Chapter 7
Emma
My weekend went from bad to worse. After effectively pissing off my multibillion-pound neighbour, my knit and natterers' post Christmas party got well and truly out of hand. With them ending up in said neighbor’s shiny silver monstrosity, questing after their latest quarry—Marchant Smyth.
Actor, young (twenty-five), British, good looking (obviously).
And neighbour of Carter Maywood when in London. Gave them an open invitation.
They got involved in an accounting firm's Christmas party. Why people insist on having Christmas parties in January I’ll never know.
But they do. And after copious amounts of Irish coffees, and a competition to see who could eat the most sushi from the buffet with knitting needles went south, security was called.
The dexterous knitters certainly the victors were evicted in a flurry of wool, fish, rice and needles. Nobody was happy.
My Saturday was filled with tearful apologies from the knitters, and heavy lawsuits being threatened by the building’s security team.
Sunday brought out Marchant Smyth’s PR team, and I spent all Sunday morning emailing NDAs to the very sorry knitters and shutting down the natterers.
By late afternoon, I was flat out on the settee.
So when the boys come back early evening from Nigel’s, I really want a clean drop off, and zero contact. No such luck.
“We need to talk about Noah.” My ex marches straight into my front room, spouting a phrase I have heard all too frequently. And it’s getting on my nerves. He really has not gotten the gist that this is no longer his home.
I ignore him and go to give the boys kisses. And take any dirty laundry from them. It seems Nigel's wife, Amy, can’t manage a washer at the weekends. ‘She was too busy’ is Nigel's response when I ask about it.
He thrusts a letter from school into my hands. “This is addressed to me. How come it’s open.”
He wafts his hand at me dismissively, and I raise my eyebrow at him, but he’s so oblivious, it bounces right off him.
“The teacher handed it to me, along with a huge rant. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Every ear on us.” Nigel's hands are on his hips, glaring at Noah. “He was talking back to both me and the teacher.”
“It’s Mrs Nellis, so nosy. Nosy Nellis. I told her to keep out of my personal business. She went in my bag.” Noah’s insistent on trying to get his side of the story over. “She confiscated my coloured sheets.”
I instantly prickle. He’s talking about his sheets he uses to help with his dyslexia.
“You don’t need them,” Nigel grits out. “There is nothing wrong with you.”
We’ve gone round and around in circles about this. Nigel has refused to put a label on it. Good in one way, but not when it’s hindering educational support.
“Boys, upstairs. Have you all showered?” They shake their heads.
I’m beyond exasperated. Every weekend they go to Nigels, it’s always the same.
“Why can’t they come home ready for the next day? It’s school in the morning. Are their bags sorted?”
He looks at me like I’m speaking an alien language. “That’s your job. I entertain them.”
I hear Ollie snort and see Noah roll his eyes.
“You went into the city all weekend and out with friends,” Ollie states. He’s gotten a lot less tolerant of his dad this past year. “We haven’t eaten either, Mum. Amy couldn’t work the cooker. Can we get a take out? I’ll go.”
The boys all disappear into the kitchen to sort out their lists. Nothing done, not eaten. Jesus.
My hands on my hips now, I turn my ire on the other “adult” in the room. “You went drinking, and spent no time with your kids. Left them with Amy and starving.”
He snorts. “Overdramatic as usual.”
I pull a what the fuck look. I am never overdramatic. Annoyed yes, dramatic no.
“Ollie is answering Amy back,” he continues. “You need to speak to him.”
It’s my turn to snort. “He’s fine here. I don’t have any issues with him. And he’s seventeen, eighteen soon. An adult.”
Of course that little dig falls on deaf ears.
“That’s because you let them run wild. Noah and Nathan are feral and are leading Carlton astray.”
I grin. My boys may be a bit wild, but they’re good, well behaved. Definitely nowhere near feral.
“Carlton is nothing to do with me. And at your home, you need to speak to them. I’ll sort out my end. You, yours. That’s called parenting.”
He gazes at me. I can almost hear his wicked cogs turning.
“I heard you got an offer on your building.” His voice is nasty, but trying to hide it. “You went to dinner with Jude Greystone.”
He’s fishing. He knows nothing. No one does. I haven’t even told my mum and dad about the size of the offer.
“What I do with my building is up to me. We got divorced a number of years ago. A full and final settlement. Clean break. What we each have now is not up for grabs.”
He smirks at me. “Yes, but this house equity is half mine when Nathan turns eighteen. Unless you want to make me an offer, that is. I’m a reasonable man.”
He’s delusional. “It’s eighteen or out of full-time education. But either way, no, I don’t want to make you an offer. Once they all go, I won’t want this house. I’ll sell. Then you can have your cash.”
“I’ve waited long enough. You could sell that fucking building and pay me out. But you won't. You're punishing me for your failings,” he snaps at me.
My mouth drops open in shock. “Get out. And don’t come in here again.
” I notice the noise in the kitchen has stopped.
It’s deathly silent. “You can come to the house for the drop-offs, but never in here again. Stay on the drive in future. Whatever the weather, you’re not welcome.
You can email me if you have any issues. We can converse via that.”
He sighs as if I haven’t even spoken. Unbelievable.
“You're still bitter. I get it. But there’s no need to keep punishing me. I’m offering you a way to get rid of me. I understand why you wouldn’t want to take it. But it’s over Emma, I’m not coming back. I love Amy, and Carlton. My life is so much better.”
The condescending tosser. How dare he.
I point to the door. “So is mine, without you in it. So let’s keep it like that, shall we. Stay out of my house, my life, and, oh, my business.”
He starts to laugh at that. “Business? You call that pathetic excuse for a company a business? We’ll take every client you have by the end of this year.
You can’t even hold onto them. It’s like fishing in a barrel.
” His smirking face looks venomous. “Once you’re on your knees, you’ll sell that building and I’ll get my money from my house. ”
The penny drops. He’s been targeting me, and certainly for a while. If my business is on the rocks, he thinks I’ll have no option but to sell. Well he might not be wrong, but damned if I’m giving in easily.
“Why do you need the money? I thought Miss Money bags was keeping you.” I’m patting myself on the back for my insults. “Daddy's cash, keeping you all.”
“Yes, I suppose you would think that. You’re so stuck in your ways. So traditional, my efforts as a stay-at-home dad were never fully appreciated.” He smooths his hair back as if he’s preening.
My jaw hits the floor. “When did we ever agree to that? Must have been in your head. I worked and my parents and I did the lion's share of childcare.” I point at him. “You played golf.”
“I was networking. Building up business connections, after my redundancy. Business. You know, that thing you can’t do.
” He’s straightening his tie. A tell. He’s uncomfortable.
He knows he’s a liar. “Get ready to sell your building to Jude Greystone and your business to us. It’s all set up. We’ll give you a good price.”
Jude Greystone? He’s in cahoots with these two. No bloody way. What a slimy piece of shit. I’m so angry at his deceit, and after he made such a song and dance about being different. Being up front. Not being a liar.
“I’ll tell you what I told him. Get lost. Nothing is for sale. Not my business, not my building. Come for me and we’ll see who ends up the worst off.” I’m matching his venom, but keeping my face straight.
He’s staring into my deadpan face. “If only you had that sort of fire when we were together. Maybe I wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere for my entertainment.”
“Out.” I point my arm towards the front of the house. “Don’t come in here again, otherwise I’ll call the police.” My face is white with rage.
He laughs. “Again with the dramatics. You’ve been attending too many of those crappy acting classes at your building. And talking of that. Carlton wants to go to indoor cricket with the boys. I said yes. Arrange that for him, would you?”
I stride away towards my front door, wrenching it open. I can’t even speak. And if he thought I would roll over and agree to everything—or even better, cry—he’s way out of his lane.
None of the boys come and wave him off. I hate fighting with him when they’re around. But as I have virtually cut all contact other than handovers off, this seems to be his new battle ground.
Not long after the divorce, he started to turn up late at night. I’m sure he thought we’d have a quickie, and then he’d go back to his new wife. I nipped that in the bud. The man had the hide of a rhino, and the brains of a caterpillar.
“I’ll get Amy to liaise over your pickups for Carlton.” He saunters past me.
I say nothing. He thinks he’s won. He hasn’t. He can sort his own kid out.
I slam the door before he’s over the threshold, and I see him jump forwards. When I move to the front window to watch him go, he waves at me from his car. I keep my arms folded over my chest. Never again will he come in this house. I need to have a chat with my boys.
The boys seem subdued for the rest of the evening. I hate that, and try to keep things cheery. It isn’t until I go to drag Nathan out of the bath that I see his tears.
“Hey, Natty, what’s the matter?”
“Will Dad take our house? I like it here. My friends are here. Cal has no friends at his house. It’s so far out.”