scrolling down his phone.

“I don’t know. Do you think Dad knows?”

“Surely not.” Elliot checks his watch as I check the time on my phone. It’s too late to call him.

“Ready?” I ask, gritting my teeth.

Elliot claps his hands together. “I’ll do it. I can play it through the speakers.” Moments later it’s like the walls are shaking. The song starts with a heavy bass, very different to the electro-pop version of Dad’s, and then his voice comes over the top, just as some laser-like sound starts ringing out in the background. “Do you...do you...do you know me?” There’s a silence and then the beat drops and all the different sounds come together, achieving something scarily impressive.

“Bloody hell,” Elliot shouts over the top. “This is...”

“Fucking brilliant,” I say back.

When it’s over we sit in silence for a moment, my brain whirring.

“It could totally relaunch his career,” I say, at the same time as Elliot says, “One for Dad’s memory box.”

We lock eyes. “You think Dad wants to be prancing about on a stage, now?”

“He’d love it! He’s spent years giving up on his dreams for all of us. Now’s his time.”

I think about how Mum was on the phone, seemingly close to another crash. The extra pressure it might put on me if Dad goes for it, but it’s worth it. He needs this. He needs to prove to himself that he’s his own man.

Elliot’s watching me. He opens his mouth and closes it.

It’s not even the end of the first night, and it’s happened. We’ve run out of things to say.

The rest of the trip is mainly spent using Jordan as a distraction, so my brother and I don’t have to talk much. We get into a routine: I get up early with my nephew, because I’m wide awake with jet lag anyway. We play with building blocks and read books. I had no idea there were so many kids’ books that are like daggers to the heart. My eyes have welled up at everything from a hippo dancing to a little girl making paper dolls. Jordan is utterly oblivious, stabbing at the pages and asking completely irrelevant questions about why the flowers are blue or the hippo has a big nose. We have breakfast, then wake a very grateful Elliot up with coffee, before we set about sightseeing. We walk part of the High Line, take a horse and carriage around Central Park. We catch the train out to Williamsburg and get the ferry to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island. We’re busy and I’m tired, and that combination means that for five blissful days, I don’t think too much about everything at home. I don’t even pick up Erin’s books, falling into a dead sleep the moment my head hits the pillow after a long day.

On our last day, Elliot takes a call from Carl as we’re navigating our way through the center of Times Square. Jordan’s asleep in his stroller, and Elliot pulls us into the doorway of Planet Hollywood, so he can hear.

“Hey, I’ve got five minutes, where’s my big man?” Carl says.

Elliot screws his face up, turning the phone to show Carl his son, slumped over in his seat clutching, for a reason I’m still unsure of, a tape measure. “Sorry, babe, he’s crashed. Uncle James is exhausting him.”

Carl sighs. “I’m in meetings over here now until beyond bedtime. Can you wake him?”

Elliot laughs. “You know that’s not a good idea.”

“I hate this.”

“I’m sorry.”

I step backward, to give the impression of some privacy, even though I can still hear every word.

“I’m going to try to get home.”

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