Chapter 18
Twenty minutes later, Carrie was in her car driving towards Somerset and doing her best to control her nerves.
She reminded herself that it was unlikely that she’d actually get to see her father today.
The most she should sensibly hope for was a lead to a more recent address .
. . He somehow didn’t seem the type to stay living in the same place for decades.
The car was warming up with the sun and she kept the windows open until she was forced to close them because of traffic fumes as the holiday traffic got heavier.
She considered stopping for some food and to cool down as it approached one o’clock, but there was only about half an hour to go and her stomach was too churned up to eat anyway, so she decided to plough through.
She came off the motorway and the roads became narrower and more windy, with tall hedgerows on either side. Carrie drove slowly — she was still not a fan of small country roads — and tensed as she squeezed past vehicles coming in the opposite direction, doing her best to steer clear of ditches.
Finally she approached the little village she was heading for and Google Maps directed her to a small housing estate on the outskirts.
The identikit little cream houses were neatly laid out in pairs with small front gardens, all of which were impeccably kept.
Carrie parked outside what should be the correct house and checked the address in her mum’s message for about the hundredth time to ensure she was in the right place. Yep. This was it.
With a steadying breath, and before she could think better of it, she got out of her car, walked up the path to the smart black front door and knocked.
She waited, shifting her weight from foot to foot, until she finally heard a key turning in the lock. The door opened to reveal a tall, slim woman with a brown bob who looked to be in her late forties. Certainly a good deal younger than her father.
“Hi,” said Carrie. “I’m really sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if Phil still lives here? Phil Browning? I was given this address . . .”
“Phil hasn’t lived here for a long time,” said the woman. She inched back a little. “Why are you looking for him?”
“I’m his daughter,” Carrie replied.
“Phil doesn’t have a daughter,” said the woman, suspiciously. “Well, not an adult one, at least.”
“He does,” Carrie said. She pulled out her phone, bringing up a photo she’d taken of a picture she’d found at the bottom of one of her mum’s desk drawers a few years before.
It was of her mum and her with her dad. It was the only one of the three of them she’d ever seen and she’d immediately taken her phone out and taken a photo of it before replacing it. “See,” she said.
The woman’s face paled. With a little shake of her head, she said, “I think you’d better come in.”
Carrie stepped into the house and the woman shut the door behind her. “I’m Linda,” she said.
“Carrie,” Carrie replied. “I really am sorry about dropping in on you like this, especially as you had no idea I even existed . . . This is just the only address my mum has for Phil.”
“Please,” said Linda with a wave of her hand. “It’s hardly your fault your father is the man he is. I wouldn’t advise you to continue searching for him to be honest — he’s not worth your time. Let me put the kettle on and I’ll tell you what I know about that thieving two-timer.”
* * *
Two hours later, Carrie got back in her car. She took a moment to compose herself and check she was all right. It seemed she was.
Linda had been wonderful. She’d explained to Carrie how she’d come to meet her father in a pub one night, and how he’d never mentioned he had a child.
She did discover that he’d recently left another woman though; a woman who’d managed to track him down and turned up on the doorstep about four months after Linda and Phil had got together, by which point he’d moved in.
Then, the following year, another woman turned up.
He’d been having an affair with her for some time.
Linda forgave him, “like a fool”, and he walked out a couple of years later, taking a load of money from a joint account she’d foolishly agreed to set up and pay into every month for a holiday fund.
She hadn’t seen or heard from him since.
Carrie had found herself apologising for her father’s behaviour at one point as if she was somehow responsible for him, which made them both laugh.
Carrie closed her eyes and allowed her emotions to wash over her. Phil chose to miss out on being a father to her and, in turn, on being a grandfather to Poppy. Knowing that he’d abandoned other people as well served to hammer home that he wasn’t someone she wanted in her life. Or Poppy’s.
Suddenly she felt the overwhelming desire to be back in Castle Cove. Cosy in the flat with Poppy . . . and Michael and Layla a little voice in her head said. She pushed it aside as she started the engine and set off to where she couldn’t help thinking of as home.
* * *
It was seven o’clock by the time Carrie pulled into the parking space behind her aunt’s shop. She was exhausted and happy to be back.
Poppy and Monty came running out into Michael’s garden to meet her as she went through the back gate. Carrie immediately bent down and gave Poppy a big hug and stroked Monty.
“Did you all have a good day?” she asked.
“The best,” said Poppy, happily. “We went to four different beaches and we looked in rock pools and found crabs and I had a cup of tea.”
Michael appeared at the back door. “I took a flask and she had some — it was decaf,” he explained.
Carrie smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry I’m back so late.” She held Poppy’s hand as she walked towards the house.
“It’s no problem,” Michael said, easily. “Poppy and I had a great time. You must be tired though. Come in, dinner’s nearly ready.”
Carrie considered making her excuses and not taking up any more of Michael’s time — for all of about two seconds. Whatever he was cooking smelled wonderful. And in his kitchen was where she wanted to be.
Poppy went back outside to resume training Monty to do yet another trick the poor boy would struggle to master.
“How are you doing?” Michael asked.
Carrie sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m . . . good. It’s weird. I’d set out this morning wanting to speak with my father, and I didn’t, but somehow that doesn’t matter any more.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Well, I got to the address my mum gave me and ended up having a cup of tea with the woman who lived there, Linda. She wasn’t the woman my father left my mother and me for.
It seems she was the woman after that, and he left her too.
It appears to be something of a habit of his.
Along with stealing and cheating on his partners. ”
“He doesn’t sound like the nicest of people,” Michael commented. “I still can’t comprehend how anyone could desert their family.”
Carrie shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand it, nor want to have anything to do with someone like that.”
* * *
A few minutes later, Carrie had a glass of wine in front of her on the kitchen table, Poppy on her lap showing her the drawings she’d been doing with Monty’s help apparently and a huge, homemade macaroni cheese was coming out of the oven.
“I thought you could probably do with some comfort food after the day you’ve had,” Michael explained.
“Yeah, you’re right there. That looks amazing. You didn’t have to feed us though . . .”
The look Michael threw her made her chuckle.
Poppy moved to her own seat and Michael put a large plate of food in front of Carrie. He put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze.
They ate and then Poppy ran outside to play with Monty while Carrie and Michael collected the little girl’s stuff together.
They moved upstairs to the sitting room on the search for items Poppy had littered everywhere. Michael handed Carrie a sparkly hair clip from the floor. “You’re really OK after today?” he asked gently.
“Yeah, I think so. A little emotionally drained, I guess,” Carrie replied.
Michael opened up his arms and she sank into them. Grateful for a moment to switch off her mind and take a deep breath. It took all her willpower to step away a moment later.
“Thanks,” she said. “I needed that.”
“Can I do anything else?” Michael asked. He looked down at her, and Carrie found herself staring into his dark eyes. Suddenly, they were back in one another’s arms and their lips met, her body threatened to melt into his as his taste and touch took over her senses.
“Mummy! I’m ready!” Poppy called from the kitchen.
Carrie and Michael broke apart instantly.
“I’ll be down in a minute, Pumpkin!” Carrie squeaked.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” said Michael, running a hand through his hair.
“It was just as much me as you,” Carrie said quickly.
“Yeah,” Michael said, sheepishly.
“I think we’re allowed one little slip-up.”
Michael rested his forehead against hers. “I wish things were different,” he said quietly.
“Me too.” Carrie gave him a final hug. “I’d better get Poppy and head off.”
“Sure.” They regretfully broke apart and returned downstairs.
* * *
Carrie took Poppy over to their flat for her bath and stories.
After Poppy was in bed, Carrie pottered around tidying up the sitting room and kitchen a little before she filled the kettle and put it on to boil.
A message came through on her phone and she smiled when she saw who it was from.
Poppy’s red hoodie is over here if you’re looking for it.
Thanks! And thank you again for today. It meant a lot.
My pleasure. I’ll see you tomorrow. Sleep tight.
Sleep tight.
Carrie resumed making her drink with a smile on her face.
Try as she might, her body wouldn’t allow her to regret their kiss, and a single transgression was impressive considering how attracted they both appeared to be to each another.
It would be a one-off, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t treasure the memory of it she thought, as she did her best to ignore the little butterflies in her tummy.
* * *
In bed, Carrie texted her mum: I love you. I didn’t meet him, but you were absolutely right. We were definitely better off without him. We weren’t the only people he’s walked out on.
Are you OK? came the immediate reply.
I’m good, Carrie told her. Tired though and just going to sleep. Love you. x
I love you too x
Carrie put down her phone and turned off the bedside lamp.
She lay back. Her body was more than ready for sleep, but her mind was still busy.
She felt it beginning to calm as she considered that she’d finally accepted that her father leaving wasn’t anything to do with her, and she’d missed out on nothing by not having him around as she grew up.
She’d always been loved and looked after, and pining after her father was completely pointless.
He’d made his choice, and his life had been the poorer for it.