25
Somehow the next morning, when I took Fitz for a walk after another unsettled night, I found myself heading for a park in the city centre. I was restless, fed up with myself, worrying, despite everything I’d told myself, about Violet and what she was doing. Where was she? In some seedy squat? Sleeping rough on the streets? Shooting up heroin?
All those times I’d sat back to wait for my sister to come home when she’d been on her travels. I ought to have sought her out, flown to meet her, shared some adventures with her instead of passively waiting for her to come home.
Passive just about summed me up. I’d never been curious about who my father was. Hadn’t even seriously tried to track down my mother, either, not beyond the odd internet search. She’d never seemed worth searching for, I suppose, after what she’d done. But maybe, if I had done, if I’d managed to save up enough to pay for a private detective, rooted Mum out from whatever hole she was in to demand some answers from her, I’d have been able to finally leave all the shit about my past behind and move on.
I hadn’t done any of those things, though. Instead, I’d fallen in with what Inga—my miraculous best friend—wanted. Gone to parties I didn’t always want to go to. Bought clothes Inga said I should buy that I suspected I’d never wear. Ignored all my instincts when she begged me not to tell Matt about the abortion. All because her friendship was so precious to me, and I was so afraid of losing it.
My life ever since the night of the fire—long before that—had reeked with fear, and fear had made me weak, living a compromise of a life, hiding in my art or in hotel rooms when things got tough.
And Matt ... But I couldn’t, wouldn’t think about Matt and what might have been. If I did, I might just shatter into a thousand pieces onto the pavement.
Another dog walker came towards us, the golden retriever at her side seemingly ecstatic to see Fitz, waving her tail, drawing Fitz in with her enthusiasm.
“Sorry,” the dog’s owner said. “She does have to say hello to everyone.”
I smiled, watching the dogs get to know each other, cheered by the obvious love in the woman’s voice.
“Life would be a lot simpler if we were all like that,” I said, and the woman laughed.
“You’re not wrong there.”
We walked on after I’d managed to drag Fitz away, walking over Fye Bridge with its reflections of the weeping willow trees on the bank. I paused for a moment to drink in the movement of the water, the ripples and the shifting colours. Inspiration for painting if I could only switch off my dismal thoughts.
Then Fitz pulled on his lead, and I continued on towards the city.
“It’s Lily, isn’t it?” asked a voice suddenly, jerking me from my thoughts.
I looked up, startled, and saw a face I’d only encountered once—a face which was now reflected back at me every time I saw little Noah. Harry, here, standing outside Inga’s estate agents—his estate agent, too, before he’d moved to Cambridge.
“Harry?”
He nodded, bending to stroke Fitz’s head. “The very same.”
“I thought you’d moved to Cambridge.”
“I did.” He straightened, smiling the smile I remembered from that night out. “Let’s just say it didn’t work out. I’m back here to try and persuade the powers that be to take me back. How’s Inga? I hear she’s on maternity leave?” He shook his head. “She must have changed. I would never have put the words Inga and maternity leave in the same sentence.”
Was it just his job that hadn’t worked out, or his whole life in Cambridge? Had he split up with his girlfriend? It was clear he had absolutely no clue about Noah being his son.
I shouldn’t have said what I said next. But what with running into Harry coming hard on the heels of giving myself grief about being too passive, the words just slipped out. “You ought to go and visit Inga while you’re here,” I said. “She’d love to see you.”
Harry looked doubtful. “D’you think? I don’t suppose her bloke would be very impressed by some random guy turning up out of the blue.”
“There is no bloke.”
He frowned. “She’s doing the whole parent thing on her own?”
I nodded. “At the moment, yes.”
“Wow. What about her ex-boyfriend? What’s-his-face?”
“Matt?” I shook my head. “No, Noah isn’t Matt’s.”
Harry smiled. “Noah. Cool name.” Then he frowned once again, his gaze sharpening. “Wait a minute, who is the kid’s father, then?”
I wasn’t going to come right out and say it, but as we stood there exchanging glances, I could see the penny dropping as clearly as if it were a burnished copper thing bouncing and spinning and shining on the pavement right in front of us.
“Jesus,” Harry said, and I reached out to squeeze his arm.
“Go and see her,” I said. “Forty-seven Arnold Street.”
Then I urged Fitz onwards and left Harry and his thunderstruck expression on the pavement outside the estate agents.
I wish I could say I felt cool and confident as I walked away. But I didn’t. My heart was hammering like a blacksmith beating the shit out of a piece of metal hot from the forge with every step I took.
Well done, Lily. Bloody well done. This wasn’t my life I was practising my assertiveness techniques on; it was Inga’s. And I definitely ought not to have said anything to Harry before speaking to her. Why had I done it? Why the bloody hell had I done it?
For fuck’s sake. It wasn’t because I’d suddenly developed all these churned up feelings about Matt, was it? Because if some subconscious part of me wanted Inga to be happily fixed up so I was free to pursue a relationship with Matt, that was unforgiveable. Stupid, too, because even if Matt did ever start to see me as more than just a friend, Inga would never want the two of us to get together. She’d make me choose between her and Matt as if we were in some soap opera.
Fitz was suddenly pulling on his lead; for a little dog, he was very strong. We were nowhere near the park yet, but something had obviously snagged his attention.
“Fitz! Slow down!” I said, but he paid absolutely no heed to me because someone else was calling to him—a man standing in a shop doorway, bellowing Fitz’s name at the top of his lungs.
“Fitzie boy! Fitz!”
Suddenly the little dog gave a lurch more suited to a Great Dane than a terrier cross and slipped his collar, bounding up the road.
Shit. Terrified he’d get run over; I ran after him. By the time I caught up with him, Fitz was in the unknown man’s arms, and the man was laughing with delight as Fitz covered him in doggy kisses, his little tail windmilling in ecstatic circles.
I came to a stop in front of them. “He’s yours,” I guessed. “My sister got him from you.”
The man looked in my direction. He could have been anything between thirty and fifty years old with his weather-beaten face and unclean clothes. “Worst thing I ever did, letting her have him. I’ve missed this boy so much.”
Fitz was always so desperate when I got back from work. Panted with stress while Violet and I rowed. “He’s missed you too.”
The man, suddenly emotional, gazed down at Fitz again, stroking his ears just as I’d done yesterday when I’d wanted to comfort myself. Then he looked up, wiped his hand on his coat and held it out to me. “I’m Lewis.”
I smiled, shaking his proffered hand. “Lily.”
He smiled. “She was a flower, too, wasn’t she? Your sister?”
“Yes, Violet.”
Lewis looked back down into Fitz’s adoring eyes again. “D’you think Violet would let me have him back? I’d do better this time. Keep myself clean. Make sure he wasn’t out in the cold and the wet. Only, he’s family for me, you see.”
Family . God, that word. I could have sobbed, right there on the street outside the newsagents. My mind was made up, but what about Violet? Should I wait and ask her first? No, I bloody well shouldn’t. My sister had stormed off who knew where without sparing a single thought for Fitz. Lewis might be on the streets, but he loved the dog. Fitz hadn’t been in a bad state when Violet had brought him home, had he? And maybe I could do something to make sure he stayed okay.
So, I said, “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind at all,” and five minutes later, having given Lewis whatever money I had in my purse and extracted a promise that he and Fitz would meet me for a cup of coffee the following week, I left.
Shortly before I arrived home, sans dog, a text came through from Inga. What the fuck, Lily? And I guessed that Harry must have arrived at her house.