Chapter 52
Paradise – a month later.
“Congratulations, Mr. Ward.”
“Thanks.” I hang up, feeling an odd sense of loss and gain. Sadness and happiness. Guilt and inculpability. That’s it. It’s gone. The contracts signed, no going back. I blow out my cheeks and stand, the creak of my bones and pull on my muscles still there, but now milder.
I walk to the bedroom, standing on the threshold, just watching her for a while. There’s definitely a belly now. And she’s more beautiful by the day. I leave her to sleep, going to the kitchen. I pull the paperwork from the drawer and set it on the counter, answering a call as I go to the fridge. “Dad,” I say, pulling out a basket of strawberries.
“My boy, we’re at the marina. Do you need me to collect anything before we come over later?”
“I’ve got it all covered, thanks, Dad,” I say, biting into a strawberry and going out onto the veranda, seeing a few people on the beach getting things ready. “Is Mum okay?”
“She’s wonderful,” he says, sounding blissful, and I smile, but it’s sad. My mum’s come back to life with me. Her eyes don’t look so old, her face is somehow lighter. The guilt remains. “Have you told Ava yet?” Dad asks.
“Not yet. I just took the call. Contracts are signed.” Which means my bank balance will soon explode. “I’ll tell her when she wakes up.” I wander back into the kitchen, finishing my strawberry.
Dad chuckles. “I remember when your mother was expecting you and Jake,” he says, and I stop, resting my arse on the counter. “She was asleep ninety percent of her day.”
I smile.
“And then awake for ninety percent when you both arrived.”
I laugh lightly. “It’s going to be full-on.”
“Oh, you’ll be okay. Besides, you have me and your mother, and Ava’s parents too. And friends and John.”
My heart swells. “We do,” I agree. “Listen, Dad, I’ve had some money sent to your account.”
“What?”
I can sense it, the unease. But he and Mum should be enjoying their later years, doing whatever the fuck they want, and I have more money than I know what to do with. More on the way. “I’ve sent some money?—”
“I don’t want any money, Jesse,” he says, sounding stern.
I roll my eyes. “Tough.” He doesn’t see it as my money. He sees it as Carmichael’s. “It’s nonnegotiable, and I’ll be pissed if you don’t blow it on extravagant, really unnecessary luxuries.”
He sighs.
“Dad, I’ve made more money in the last sixteen years than I could spend in ten lifetimes. Something good has to come out of everything that’s happened.”
“You have,” he says. “You’ve come back to us.”
“I have. And I became really rich while I was gone.”
He chuckles, and an easy silence falls between us. “You know, Jesse, I don’t know what it was that drove me and my brother apart,” he says quietly. “But it wasn’t that place. It was difficult even before The Manor.”
I nod to myself, taking another strawberry. I feel like Dad and Carmichael’s relationship may have been similar to Jake’s and mine. One golden boy and one rebel. Dad and Jake were the golden boys, Carmichael and I were the rebels. And that wasn’t on Dad and Jake. That was on us. We chose our paths. I’m just so fucking grateful mine eventually led back to my family. Carmichael’s path led him to an early, tragic death. But I’ve finally accepted that that’s not solely on my head. I have to let go of the guilt. And now, I can finally start. “Go buy Mum something nice, Dad,” I say. “Can’t wait to see you later.”
“You too,” he replies gently. “Love you, son.”
He can’t say it enough. I know how he feels. The desperation for someone to know how much they mean to another. I know how much I mean to him. Finally. I hang up and sigh, a happy, contented sigh, as I put the strawberries back in the fridge and head for the bathroom to take a shower, taking my phone with me in case someone else rings and Ava gets suspicious. She’s still sleeping when I pass through the bedroom. I slip the paperwork into the bedside table and go to the bathroom, flipping the shower on. My mobile rings as I’m placing it down by the sink, and I still, staring at the Scotland number.
I breathe in, staring at it ringing. Can I?
I bite my lip, answering. “Alan,” I say, hiding the surprise and trepidation from my voice.
“Jesse,” he breathes. “How are you?”
I look down at my stomach. “I’m well,” I answer, not feeling the need to inflict anymore anguish and guilt on him. “How are you?”
“Well,” he replies, not achieving what I have. He sounds completely overcome. “I...” An uncomfortable silence descends, and it’s absolutely not what I want or need. “I’m?—”
“Alan, you don’t need to?—”
“She’s—”
“I don’t want to talk about Lauren,” I say, feeling harsh, but he doesn’t need to call me to justify or tell me where she is or what’s happened to her. I know. I listened. And then I pushed it out of my mind and went back to my wife to carry on with my life. “Are you okay?” I ask. I only care how they are.
“I am,” he breathes, almost in relief. He thought he owed me more than he does. “I’m okay.”
“I’m glad.”
There’s an awkward silence again, and I honestly don’t know what else to say. So I say nothing and hope he does.
“I’m glad you’ve found happiness, Jesse,” he says softly. “You deserve to be happy.”
“That means a lot, Alan,” I reply, hiding my surprise well. “Thank you.”
“Well, I’ll be going then.”
“Take care.”
“You too.”
I hang up and lower to the toilet seat. I deserve to be happy. I think I’m slowly getting my head around that.