“Friend or Not?”
“Dad, stop being so stubborn! I’m not asking you to sign up for the Ministry of Fools—just for ‘Schoolmates,'” Leo pleaded, for the fortieth minute, trying to digitise his father’s identity and release him like a minnow into the vast ocean of social media. But the old man resisted.
“I don’t need any of it!” His father clutched his ancient button phone, which had just received its tenth activation code. “You lot can flounder in your networks like herrings, but leave me out of it. I’ve got enough addictions—why add another?”
“For company, Dad. You’ll find old classmates, colleagues, army mates…”
“God forbid!” His father, in a panic, hurled the phone out the window—though, luckily, it didn’t break; they were on the ground floor. “Half of them are already dead! I’ll have plenty of time to chat with them later.”
“But the other half are alive. Talk to them. Otherwise, apart from me and Tanya, you only speak to phone scammers.”
“And unlike you two, they actually listen! Yesterday, I had a three-hour natter with ‘Manager Katie’ from Correctional Facility Number Seven. Do you know how hard it is for them to offer extras after lights-out?”
“Just try it? One week. I swear, if you hate it, I’ll drop it.”
“Fine. But you’re coming to the football with me in May,” his father bargained.
“I already told you, I’ll be in Brighton for work,” Leo muttered, already outside, rummaging through the bushes.
“You said you might not go,” his father called from the window.
“Might not. I’ll let you know. Just give me five minutes—I’ll sort it all out. You’ll be chatting like a normal person in no time.”
Leo returned victorious and settled at the ancient computer.
“Don’t need your world…”
“What was that?”
“Just get on with it, you digital peddler.”
The idea for ‘Schoolmates’ had been pushed by Leo’s wife, tired of her father-in-law’s inconvenient calls and half-hour rambles. First, let him bore someone else. Second, maybe he’d stop wandering off. Old men were always drifting toward the sunset—pop out for bargain bread, and next thing, you’re searching the county with bloodhounds.
“You’re talking about my dad,” Leo reminded her.
“Well, I’m judging by mine,” she retorted.
That usually ended the debate.
“Leo, some stranger’s friend-requesting me,” his father called that evening, perturbed.
“Brilliant! Add him—you’ll have someone new to talk to.”
“Leo, I’ve never seen this face. How’d he even find me? I haven’t been ‘strolling’ through your networks. The cheek, barging onto my page uninvited!”
“We filled in your details—school, work, army service. Maybe you were in the same year…”
“Leo, that was a thousand years ago!”
“Then maybe you skinned mammoths together. Just chat. You might find common ground. Right, Dad, I’ve got work.”
“Oh, Leo, you’ve landed me in it…”
The next call came four days later:
“Leo, can you fetch me from the station?”
“The station? What are you doing there this late?” Leo checked his watch. His wife was right—his father was turning into one of those wandering old men.
“Been waiting forty minutes for this blasted bus. Could’ve walked, but my suitcase wheel broke.”
“Stay put—I’ll be there!”
“Course I’ll stay—I’ve got my own personal rickshaw now.”
Leo found him on a station bench, oddly polished: shaved, pressed, in new shoes.
“Where’ve you been?” Leo asked, loading the suitcase.
“Visiting Dave Wilkins. He’s in Oxford.”
“You went to Oxford? That’s a five-hour trip! Who’s Dave Wilkins? Never heard of him.”
Leo buckled up, then his father’s, and pulled away.
“Mate. From your ‘Schoolmates’…” His father gazed out the window, deep in thought. “Though, mind, friendship’s still in question. He supports Arsenal, and you know how I feel about that lot…”
“Hold on,” Leo slowed over a speed bump. “You just met, and you went to his place?”
“Exactly!” His father frowned. “I don’t add just anyone. Needed to see the man—talk, look him in the eye, learn his views, his team, his vote.”
“Dad, online friendships don’t require that. You can suss it out remotely. That’s the beauty.”
“And do people make children remotely these days?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Everything, Leo! I don’t trust anyone I haven’t met. My circle’s vetted. Full stop.”
“Alright, calm down!” Leo bit his tongue, lest his questions scare his father back into seclusion. “But next time, warn me if you’re vanishing. I need to know where to look.”
“Message received!” His father mock-saluted, then asked Leo to stop for a new smartphone—one that could go online.
The next call came on a Saturday, mid-business trip:
“Off to Newcastle. Back Monday.”
“Dad, the signal’s rubbish. Did you say Newcastle?”
“Signal’s fine. Newcastle it is. Made a new mate—two, actually. Turns out we served in the same battalion, just different years. Don’t fret—I’ll grab a taxi from the airport. Learned how to use the app.”
“Dad, you’re mad! Stay put! I’ll be back soon—we’ll go to your match. No flying off!” Leo realised he’d opened Pandora’s box. Now he had to shut it.
“Sorry, Leo—bad signal. We’re boarding. See you at the match.”
***
Days later, Leo checked his father’s ‘Schoolmates’ page. Five friends. One was from Leo’s hometown—reassuring. But a certain ‘Lucy Bannister’ was way up in Aberdeen. A chill ran down Leo’s spine.
He planned to hide his father’s passport but was too late—the man had already bolted to Cornwall. They next met two weeks later. His father was tanned, wearing a weird hand-stitched shirt and, worst of all, a tattoo of his football club’s crest.
“Nancy from Norwich did it. Great lass. Met in the ‘Schoolmates’ woodworking group. She and her husband are visiting Saturday. We’re off to the match.”
“What Nancy? What match? Dad, you were going with me!”
“So come along! Bring the wife. Though, I sent her a friend request three weeks ago—still no reply.”
“I can’t—Brighton…”
“Then why ask? Oh, I’m flying there Monday—met another bloke. Fancy a coffee and marzipan in town? Then we’ll tour the piers.”
His father was unrecognisable—new slang, a strange gleam in his eye.
“I’m there for work, not… whatever you said. And I don’t know these friends of yours…”
“Nor do I. Might not even like them. Met one the other day—turns out he’s from the Ministry of Fools. Their head honcho, no less. Oh, and I checked your page—you’ve five friends in Brighton.”
“Seriously?”
Leo tried to recall which of his 500 ‘friends’ lived there. He could only name seven he’d actually seen in a decade. Most he’d added thoughtlessly.
“How are you affording these trips?” he asked.
“Sold the allotment.”
“The allotment?!” Leo’s vision blurred. “You loved it there…”
“You loved dumping me there weekends to pick berries. I was bored stiff. If not for ‘Katie’ and her loan offers, I’d have started fruiting myself. Speaking of—drop me at her work? They shortened her sentence for ratting out her cellmates. Fancy meeting her before she’s out. We won’t stay in touch, but for old times’ sake…”
Leo struggled to digest this but couldn’t refuse.
That evening, he sat at his laptop, wrestling with his father’s transformation. Scrolling aimlessly, he skimmed his own ‘friends’ updates. “Who are these people?” gnawed at him.
Then he spotted a dozen new friend requests. After an hour vetting profiles, he decided against haste. Instead, he messaged an old childhood neighbour, unseen in fifteen years:
“Fancy meeting? Barbecue, catch up. We’re mates, live close, yet I’ve forgotten your face.”
“Why not? In a few weeks—swamped now. I’ll message you,” came the reply.
“Cool,” Leo typed, then thought: “Some childhood friend.”
He scrolled further, paused at a Brighton bloke he’d never met.Leo sighed and clicked ‘Accept,’ wondering if he too was about to embark on the same unpredictable journey his father had.
