4. Reminders of him
CHAPTER 4
Reminders of him
Sweat runs down my temples. My hands shake as I set the laptop on the dining table for the zoom meeting with the CFOs of Loan Dolphin. Because of the travel restrictions caused by the flood of last week, the meeting was rescheduled online.
“How’s it going?” Dad calls out from the kitchen.
I glance at my phone. “Fine. Thanks, Dad.”
Amelia should be here soon. We are doing it together. Dad is only here for moral support.
An ache shoots through my abdomen, but it’s gone as fast as it comes. I sit and smoothen a hand over my belly. I didn’t mention my pregnancy to them. Maybe I should have to score some pity points. Dad’s feet slap the floorboard as he joins me in the dining. He drags his chair close to peek at my laptop. The email with the zoom invite is open on my screen. Dad rubs his shoulder against mine, his face becoming sombre. I can handle this. We will be okay.
“You know I wouldn’t mind working for you girls without pay, Cathie,” Dad murmurs. But I don’t want that. He already handles all the administrative work and customers’ complaints. Sliding a piece of hair behind my ear, he leans in. “I want to help. That’s the job of a father.”
My palm settles over his knee. I’m staring at the laptop as I reply, “If we need help, I promise I’ll ask.” Tracing the edge of the table, I turn to him. “Thanks for stopping by, Daddy.”
Dad clicks his tongue. My hand shoots up to mess up his hair, but he’s faster. He snatches my arm, twisting it a little to punish me. I groan, and he lets go. The meeting is in ninety minutes.
“Did you watch the interview?” I ask to fill the quiet. Dad’s gaze burns the side of my face, but I maintain my pose with my fingers idling on my keyboard. “Of Calum from last month.”
“Yes,” he whispers.
The question that has bugged me since the interviewer made that statement rises to my lips.
“Do you have any idea what…” I trail off as Dad looks up. Our gazes hold for a minute, and then mine lowers to my hand. I tug on the hem of my shorts. Shorts and dresses are my new best friends. But I had the good sense to put on a shirt for this meeting. I feel the back of my head, the same spot Calum’s scar should be if there’s any truth to that interviewer’s claim. “They talked about a scar. Do you know anything about it?”
“I hit him,” Dad says. The lines on his forehead blend into his skin as the corners of his lips turn up. His eyes close, so do his fists. “I hit him so hard, and he… sat there, taking it all in.”
“Why?”
“Maybe he felt bad,” he answers. He throws his head back, his shoulder rising in a shrug. We never talked about it. We’ve spent the last six months ridding ourselves of their memory and moving on. I grab my phone since my hands won’t quit shaking. Amelia texted. She will be here in thirty minutes. “I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t think he would be fucking my daughter—”
“Dad.”
Dad lets out a short, bitter laugh. I was having sex with many people. It would be pretentious of him to act ignorant. Sex was a reliever until him. Our eyes meet, and the intensity of the sadness in his blues makes me turn away. I type random words on my keyboard to hide my nerves. I guess that’s why Calum never replied to me. Dad hit him. What does it matter now?
It’s over. He has a new girlfriend.
“I hit him so hard I think I heard his skull crack. I don’t know if it was that or Dani’s scream. It still haunts me to this day,” comes from beside me. A chill races down my back. I avert my gaze before he looks up. I think I know what he’s about to say. It’s a statement only Amelia is bold enough to make. “You should tell him about his son. You owe the lad that much.”
The only thing I owe him is a slap across his cheek for leaving when things got hard. But it’s okay now. I’ve moved on. Who needs a man in your life when your father can step up to the role? We will be all right. This is how it was always meant to be.
Us. Me and Dad. It was never supposed to be me and Calum. But it was fun while it lasted.
“Do you miss being the headteacher?” I ask to change the topic. Dad chuckles. He quit his job, then we moved. Sometimes, to heal, you must completely let go of everything in your past. “You don’t have to answer, Dad.”
“I miss it, but this is fun,” he says. Working for GC is what he means. It’s not the same as being a headteacher but he has a cubicle to himself. “I get to see you almost every day.”
“Hmm,” I reply.
“I could tell him about Mace if it’s hard for you to do,” he says. I pull my laptop forward, shut the tab, and open a new one. Grabbing my hand, he squeezes. I don’t look at him. The answer is no. “Dani is right to give me the silent treatment, but they both deserve to know about Mace. We should tell them. I don’t know how we will do it, but we will find a way.”
Technically, Dad is still married to Dani, just separated since she hasn’t sent a divorce yet. But I don’t give a shit about Dani or her son, neither do I care what they deserve.
A fake smile stretches my lips. “If you mention Mace to them, I’ll run away with Mace, and you’ll never see us. You’ll have your stepson, but you won’t have your kid and grandkid.” His eyes lift to my face. I nod twice to let him know I mean every word that left my lips. He is sorry for hitting Calum. I get that. But this is not his call. “Is that what you want, Dad?”
“When did you become so vindictive?” he says to no one. When Calum broke my heart and stomped all over the broken pieces. “It’s you choice, Cathie. And your happiness matters more.”
“Good,” I quip.
His nose wrinkles and his sad smile wanes as his gaze roves over my belly. I’m not as big as other pregnant women in the third trimester, but the doctor says I’m healthy. Mace is also fine. “You will be demoted once this little man shows up. I assure you of that, young lady.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. I stand and place both hands on my waist. My stomach growls, and Dad laughs. Mace wants food. “I’m hungry, Daddy. Mace wants his grandpa to cook for him.”
Because he loves me and I’m his favourite daughter, he starts for our kitchen. I follow behind him. He opens the fridge and ransacks it for some eggs and bread while I lean on the counter, watching him. This kitchen isn’t as big as the one in Wells Spring, but it works fine.
In a few minutes, Dad has two plates of toast and scrambled eggs in his hands. He guides me to the dining, sets a plate and a glass before me. For someone nervous, I take a big bite of my lunch. A sharp pain cracks me up from inside my belly, and the toast falls to the plate. I try to breathe through the pain spearing my belly, and thankfully, it subsides to a dull ache.
“Are you okay?” Dad asks. He peers at me, one hand on my shoulder. Nodding, I force myself to take a sip from the juice. “Catherine, are you sure?”
“Yeah. I thought…” I shake my head and will every negative thought out of my mind. I’m a little over seven months gone. I can’t be contracting. Mace is due in the last week of March, and this is only the second week of February. I break a piece of my toast, scoop some egg on it, and shove the combo into my mouth to let him know I’m perfectly fine. It’s Mace being Mace, I guess. “It’s nothing. I thought I felt something. But I’m fine now. Let’s eat.”
“Cathie.”
“I’m fine, Dad.”
My fingers circle the rim of the glass. I count ten seconds, then take another sip of the pulpy juice. It has never hurt this much before. I’m mostly uncomfortable. I feel Dad’s gaze on me, so I scarf down more of the toast to have an excuse to avoid answering any of his questions.
“I’m worried for you, Cathie,” he says. His worry ignites mine. My foot drums on the floor, offbeat at first, then in a two-one rhythm. “You were kind of a complicated baby. That’s why we didn’t have others. Pregnancy took a toll on your mum. Although you look fine, I don’t want a repeat of that. If you don’t feel okay, say something. The hospital is nearby. Just talk.”
I’ve never heard this story. Mum had a scar on her belly from the operation, but that was all I knew. That and the fact I was a crybaby who made it hard for her to get any sleep at night. I place my hand over Dad’s and squeeze. I think I’m fine. The pain has subsided. I finish my juice and he empties his eggs onto my plate. I’m hungry, so I eat and eat some more.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. He reclines on his seat and folds his arms. A second later, he nods.
“What do you want for your birthday?”
“Nothing.” I push the plates aside to tackle them later. “You’ve done enough, Dad.”
Too much , and for free. He didn’t let me pay him for Mace’s crib and the other decorations in the room. He’s playing the role of Grandpa and father to my unborn son, and I loathe Calum Dissick even more. A door connects my room to Mace’s. I go in there sometimes to cry. Or wish that bastard luck before each performance. Mainly in the middle of the night, so Amelia doesn’t hear me. Her room is downstairs. We couldn’t find a house with three rooms on the same floor. In truth, I wasn’t patient. I wanted to move far away from any reminders of him.
“I did that for Mace,” Dad reminds me. Like it’s something I can ever forget. Mace’s room is what it is because of him. He grabs my elbow. “Not you. Now I’m asking you what you want. You. I’m asking about you, Catherine. I think we should do something big this year.”
There would be no need for that since I already have something big. My belly. Big and unplanned, maybe slightly unwanted. He needs to stop pushing this, and the topic of Calum.
Smiling, I mutter, “No. I don’t want anything, Dad.”
“It’s a big age, you know? Your last year as a teenager.”
“And I’ll be nineteen and pregnant. It’s nothing to celebrate,” I mutter. Dad raises his hands in surrender, and I relent. “Just be there for both of us. Don’t leave me.” Like Calum did.
“Okay,” Dad replies.
We sit in silence. When the pain sweeps in again, unannounced like the first time, I bite my tongue so hard the taste of blood fills my mouth and floods my senses.
My knuckles go white from being clenched too tight. “Dad.”
He jumps to his feet. “We are going to the doctor’s. Hold on while I go get the car, okay?”
Something wet and sticky trickles between my legs. I don’t look down until Dad is out of the house, and I hear the front door open. My phone buzzes as I push myself to my feet. Amelia is calling. We have seventy more minutes to the start of the meeting, but I doubt I can make it.
Liquid warmth rolls down my inner thighs and legs and creates a red dot on the floor. I lean on the wall for support as dizziness hits. My mind is slow to catch up, so I do nothing but stare at the dots growing on the floor.
Dad storms into the house. “Cathie?”
“In here.” Sweat beads on my forehead, and I grip the edge of the table. Dad tries to walk me to the door, but I shake my head. I’ll mess up the place. Amelia hates it when I do that. Resting my weight on him, I whisper, “Don’t panic, okay? But I think I’m bleeding. And I feel very weird, Dad.”
Once the words are out in the open, Dad’s expression changes. Reality punches me hard, and I grasp the gravity of the situation. I’m bleeding.
I. Am. Bleeding.