I wondered if most people’s relationships with their father more closely resembled mine with my dad, or mine with Miles. My entire verbal contact with Dad since moving to Hong Kong had been strings of ‘How are you getting on?’ – ‘Very good, very good, and how’s work?’ – ‘Very good, very good, and is it hot?’ and then back over to Mam. We couldn’t discuss politics because he’d say something awful about travellers or trans people and Mam would look at me like: don’t be hassling him. The only thing we had in common was DNA, which gave us limited mileage conversationally.
