Chapter Four
four
Ridley
Ridley stopped at the greengrocer and the bakery on the way home. He wasn’t above admitting, if only to himself, making a welcome-home dinner—even though he was the one returning—was intended as a bribe. His way of breaking the news to his daughter, Beatrix, that this trip was not to be the last of a few as promised, but the first of many.
The plan was to make a lasagna with his grandmother’s legendary Bolognese sauce and his own special creamy garlic bread recipe— courtesy of Martha Stewart— that was Bea’s favorite. Both recipes required fresh ingredients and a few hours in the kitchen. But fresh off his flight, all Ridley really wanted was sleep and his grandma’s authentic sauce. And this recipe, gifted to her as a teen by an Italian nonna that had lived next door, required a couple of hours to simmer. Better, he had decided, to get the grocery shopping out of the way now while he was still on his second wind.
So, in addition to his travel gear, his arms were full when he finally got to his home. And that was probably fortunate considering who was waiting on his front doorstep.
“Dr. Aronsen.”
He’d always only referred to Ridley by his last name, as a sign of contempt. Usually, there was no goodwill, kindness or even respect in the words, which suited Ridley just fine.
“Gavin.” In a single word, Ridley addressed Bea’s biological father with the same amount of disdain.
Gavin Dorrence could live a hundred lives filled with good works and deeds and still never earn the right to use Ridley’s first name. They’d known each other since their days at Harvard and had loathed each other since then too. Still, Gavin’s use of the word Doctor did give Ridley pause, as it possibly indicated some kind of overture toward civility.
So, Ridley checked his hostility and tried again. “I believe our solicitor told yours we’d be in touch.”
“Yes, but that was not supposed to mean I don’t get my regularly scheduled visitation,” Gavin said.
So, Bea didn’t go to Gavin’s while I was away? Ridley thought, mildly peeved. Ridley kept his reaction to that information off his face, yet knew he would have to have a conversation with his in-laws, Clare-Olive and Philip. Bea’s grandparents loathed Gavin as much as Ridley did, but according to the solicitor, no one should do anything right now to poke the bear.
But Ridley still wouldn’t throw them under the bus.
“Considering you’ve missed the past three visits, maybe you have your dates wrong.”
Gavin didn’t respond to the accusation. He sighed as he rose to his feet, pulling an elastic out of his shoulder-length copper hair, and then pulled it right back up into its untidy, stupidly pretentious man-bun. Ridley fought the urge to quite literally kick the man off their doorstep—his Ferragamos didn’t deserve that sort of ill treatment. Still, it irked Ridley how comfortable Gavin was there, sitting on the stoop of a house he’d never lived in.
Ridley could tell by the way Gavin hovered on the steps leaning against the wrought iron railing that he was waiting for an invitation inside.
“Bea has athletics this weekend and revision next.”
Gavin’s eyes widened. “Is she struggling with something? Because of the...”
“No. Not struggling.” It irritated Ridley that that’s where Gavin’s brain went first. “We want her prepared for the GCSE next year. Math is hard for her.”
“Maths? Really? You’d think with three doctors for parents—”
“Dyscalculia is a learning disorder, it wouldn’t matter what we did for a living!” Ridley’s response was more of a rebuke than he’d intended. But the resentment he felt at Gavin considering himself one of Bea’s parents made his words caustic.
Gavin’s mouth twisted.
“Anyway.” Ridley collected himself. Gavin had at least acknowledged that Ridley was one of her parents too. Perhaps that would bode well for their upcoming legal matters. He calmed. “Bea has a lot of testing anxiety, so we have to do a lot of preparation with her before she sits any exams.”
As much as it killed Ridley to think it, Gavin would have to know these things if he intended to share custody or, God forbid, was granted full custody of Bea.
They were still standing on the front steps, which was pointless. Ridley groaned with acquiescence, then came up the remaining steps past Gavin to unlock the door. Juggling all his bags precariously, he pushed their Crayola-blue door open with a creak. He’d been promising to oil the hinges since Thyra asked him to do it four years ago, and now the sound was an embarrassing reminder.
Ridley propped his roller case against the coatrack and walked through the narrow hallway, through the living room and dining room toward the kitchen. Depositing the full-to-overflowing brown grocery bag on the island, Ridley turned to see Gavin right behind him looking around.
He tried to see the space as Gavin might. A large and airy open floor plan kitchen took up the entire rear of the house, facing a teak deck through a glass-paneled wall. Pivoting, iron-framed glass doors faced a lush rear garden, flooding the entire space with light. Sleek modern appliances and minimalist countertops lined the walls and a small dining space separated the kitchen from the living room. It was his wife’s dream space, Ridley knew.
“She redid the kitchen. And the living room too?” Gavin asked as if he read minds.
Putting on his company manners, Ridley put the last of the groceries in the refrigerator before turning to him. Gavin was leaning with his hip against the kitchen island, looking far too comfortable, waiting. In all these years, Ridley had still not managed to work out what precisely Thyra had liked enough about her ex to not only date him throughout secondary school and university, but to also follow him across the Atlantic to Boston.
“Yes, a long time ago,” Ridley answered.
Gavin was like every odious incarnation of white male privilege personified. As the owner of a bio-tech start-up, he was the embodiment of Silicon Valley tech bro smugness by way of UK public school, and spoke with RP-accented pomposity. Publicly progressive, Ridley guessed Gavin still voted Tory in private and that all of Gavin’s “anti-racist” books retained uncracked spines on dust-covered bookcases. Though Gavin always looked and dressed like an underemployed, undernourished hipster grad student, it was all a carefully curated lie. From the obligatory yet pristine Doc Martens on his feet to his hundred-thousand-dollar Audemars Piguet Royal Oak watch on his wrist and that Reiss cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck—perfectly placed to be used as a garrote—the guy was the definition of an absolute poseur. The real truth was his entire wardrobe of “casual separates” and “street wear,” like his lifestyle, cost more than the GDP of some small countries.
What does he know about our remodeling? Ridley wondered.
Once upon a time, Gavin could barely drag his ass to the curb to have a conversation with Thyra, let alone come inside to see his own kid. Ridley bristled, attempting to keep his annoyance in check.
“She did a great job.” Gavin’s eyes and hand swung around like a curator explaining an exhibit. “It needed better flow...and a bit more light. I’m glad you opened the space up.”
Ridley squinted at him, adjusting his glasses with irritation as if that would help him understand the words coming out of Gavin’s mouth better.
“I haven’t seen the inside since my grandmother died when I was a kid. Before I gave it to Thyra, of course,” Gavin explained, reading his face.
Gave. Ridley bristled at this. This house, that he’d long thought was Thyra’s, had in fact been gifted to Bea, to be held in trust until she turned eighteen—because Gavin would never have given Thyra herself anything so valuable, up to and including his last name. And it was clearly meant as a payoff—no revisionist history now would change that. Payment to keep Thyra quiet and not embarrass Gavin’s family. The technicality would have been moot if Ridley hadn’t only recently found out this truth, after Thyra died. He’d hated knowing that he had it all wrong—or worse yet, that Thyra had lied. He also hated that after all these years, Gavin knew something he didn’t about his own life and wife.
“Gavin, why are you here?”
Gavin took a breath like the windup to a pitch. “I’d like to have Beatrix for Christmas.”
“No.” Ridley said it so quickly that the word came out like a bark.
“Would you let me explain?”
“I don’t need an explanation. It’s a no now and it’ll still be no a few minutes from now when you’ve finished talking.”
Gavin sighed, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically as if the words wounded his woebegone soul. Then his more somber expression broke into the smug, butter-wouldn’t-melt manner Ridley was accustomed to seeing.
“I recently bought a place near Vail and I’d love to bring Beatrix over to see it,” Gavin bragged anyway as if Ridley hadn’t said anything. “Ten bedrooms, she can pick whichever one she wants. She can even bring one or two of her friends to visit for a week. It could be great fun.”
“No. Gavin.” Ridley struggled to rein himself in, even as his agitation grew. “Did you not hear me? There is no way I’m letting you take Bea out of the country—”
“Now, now.” Gavin tutted as Ridley opened his mouth to tell him more pointedly that this wouldn’t be happening. “Hold on. As you said, I’ve missed the last four visits with Beatrix.”
“Due to your own negligence!”
“Due to the fact that my business and, frankly, my life right now is in America. When I have business and meetings to attend to, being in London is not conducive.”
“Have you not been on the planet for the past three years? Remote is a thing. Zoom is practically a sacrament now.”
“Sure, but with most of my business being on the West Coast we’re talking an eight-hour time difference. Staying here is not practical.”
“Not even for your daughter? The girl you claim you want a better relationship with?”
“That’s what I’m attempting to do!” Frustration threaded through Gavin’s voice. “I’m taking time off and making an effort to do something she’ll enjoy.”
“In a way that’s convenient for you! That’s not parenting, Gavin. Parenting is sacrifice, making concessions. Understanding that your daughter’s life is here on this side of the Atlantic and moving heaven and hell to be here! For her.”
Gavin’s blue eyes darkened, his lightly tanned face turning pink, the already plummy accent getting obnoxiously posher, the diction crisper, haughty now. “Don’t do that. Oh, Aronsen. You do not want to go there.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know where Beatrix has been every time I’ve called her recently?” He pinned Ridley with a chilly glare. “At her grandparents’ house. Because you’ve been in the office. Or at a meeting...or in New York.” Gavin let the last part of that slide out of his mouth slowly to make sure the words stuck to Ridley like a stamp. “And rumor has it, you’ll be there even more in the coming months.”
How the hell does Gavin already know that? Moving in the upper echelons of the medical community, Ridley supposed that someone could have spoken to someone who knew Gavin eventually. But to be aware of the inner workings of his trial so quickly spoke to something else. Something a tad more unethical.
“Point is, we’re both doing the best we can.”
Ridley rolled his eyes so hard they hurt.
“And since I haven’t had my agreed-upon and mandated visitation in quite a while, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for an uninterrupted two weeks now.”
Ridley began to object.
“Particularly since the Baker-Smythes did not make Beatrix available when I arranged something really lovely for our last visit.”
“Oh, is that so? What?” Ridley was dying to know what Gavin thought was “lovely.”
“A ride alone on the London Eye. For her and all her school friends. I hired one whole capsule, all to themselves.”
Ridley pulled his glasses off and pinched his nose before dragging a hand down his face. What is it with people and that neon-colored monstrosity?
“My solicitor thinks I’m within my rights to ask for some small concession.”
Ridley bit back the urge to tell Gavin where he could stick his “small concession.” He could see the self-satisfied smirk playing at the corners of Gavin’s mouth but at least he had the good sense to hold it in check. At the moment, Ridley needed little provocation. Ridley was now sure Gavin had made himself unavailable for the previous visits to build up all this “owed” time precisely to pull this stunt. And then, poor Philip and Clare-Olive played right into his hands by refusing his most recent visitation. Ridley would ask but he already knew what his solicitor would say: play nice.
But all the way to Colorado, on her own? With Gavin, which was as good as being alone. There was no way Ridley could allow it. If Thyra had been alive, she’d never have allowed it either. Although that is the basis of the problem, isn’t it? She’s not alive.
Thyra was gone and Gavin had all the leverage. To come and go in their lives as he pleased, to demand his parental rights, rights that he’d never relinquished no matter how much they’d pressed him to and how many times Thyra had begged him to allow Ridley to adopt Bea. So here they were. At the mercy of Gavin and his army of solicitors on retainer just waiting to make Ridley’s life a misery.
For at least the tenth time in his life, Ridley imagined burying Gavin in the back garden and planting some sage, angelica and garlic over the plot to seal in the evil.
“I will not allow Bea to go alone. She must have someone with her.”
“Of course, I said she can bring her friends.”
Ridley sighed, praying for some divine intercession on Bea’s behalf and patience on his. “No, Gavin. Her fourteen-year-old girlfriends are not what I meant. I mean Philip and Clare-Olive.” Ridley knew he couldn’t go for various reasons, one being a possible homicide charge if Gavin was going to be there too. He just hoped he’d be able to convince Thyra’s parents to disrupt their holiday plans and uproot themselves to spend Christmas in a different country for their granddaughter’s sake.
It was clear this wasn’t what Gavin was expecting. He sputtered a bit before nodding his agreement.
“And.” Ridley lifted a finger. “This is all contingent on Bea even being willing to go. I’m not forcing her to spend Christmas with you if she doesn’t want to.”
Gavin nodded again.
The truth was Ridley needed her to be willing. The more recalcitrant Bea and her grandparents were now, the worse it could end up looking for them in court.
“Oh, she’ll want to come.”
“You think so?” Ridley leaned back, arms crossed.
“My neighbors are featuring a couple of those boys from that K-pop band the kids are crazy about now at their annual Christmas party, and I also have it on good authority that T. Swift is attending.”
“T. Swift, huh?”
“That’s Taylor—”
“I know who she is, you absolute git.” Ridley stood, at his upper limit of bullshit. His sigh was bone-deep. He needed to get this guy out of his house and get some sleep. “So, if that’s all, you can get the fuck out now.”
Gavin smiled, as relieved to be back to their normal state of relations after that brief détente as Ridley was. “I’ll have my assistant call you with all the details. He’ll make up a tentative itinerary that you can share with Bea and her grandparents.”
He stood straight then too, headed back toward the front door. Ridley followed at a distance, still slightly nervous about what he might do if he were within grasping reach of the ends of Gavin’s scarf.
“Like I said, I have to talk to Beatrix first. And then arrange things with Philip and Clare-Olive. So do not have your assistant call me before I call you.”
Gavin grinned. “Fair enough.”