Idiopathy

sort of waiting for some to emerge.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘How about you?’
    ‘Oh, you know.’ Daniel paused. ‘Actually you probably don’t really know, do you?’
    ‘Well …’
    ‘Ah, Nathan,’ said Daniel. ‘You old renegade. I guess it’s just parties and revolution for now, isn’t it?’
    ‘No,’ said Nathan. ‘That’s all over.’
    ‘Right.’
    Nathan exhaled; blew into his hands. He did not feel unsettled by the conversation.
    ‘To be honest,’ said Nathan, ‘I may be in danger of going completely out of my mind.’
    ‘Shit,’ said Daniel.
    ‘Although not literally.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘I’m staying with my parents.’
    ‘Oh. Point taken.’
    ‘When was the last time you lived with your parents?’
    ‘With both parents? About twenty years ago.’ He paused. ‘And as far as Dad goes, well …’
    Daniel said it in an easy way that spoke of pain to which he was at least semi-reconciled.
    ‘Sorry,’ said Nathan. ‘I forgot. How is he?’
    ‘Comes and goes,’ said Daniel. ‘I don’t see him as much as I should, then I feel guilty, then I go and see him and I just sit there wanting to leave.’
    There was a pause in which Nathan noticed that the moon was making a daylight appearance.
    ‘Anyway,’ said Daniel. ‘How did we get onto this?’
    ‘My fault.’
    ‘Whatever. Have you seen anyone? Have you got out much?’
    ‘I’m in a pub with my dad having my first drink in six months.’
    ‘Christ.’
    ‘It’s nice.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Surprisingly.’
    ‘Do you need to go?’
    Nathan had finished his cigarette.
    ‘Probably.’
    ‘Well, it’s … It’s really good to hear from you, Nathan.’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Nathan.
    ‘Look, why don’t you come and visit at the weekend? My girlfriend’s away, there’s plenty of room. We can drink ourselves stupid. It’ll sort you right out.’
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Nathan.
    ‘Think about it.’
    ‘OK.’
    ‘You’ve got my number now.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    They signed off, promised to make contact again soon. Daniel again told Nathan to think about the invitation. Nathan again said he would. After Nathan hung up he thought about calling Katherine, then decided against it. He felt, without quite knowing why, a certain sense of pity for Daniel. His voice struck a certain note; the invitation seemed to carry an excessive heft. In some ways, Nathan thought, he had always felt slightly sorry for Daniel, although this was blunted somewhat by the suspicion that Daniel had always felt slightly sorry for him.
    He went back inside and sat down with his father, who was reaching the end of his Mad Cow and jabbing commands into his iPhone with a forefinger so accurate that Nathan wondered if his father’s hands had gone through a rapid physical evolution.
    ‘More messages,’ said Nathan.
    ‘Oh,’ said his father. ‘I’m inundated.’
    ‘Are they about me?’
    His father shrugged. ‘Superficially,’ he said.
    ‘I don’t really like it, you know,’ said Nathan.
    ‘Who does?’ said his father with a shrug.
    Nathan nodded. ‘She always gets her way.’
    His father swilled his Mad Cow. Nathan seemed to have pity enough for everybody this evening.
    ‘I might go away at the weekend,’ he said.
    ‘You’ll have to ask your mother.’
    ‘No,’ said Nathan. ‘I don’t think I will.’
    His father nodded.
    ‘You probably think I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘But I do. It’s just …’
    ‘I know, I know. You have to live with her.’
    His father looked at him with a directness that was both unusual and unsettling.
    ‘I don’t have to live with her,’ he said, ‘I want to.’ He gave Nathan another glare. ‘It’s very easy to be judgemental.’
    ‘Or not to be,’ said Nathan. ‘It’s very easy not to be, too.’
    The pub was well carpeted; lit by an open fire. The chairs were deeply padded and seemed to exude a warmth of their own. The ceiling was low enough to afford a sense of security yet not so low as to feel oppressive. Nathan did not feel uncomfortable. His father looked a little sweaty. He pinched the zip of his yachting jacket and then clearly thought better of it, as if he didn’t have the stomach for that particular battle at this particular moment.
    ‘That’s not entirely true,’ he said.
    ‘I don’t want a semantic argument,’ said Nathan.
    His father may not have known what that meant, Nathan realised.
    ‘You know your problem?’ said his father.
    ‘Everyone seems very keen to tell me,’