Oxygen (Catfish And The Bottlemen/1975)

Van

"Really?" She asked trying her best to stop her lips forming the same surprised little "oh" shape they always did when you cut her off at just the right moment, "he knows about the band?"

"yeah, he was saying how proud he is of yous," I smiled a little warmer, nudging her in an attempt to encourage a smile from her too.

"Oh," she breathed, "thats nice,"

"Yeah..." I said quietly, studying her expression, "wait, why wouldn't he know about the band?" I wasn't sure it was the kind of question I should have been asking, not when her disposition had been so finely balanced between placid and distraught, but something told me I had to ask.

"Because..." She said slowly looking down again, picking at the bedding idly, "he doesn't really know about me anymore..."

"How do you..."

"Can we not?" She winced looking up at me sighing when I frowned a little deeper, "please?"

I swallowed and nodded and shook my head, running my fingers through her hair gently. I'd not seen her in so long, the last thing I wanted to do was see her crying because I'd pushed her too far.

"Whatever you want," I said with a quick smile, trying to hide the trouble I felt in my chest knowing that something wasn't right. "whats with this Dire Straits obsession anyway, You're a bit young to be getting into dad rock already aren't you," I winked getting her in the waist with a cheeky grin, drawing a laugh from her, loud and happy like she'd finally relaxed. she shook her head beaming into my neck as she giggled.

"That belongs to my dad too," I winced when I realized I'd asked the wrong question again, but she smiled softly, fondly, momentarily lit up when she took my hand and began to play with my fingers. "Its his birthday today you know..." 

"Yeah?" I asked, I wasn't sure what to say to her, wasn't sure how she wanted me to navigate the topic and I couldn't help but break our gaze, glance over my shoulder at the curtain caught in the draft.

"Yep," she smiled, a youthfulness glimmering in her dimples. I assumed she was thinking of him then, but when she looked back at me I could tell there was something deeper there than a divorce she resented and a man she'd romanticised in his absence.

"We used go wales for dads birthday, when we were dead young, mam never came but he would drive us up to our Nan's house, in Rhyl, and he'd get us up dead early and we would all climb into the car with our duvets, and he'd put Dire Straits or Van Morrison on and we'd have birthday cake for breakfast all wrapped up in tin foil like," she was really smiling as she spoke, almost in another world, so content. I listened quietly, a small smile playing on my lips, pleased that perhaps I'd found a way of getting her to open up to me. "You know Industrial Disease?" She asked, though I knew she'd continue regardless of my answer, "He used to do all the voices in it, used to proper make us laugh when he tried to be posh and still ended up sounding welsh," she giggled, "and Romeo and Juliet, he said if he could have called his kids anything, one of us would have been Juliet,"

"I like Fliss better," I winked, tapping her nose, snaking my arms back around her to pull her back towards me.

"I think he did too in the end," she smiled, she talked about him like he'd died, like it had been painfully chaotic and then nothing at all. I tried not to second guess her phrasing but it was difficult because it was easy to see that she'd be easily tipped. she was happy now, locked up in this memory, but if I asked the wrong question and forced her to think of something else, her smile would fade and tears would threaten her.

"Are you really gonna come to the wedding with me?" She asked suddenly changing the subject, catching me off guard so that all I could offer her was a confused smile.