Chapter 1
Peter
“It’s been five years, Dad. It’s not unheard of, you know, people getting back in the game, widowers remarrying someone new.
People move on, and Mum would want you to, she always said,” my son exclaimed, waving a pack of paperwork in my face.
I knew the envelope well because it had been sitting here, on the kitchen worktop, mocking me for the past two weeks.
“Always is a weird word, Cal.” I shuddered with unease. It was still a sore point, talking about Mary that way. Putting words in her mouth, sentences I had no recollection of her ever having spoken out loud.
“She told us, all the time,” he continued. “Me and Ed. Sat us down and told us we needed to make sure you moved on, and that you were happy. You’re not happy, hence we’re putting things in place.”
“Things!” I shouted. “Outing myself as a complete tool on a ridiculous dating show, not only that, but on one that is broadcast to the nation? That is not moving on. That is… I can’t even think.
I’m not sure, not at all. It’s a very suspect company.
I read up on some of their work. And apart from that, it clashes with the British Dentistry Convention in October. ”
“Excuses, Dad. Look, we tried getting you on Tinder. Hinge. Plenty-of-Fish or whatever. You hated all of them and still haven’t gone on a single date.
This production company has been around for years and produced lots of successful shows.
They have experts on board, psychiatrists for heaven’s sake.
And Gina DeSanto is hosting! See? The British Dentistry Convention happens every year.
It’s not like the world is going to go under, just because Peter Felton doesn’t show up in the crowd.
” Here was my second son, getting his words in, leaning over the counter, grabbing a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl and shoving them in his mouth as he spoke.
These two idiots were my flesh and blood.
My sons. Both twenty-something and out of the house, having gained places at university last September.
It was now early June, and I was losing every argument, even the ones I had with myself in my head.
Also, the fridge was once again bare, and the fruit bowl looked pathetic, with just a bunch of sad-looking grapes, dried up and smelling sweetly, making me swallow some weird nausea down my throat.
I didn’t like the pressure, nor the boys’ constant insistence that I needed to change things.
I didn’t particularly like change. I’d lived in this house since forever.
My sons had grown up here, the commute to work was decent, and I liked my weekends to be my own.
I cycled daily, ate healthily and played pickleball at a semi-professional level.
I had no intention to change anything. Nothing.
“Who’s Gina DeSanto?” I huffed out as both boys rolled their eyes.
“Gina DeSanto. Who doesn’t know Gina? She’s like the ultimate babe.”
“Also, an award-winning TV personality and influencer. You know. Mega famous. Mum knew her, I think.”
“She follows you on Insta,” Ed muttered.
“That’s a fake account,” Cal snarled. “I can’t believe you’re still so naive. Dad, he thought Hudson Williams was messaging him. I had to block stuff on his account.”
“I did not. I was pulling your leg.”
“Bullshit.”
I rolled my eyes as well. Hard. The boys had taught me well, hence I had zero social media. Apart from my dentistry account. Professional stuff. My practice handled all that.
“You’re refusing to downsize the house,” Ed continued. “Fair enough. I’d hate it if you sold up, but then you need to do something. It’s all good and well that you’re living here on your own, but at least get a dog.”
“You’re allergic, Ed. I need you to be able to come home, and the house is a basic three-bed semi.
What am I supposed to downsize to? A nursing home?
” I was waving my hands in the air. Frustration seeping out of my pores.
Only because somewhere deep down, I knew the boys had a point. A very small one, but still.
“I dreaded moving out, but now that we have? I’m going nowhere,” Cal continued. “Total freedom. Adult life.”
“Still? You’re back here demanding I do your laundry and feed you.”
“I know how to cook, Dad. And you’re banned from doing my laundry. That dress shirt is still a sore point. You need to stop using my clothes!”
He wasn’t wrong. These boys were my life.
My soul, and everything else. And I wasn’t perfect; I absolutely made mistakes, including adding red football socks to the white wash.
Burning dinner, and on occasion dishing out completely bonkers life advice.
And Cal’s clothes were better than mine and were also constantly littered around the house.
I’d spent the past fifteen years running my own clinic and had learnt my lesson, more than once.
People were never perfect. And making mistakes was more than human, something I had instilled in my children from day one.
Mistakes. I had made a few, apart from these two standing in front of me in our kitchen, two pairs of eyes pinning me down.
“The clinic will never function with me gone for that long. Ever. Seriously.”
“Deepak’s cool. He’ll handle it.”
“He’ll have me fired.”
“It’s your clinic. You’d have to fire yourself. More stupid excuses, Dad.”
“Mum would have laughed.”
No lie there. Mary would have wholeheartedly agreed. A born actress, full of mischief and laughter. I could almost picture her still sitting at the table, a cup of lukewarm tea in her hand.
“Oh, Peter,” she would have howled, “you absolute fool. Just do it, what are you hesitating for? We can’t live life in the shadows.
It’s all dark and cold when you don’t let yourself bask in the sun.
Go live a little. See where it leads you.
And if it all crashes and burns? You’ll have learnt something along the way.
Had a few laughs. Figured out some new truths. ”
“This is not an acting role,” I said out loud, like I was still talking to her.
Mary. My wife of twenty-five years. Also, dead.
Very much so. Ravaged by that horrific illness that had taken her far too early.
Left the three of us rumbling around in a spiral of grief and despair, her ashes still sat on the top of the bookshelf, in the same place where I’d left them all those years ago.
Twenty years married. Then five years living with her like this. In a small cardboard box.
I should have scattered her. The boys should have scattered her. There were so many things we should have done, taken the time to do and found the right moment for. Learnt to let go. We never had.
Yet here we were.
“Mum’s gone. You need someone in your life. She would hate to see you sit here on your own. Every evening, eating a whole packet of biscuits and drinking tea whilst you chat to her ashes. It’s no life, Dad.”
“It’s a better life than being a national fool. There will be no going back once I’ve opened my mouth on TV. Your mum always said…”
“You’re already a walking meme, Dad. All that’s missing is a flat cap and a paper under your arm, and you’re the perfect widowed pensioner.”
“Cal,” I barked.
“The Daily Mail still does occasional features about you. The great Mary Felton’s husband looks worn down and depressed watering his tulips,” Cal mocked. “It’s like you’re already dead.”
“For heaven’s sake, Calvin.”
“We need to talk about it. It’s the truth!” Ed retaliated, defending his brother.
They still did. Had each other’s backs through thick and thin.
“You’re barely forty-five, Dad. Get a grip!”
“It’s my life!” I was losing this battle; I could feel it.
And despite my strong reservations about this completely idiotic idea?
The boys had done this for me. Put together applications and taped some stupid interview claiming it was for a college project.
Tricked me into signing papers I hadn’t had the chance to read.
Basics. Things that in my job would have seen me fired, but my children made me do. What a fool I was.
“You need someone in your corner,” Cal pushed.
“I’ve got the two of you,” I said weakly.
“And your pickleball mates, and the guy at the bike shop and Auntie Patel next door, but it’s not enough. You’re not going to marry Auntie Patel, however well she cooks.” Edward. Just as persuasive as his older brother. He was younger by two minutes. Still just as stubborn.
“Mr Patel would kill me,” I grumped. We had nice neighbours, and the occasional gifts of food from next door would always make me smile.
“Go on, Dad. Say yes. You can’t sit here and rot away.
It’s an opportunity to get out there and get help from professionals.
Find someone nice to keep you company. You could even go on holiday?
These shows usually send the happy couples on honeymoons.
I see beaches, tans…Pina Coladas and perhaps a beautiful lady by your side. It would be nice to see you happy!”
I made some weird noise at the back of my throat.
This was all their doing. They’d put me in this awful situation with pushy production people ringing me day and night, where I’d had to sit through two days of selection, on the weekend, and had been poked and prodded about my preferences in people, my likes and dislikes, my ups and downs, until I barely knew myself anymore.
Terrible people, all of them, far too brash and direct.
The kind of people Mary had dealt with all her life.
She’d been strong. Successful. Honest.
Me? I couldn’t even stand up for myself anymore, instead I told people what they wanted to hear. Said yes even though my body was saying no.
“Boys.” I sighed.
“You’re this cutthroat professional during the day, dealing with those kids and their parents and nervous patients and drilling teeth left, right and centre.
I know how you function. Then you come home and you fall apart, and that’s fine, Dad.
But let someone else in for once. Have some fun. Get laid.”
“Cal!” I shouted as both boys snickered.
“It’s okay, Dad. Mum would have wanted you to. It’s been five years.”
It had. Five years of being a single dad, raising these boys to the men they now were. Putting everything into their future and never stopping to wonder where my own future lay.
Because those thoughts freaked me out. So I simply chose not to think them.
“You think it’s a good idea?” Finally some honest talk, because yes, I was that weak. I was very much on this level of ridiculousness because that was what these boys made me. They had me wrapped around their fingers, and I was getting pushed into another one of their virtual corners.
“We did all the research. The contract is solid; the NDAs are good. And there is a clause that says you can just walk away if you feel it’s not for you.”
“That’s the only clause…” Ed started as Cal slapped his hand over his brother’s mouth.
“Legal bullshit. Normal stuff,” Cal continued on. “And by the time the show airs, you’ll be happily settled down with the love of your life.”
“The statistics aren’t good,” I interjected.
“Shut up, Dad. Sign the papers.”
I had no idea. Zero. This? This would never end well.
I still signed. I couldn’t even explain why.