Chapter 4
Abbie and Charley permitted me to check my emails on the way home. Thankfully, there was nothing drastic that needed my attention, and Mr. Jarvis had, surprisingly, blessed me with only one brief note apologising for overreacting this morning. Rest assured, he wouldn’t apologise if he hadn’t seen for himself the market sitting steady all day and close out looking more positive than when it opened. Panic over.
As Abbie pulls into my parents’ street, I exhale, feeling the suffocation looming. I reach over and drop a kiss onto her cheek. “Thank you for today, it’s been so lovely.”
She smiles softly, sensing the despondency creeping into my bones. Because no thirty-year-old woman wants to be calling their parents’ house home. “You know you could come stay with me,” she says for the hundredth time since I left Nick. But I know she’s just being polite. Her apartment is on the smaller side of tiny, and I’d drive her nuts with the endless files I bring home from work.
“I know,” I say, returning her smile.
“Or me,” Charley chirps, grinning. “You can bunk with Ena.”
I laugh. I love Charley’s babies ... once a week, when I pop in to make myself a cup of tea while she flaps around the kitchen clearing up toys, food, and clothes on repeat.
“This isn’t a permanent arrangement. I’m registered with all the agents, so I’ll be the first to know if something comes up in my price range.” I love my parents, of course, but living with them? Facing my father’s silent displeasure every day? I tolerate it, since they’re helping me out massively, but as soon as something comes up, I’m out of there. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hop out and wave as Abbie honks her horn, driving off.
Letting myself in, I drop my bag at the bottom of the stairs and kick my shoes off, following the sound of Mum in the kitchen. I walk in and find Dad at the table with the Financial Times spread out, and Mum at the stove stirring a pot of something. Soup, by the smell of it. Leek and potato if I’m not mistaken.
“Smells good,” I say, as Dad looks up over his glasses, smiling.
“Darling.” He ushers me toward him with one hand, taking his glasses off with the other. “How is it the first time I’ve seen you today when it’s your birthday?”
I smile as I bend, letting him kiss my cheek. “You were still snoring when I left this morning.”
He snorts his disgust. “The only person who snores around here is your mother.”
“Dennis!” Mum gasps, outraged. “I do not snore.”
Dad winks and pulls me closer. “It’s getting worse,” he whispers. “Heavy breathing, she says. How was your spa day?”
Not what I expected. “Lovely.”
“Did you stop off at work on your way home?” he asks, looking up and down my dress.
“No, I stopped off on the way. I had a panicked client go into meltdown because the FTSE 100 opened on the wrong side of okay.”
His face goes straight back into his paper, and I roll my eyes. God forbid I talk about my career with my father. So I go to Mum, and she holds out her spoon, offering me a taste.
“Hmmm,” I hum, wiping the corner of my lip.
“More seasoning?” she asks.
“It’s perfect.” I pick up the bread knife and start slicing the fresh loaf. “How was your day at Abbie’s shop?”
“Oh, wonderful,” she chirps. “I never knew working could be so much fun.” Looking out the corner of my eye, I see her nose scrunch.
I gasp dramatically. “So not only did you do a day’s work, you enjoyed it?” I look over my shoulder to Dad, who still has his face buried in his newspaper. “Did you hear that, Dad? Mum went to work and actually enjoyed it. Outrageous.”
“What, darling?” he asks, looking up with high, telling brows, as Mum giggles again.
“Nothing,” I muse. He heard me. “What else is cooking?” I ask, piling the bread in the basket and opening the oven.
“Lamb hotpot. Your grandpa’s favourite.”
I close the oven. “Grandpa and Grandma are coming?”
“They’re here. In the lounge in their usual spots.” Of course they are. They’re always here. I head for the lounge to see them. “And Clark will be here soon with Rachel,” Mum calls.
I stop at the door, looking back. “A family dinner?” I ask. No one mentioned a family dinner.
“It’s your thirtieth!” Mum reminds me. “Of course we’re having a family dinner.”
I force a smile. “Wonderful.” I wanted to eat and go to my room to clear my inbox. Tomorrow is already going to be long. God damn it.
I carry on to the lounge and find Grandpa in his chair on one side of the fire, Grandma in hers on the other side. As always, he too has his face buried in the Financial Times , keeping himself in the know, despite having retired long before Dad supposedly retired as well. Grandma’s knitting needles are going like the clappers. “Evening, you two.”
“The birthday girl!” Grandpa snaps his paper shut and tries to stand.
“Grandpa, stay,” I order, hurrying over.
“I’m not a dog, Amelia Gracie,” he grumbles, ignoring me and creaking up. “And I still have use of all bodily functions.”
“Except your bladder,” Grandma says quietly and sardonically, making me laugh.
“What did she say?” Grandpa asks.
“Nothing. Sit down.” I help him back to the chair and go to Grandma. “What are you knitting?”
“A scarf for your father.” She beckons me into her ample bosom and squishes me. “Happy birthday, Grand Girl.”
“Thanks, Grandma.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about you and Nick. Such a lovely boy.”
I know she’s sorry. She’s told me every time I’ve seen her.
“Such a shame,” Grandpa adds before going back to his paper. “Such a lovely boy.”
“It was for the best.”
“Says who?” Dad asks, entering.
I sigh, not wanting to rehash this again. “Me,” I say with certainty. “I say, Dad.”
He hums, looking most unconvinced, but thankfully, the front door opens, and I hear Clark calling out his arrival, saving me from my daily reminder of my questionable choices.
“Oh look, Clark and Rachel are here.” I give Dad a wide smile and go to the entrance hall to find my younger brother. “Thank you,” I breathe, throwing my arms around him.
“For what?” he asks, laughing.
“Dad was about to launch into all the reasons why I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
He huffs, pulling away. “Again?”
“Yeah.”
“Happy birthday.” Clark grins. “Shit, this means I’m only two years away from the big three zero.”
“Thanks.” I move on to Rachel, his fiancée, who’s another reminder that I’m doing things all wrong. “Good to see you.”
“Happy birthday.” She hugs me.
“Thanks. How are the plans coming along?”
Rachel breathes out her exasperation. “It’s nearly a part-time job.” Which is fine because she only works part-time in a chemist after happily slashing her hours when Clark asked her to be his wife, and therefore the mother of his babies, and, therefore, when the time comes—and I don’t expect it to be long—a stay-at-home mum. Rachel won’t be working for much longer.
“Four weeks,” she confirms, letting Clark pull her into the lounge to say hello to our grandparents. I follow and take a seat on the couch.
“Clark, come.” Grandpa pats the arm of his chair for him to sit.
“He’s not a dog, Grandpa.”
“What do you make of this nonsense?” Grandpa points at the paper as Dad joins them, ignoring me. The boys doing boys things. I don’t bother finding out what nonsense Grandpa is talking about. I’ve long learned when my input is welcome. Like, never when it comes to business. I gaze toward the kitchen. That’s where I should be, and it’s where Rachel just went, and where Grandma would be if Mum would let her.
So I pull my phone out and start working my way through my emails. I also check when I last heard from Tilda Spector. Six weeks. I hum to myself, deciding I can wait until the conference next week to talk to her.
“Hey,” Clark says, dropping to the couch beside me.
“Done with boys’ talk?” I ask with a hint of a smirk.
“Stop it.” He nudges me in the arm. “Why don’t you stop being so stubborn and let me talk to him?”
“Let you try to convince our father that I’m capable of running the family financial business with you?” Clark pouts, and I roll my eyes. “It’s fine.” That’s a lie. “I’m happy at LB&B.” Truth. “And I couldn’t stand Dad breathing down my neck over every decision I made. And, with respect, have you as my boss?”
“I’m a good boss.”
“Maybe, but you shouldn’t be my boss.” Because I’m the eldest child. And yet because I’m a girl and our father’s a dinosaur, I’ve been sidestepped for my younger brother. I don’t hold it against Clark. He’s a good brother.
“So how’s business?” he asks.
“Good. Don’t let Dad hear you asking me that.” I reach over and kiss his cheek. “I better go help Mum in the kitchen before the world ends and men replace women at the stove.”
“Ha ha,” he drones, kicking me up the backside as I walk away. I don’t make it to the kitchen, the front door stopping me.
“Are we expecting someone else?” I call, frowning as I divert.
“What, darling?” Dad calls.
“Who’s at the door?” I swing it open and come face-to-face with my ex. “Fuck,” I breathe. “Nick, what are you doing here?”
He holds up a small, gift-wrapped box, smiling awkwardly. “Happy birthday,” he says, as if that explains his visit. I suppose it should, but it doesn’t. I’ve not been answering his calls, his messages. Not out of spite or malice, but because I don’t know what to say to him. Like now, as I keep him on the doorstep of my parents’ house. He looks well, his usual clean-cut, suited self, his hair, as always, precisely styled, his face smooth. He’s a handsome guy, in an Oxford prep kinda way.
“Who is it, darling?” Dad asks from behind me, muscling his way between me and the door. “Nick,” he chimes, happy. Of course he’s happy. “What a lovely surprise!”
Nick lets loose a small frown as he offers a hand, and I know, I just fucking know, this is my father’s doing. “Hi, Dennis,” he murmurs.
“Come in, come in. Jenn, you’ll never guess who’s stopped by.” Dad hauls my ex into the house and shuts the door.
“Bet she can,” I grumble, scowling at Dad’s back.
“I thought you knew,” Nick says quietly, at the mercy of my father’s over-the-top hospitality.
I breathe out and shake my head, waving a flippant hand. It’s not Nick’s fault my father’s a deviant dinosaur.
“Mum, Dad, Clark, Rachel!” Dad sings. “Guess who’s here?”
“I’m going to fucking kill him,” I say to Clark when he comes to see what all the fuss is about.
“Oh,” he whispers, holding a hand up in an embarrassed hello to Nick. “Well, this is awkward.”
“Why can’t he let me live my own life?” I march into the kitchen while Dad directs Nick into the lounge to say hello to Grandpa and Grandma. “Mum,” I cry on a hiss, pointing in the general direction of the lounge. “He’s interfering again.”
“Oh, darling, he just wants what’s best for you.”
“He has no idea what’s best for me.” I drop my head back and look at the ceiling as Clark passes and gives my shoulder a sympathetic, pointless rub.
“Now come on,” Mum says, falling into peacekeeping mode. “You should be all Zen after your day at the spa.”
“I was very Zen until Dad invited my ex to dinner.” The conniving arse. “Why can’t he keep his nose out?”
“He needs something to do since he retired,” Clark quips. I glare at him, and he’s quick to apologise.
“Why do we all talk about Dad’s retirement when he’s not actually retired?” He’s in the office now as much as he was when he wasn’t retired.
Taking his glass of water, Clark retreats to the lounge.
“Come.” Mum grabs the cutlery she reserves for special dinners. “Help me set the table.”
Irritated, I snatch one of her endless aprons down off the hook and get it on, grabbing the place mats while Rachel gets the fancy crockery. All the women doing women things. I go to the dining room off the lounge and start laying the table, one ear on Rachel and Mum chatting about the upcoming wedding, my other on the men in the lounge talking about the stock market. It’s going to be a long evening.
And it is. Long and painful. I don’t say much, as everyone happily ignores the fact that this is so very wrong, except Grandma, who definitely keeps checking on me, smiling softly. Nick apologises every chance he gets, and I tell him not to worry. I give all my attention to Grandma, who wants to hear about my day at the spa.
“We didn’t have spas in my day, Grand Girl. The only massage you could get was when you rode the rickety old bus into town going over all the cobbles.”
I laugh and watch her hands shake as she tries to cut into a carrot. “Want me to do that for you, Grandma?”
She gives up and sighs, and Grandpa is quick to give her arm a reassuring pat, noticing her trembles. “Knitting is becoming trickier,” she says. “I keep dropping my stitches.”
“Then you should slow those needles down.” I chop up everything on the plate that needs chopping and hand back her knife and fork. “There.”
“Thank you, Grand Girl.” She leans in. “Now, where was this spa?” she whispers, obviously trying to keep me talking so I’m not uncomfortable. She has no idea.
“Oxfordshire,” I whisper back, observing Dad and Nick chatting.
“All that way for a spa?”
“It’s called Arlington Hall. Very posh.” I scrunch my nose. “There was a helicopter pad too.”
“Oh, I say. Fancy.”
“Very. I had a hydrating aromatherapy body wrap.” Lucky body wrapper. I shudder in my seat. Feel the heat as well as I felt it in the steam room. The Adonis. Have dinner with me. I look up at my ex. Clean cut. Pruned. Boring. Nothing like the man at Arlington Hall.
Nick smiles and sets down his knife and fork, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “That was delicious, Jenn,” he says, holding up his glass of red. “Happy birthday, Amelia.”
Everyone raises their glass and chants a happy birthday, and I smile, sinking into my seat. “Thank you.”
“Here.” Nick pushes the little box toward me. Oh God, why would he? I die a thousand deaths. Is he expecting me to open it in front of everyone? I feel terrible enough, without this added layer to my guilt. “I got it a few months ago,” he explains. “Before we ... well, before you left.”
I look up through my lashes from the box to Nick. “You shouldn’t have.”
He shrugs. “It’s nonreturnable, so I thought you may as well have it.”
I stare at the box. Just stare.
“Open it then,” Dad says, excited. “Kill our curiosity.”
I want to kill you, dear Father. Taking the box, I pull the paper off and flip the lid open. And inhale.
“I went back and got it,” he says. “You obviously loved it.”
I stare down at the gold bracelet I saw in an antique store in Camden a few months ago when Nick and I were walking back to our apartment after dinner with colleagues.
“Nick,” I breathe. I can’t accept this. I also don’t want to humiliate him. Everyone’s eyes move between us, and I wish the floor would open and swallow me whole.
“What a thoughtful gift.” Dad smiles broadly. I want to wipe it off. “Isn’t it, Jenn?”
“Very thoughtful,” Mum says quietly, avoiding my eyes.
Take the gift. Just take it and return it after this whole horror movie is finished and I don’t have an audience. So I smile and take the bracelet out of the box, putting it on my wrist. I could quite honestly slap the smile off my father’s face. “Thank you, Nick.” The wretched guilt enflames.
“Well done,” Clark whispers from beside me, as if commending me for my restraint.
“Amelia went to a spa today!” Grandma blurts. God love her. She might be nearly ninety, but she’s got every sense, including her Tension Sensor. I smile across at her as I fiddle with the bracelet. “What was it called again, Grand Girl? Fancy, it was.”
“Arlington Hall,” I murmur.
“Arlington?” Nick questions, interested.
“Yes, have you heard of it?”
“Hasn’t everyone? Why would you go all the way to Oxfordshire for a spa day?”
“Abbie arranged it,” I explain. “It was some kind of special deal. She got it for a steal.”
“A special deal at Arlington?” Nick laughs. “It was in The Times top hotels in England. I doubt they would need to offer special deals.”
I tilt my head at him. Why’s he so concerned by where I went for my birthday spa and how much it cost? “It was a fifth-anniversary promotion.”
“Very fancy!” Grandma sings.
“And what does one do at a spa day?” Grandpa asks, looking truly intrigued.
“One relaxes and unwinds, Grandpa.” I smile across at him, my thoughts invaded by what was really special about Arlington Hall. More special than the phenomenal mansion and grounds. And I definitely didn’t relax or unwind. Come to dinner with me.
“I might have myself a spa day,” Grandma declares.
“Why on earth do you need to relax and unwind?” Dad asks.
“A break from you Lazenby boys.” She gives the men each a moment of her old eyes, an undetectable smirk lifting the corner of her lips. Each of them snort their disgust.
“I should be going.” Nick stands. Thank God.
I jump up, happy to see him out. “Thank you for coming,” I say as he makes his way around the table saying his goodbyes. “I’ll see you out.”
I leave the dining room, Nick following, and open the door for him. “I didn’t mean to make your birthday so awkward. I thought you knew I was coming. If you had answered my calls, we may have figured out what your dad was up to.”
I ignore his little dig about the calls. “Yeah, I’m sorry about his underhanded tactics.”
“Does that mean there’s still no chance?”
I shoot him a surprised look. “Nick ...” I whisper, so tired of rehashing the same thing over and over. “We ...” I flap a useless hand between us. “You and I ...”
“Amelia, I only mentioned the words marriage and baby , and you were gone like a rocket.”
“Well, that’s not true, is it?” I laugh lightly. It’s a laugh of disbelief. “You mentioned it many times.” I frown. “You told me I owed you some kind of commitment, Nick.”
“Is that wrong? To want all that with you?”
Probably not, but to say I owed him? It gave me the instant ick. “What brought it on?” I ask. “You’d never given any hints you wanted that before, and suddenly it’s all you talked about.”
He shrugs. “We’re not getting any younger.”
Ouch. “But you know how much my career means to me. I’m working toward partner, Nick. You know that.”
He moves in and crowds me. I’m instantly suffocating again. “Amelia, come on. You could go back to work after a baby if you really wanted to.”
If I really wanted to? What I really want is to have a career and not be judged. I want to have babies when I want to have babies. If I ever want to. I might not. I don’t know. And that’s the point. My pace. I want to do life at my pace.
“No.” I place my palm on Nick’s chest and push him back. “I don’t want to have a baby.” That’s not entirely true. I just don’t want to now. Or is it more that I can’t see my forever with Nick? I inwardly recoil at the unexpected direction of my thoughts. I also consider for the first time that he hit me with marriage and babies not long after I announced I was shooting for partner. Did my ambitions scare him?
Nick sighs and backs out, but something tells me his withdrawal isn’t a submission.
“Take care, Nick.” I close the door and walk back into the kitchen. Dad’s placing some dishes by the sink. I don’t make any snide remarks about him doing a woman’s work. “You have to stop this.”
His hands pause on the dishes momentarily. “Stop what?”
“Interfering.”
“Let’s not do this now.” Mum hands me a tea towel.
I take it, stopping myself from snatching it, and swipe a plate off the drainer, starting to roughly dry it.
“I’m not interfering,” Dad says, going to the fridge and pulling out a pot of cream. “Just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help, Dad.” I place the plate down and take another. “I’m happy.” Or I would be if Dad stopped with his kind of help .
“You don’t need my help?” he asks, his voice suddenly an angry whisper. “Then tell me, Amelia, who is providing your accommodation right now because you decided to walk out on a perfectly good relationship and leave yourself homeless?”
My jaw rolls. I could hardly end the relationship and ask Nick to leave the apartment, could I? “Dad—”
“Now, now,” Mum blurts out, getting herself in a flap, wanting to avoid the conflict.
Once again guilt rages inside. I’m usually so controlled around my father and his prehistoric ways. Have learned to keep my mouth shut to keep the peace and avoid fallout. There’s just no point trying to make him see. He’s unmovable. But today? I don’t know. Maybe it’s Nick showing up. Thanks, Dad.
“What was the point in letting me go to university?” I ask. “If you had no intention of allowing me the opportunity to progress in the family business, what was the point?”
Dad casts a look Mum’s way, and I know in this moment that it was Mum’s doing. She talked him round. “I thought it was a phase,” he mutters.
“You thought my hopes and dreams were a phase?” I ask, stunned.
“Maybe they still are.”
“What, you mean until I realise my true vocation in life is to marry and breed?” How the hell I’m talking so quietly and calmly, I don’t know.
“Amelia, come on,” Mum implores.
“No, Mum. Enough.”
“You’re punishing me because I gave the business to Clark, aren’t you?” Dad says. “That’s what this is all about.”
“And you’re punishing me for wanting to have a career. For not wanting to have babies and be a housewife.”
“What’s wrong with that? Look at your mother. She’s very happy!”
I actually do look at my mother. Yes, I know she’s happy. So when she glances at Dad with an indignant expression, I’m more than surprised.
“Actually”—Mum’s body lifts at the shoulders—“after today, working at Abbie’s florist, I realise that I might have missed out on something.”
“What?” Dad gasps, looking betrayed. “Haven’t I taken care of you? Provided? Loved you?”
“Of course you have, but, you know, I’m just saying a woman can want more than that.”
Dad, God love that clueless man, is so injured. “I’ve been a good husband.”
“An amazing husband,” Mum rushes to reassure him.
“And a good father.” He looks at me now, and damn it, I can’t refute that. He’s an amazing father. Kind, generous, loving. And supportive ... if you’re the right sex doing the right thing. “Haven’t I?” he asks quietly.
I sigh. “You’re a good father, Dad.”
“And I’ll be an amazing grandfather too.”
I drop my head back. “Undoubtedly.”
“So make us grandparents, Amelia. We need a new generation of Lazenbys to take over what your grandpa and I worked so hard to build.”
Better just make sure we have boys. “I’m not ready to be a mum, Dad. I have other things I want to do.”
“For the love of God,” he breathes. “I’ve had enough of this madness.” He swipes up his Financial Times and escapes, giving Mum an accusing glare as he goes.
“I think I should move out,” I say quietly.