Setting the pot on the stove, Dave suddenly remembered to ask 'Have you hung up your swimming trunks? Ewan? Paul?'

The boys looked up from chopping vegetables at the table, Ewan shrugging and Paul responding with a 'No… sorry, Dad.'

'Right, I'll go do it. Paul, could you keep an eye on the water, tell me when it boils?'

Dave went into the hall, where Evie was trying to get the dog to fetch a ball, and found only one rucksack on the floor by the stairs. 'Paul, where's your bag?'

'In my room.'

Leaving Ewan's trunks on the banister, Dave walked upstairs. Paul's bag was leaning against his desk, and Dave put it up on top of a notebook to rummage through it. The book was an ordinary school notebook, open to a page of Paul's neat handwriting, and Dave forgot all about swimming trunks as he glanced over it. He picked it up and sat on his son's bed to read.

Dad thinks I don't know that he cries. I think that he thinks that we would all be even sadder if we knew. But I know, because I see him. I see his eyes are red sometimes. Grownups don't want to cry so people see them, even at mum's funeral. Everyone cried, but it was still like they didn't want anyone to see. The men mostly. But Dad says that it's okay for boys to be sad and cry too, so I don't know why he doesn't then. It's always like: do as I say not as I do.

But the other day I heard Dad cry, in the bathroom. It was after Lucy had run away. I went upstairs when Ewan just wanted to watch football, and I heard him through the door. Grownups don't normally cry like that, all sobbing and stuff. It made me cry too when I heard him. Sarah was in there with him, I could hear her voice but not what she said. And then I went back down because I didn't want to hear any more crying. But when Matt came over Boy ran away and we went outside to get him back, and Dad looked all normal again. I'm happy that Sarah comforted him, but I wish he wouldn't hide from me like that. We could take care of each other.

A tear fell onto the paper, blurring Lucy's name where it landed. Dave laid the notebook down on the bed beside him and put his face in his hands. Old habit made him try to regain control, to keep his breath from hitching, but Paul's words came back to him. "I wish he wouldn't hide," and the other day, the day that he had written about, "Are you okay?" So young and already so compassionate.

And now that was Paul's steps on the stairs, his voice calling 'Dad!' before he turned the corner to stop in the doorway. Dave raised his head then, despite the tears in his eyes. Paul just looked at him with surprise and empathy mingling on his face. Dave opened his mouth to try to explain, to apologise for reading, but his voice wouldn't work, and Paul's eyes fell on the notebook before meeting his again, and he said, quietly, 'I think I wanted you to read that.'

All efforts to stay calm fell away at that, and Dave ducked his head as his shoulders began to shake. Paul immediately came over and wrapped his arms around him, and Dave lifted him onto his lap. They wrapped their arms around each other and cried together, and it was all right. Along with all the worry and grief, threads of hope and pride were running through Dave. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, these beautiful, fantastic, brave children of his. They could get through anything as long as they had each other.