Chapter Forty-Five
That weekend, I took the train to see Dad and Alex.
Since Jacob’s visit, I’d started writing a message to Olly more or less a hundred times, and each time I had discarded the draft.
Even typing ‘Hey!’ or ‘How are you?’ seemed awkward, loaded, both too formal and too casual considering everything that had happened between us.
Ironically, considering how easily we had communicated in the past, firing off messages left, right and centre, I was now completely unable to find the right words or identify the right approach.
I’d loved the unfiltered way we had spoken to each other, making each other laugh, but typing ‘Hey Olly, are you in love with me?’ which I wouldn’t have thought twice about before (imagining him laughing his ass off when receiving it) now seemed ridiculously awkward.
That ship has sailed, I convinced myself.
As I sat, watching the London suburbs pass the train window in a spring-lit blur, I acknowledged how strange it had felt, resigning from EKArts, without discussing it with him and making jokes about it.
Somehow, Olly had become the person I’d vented to and laughed with, my everyday partner in crime.
I miss him, I thought, the ache in my chest surprising me.
It was all Jacob’s fault, turning up on my doorstep with his perfect raised eyebrows and deep concern for the course of true love.
My thoughts went something like: I don’t want Olly to be sad.
I want to talk to Olly about being sad. I’m sad.
I may just be a tiny little bit in love with him.
A very tiny bit: in fact, it probably isn’t love, it’s infatuation.
An infatuation that will evaporate like mist over the Venetian lagoon.
Don’t think about Venice, Lizzy. That bedroom in Venice.
That feeling. Had I ever felt that. Much.
Pleasure? No, no, I hadn’t. That much pleasure, and that much emotional connection?
Again, a definite no. Temporary madness, possibly I was drunk, high on…
tiredness? I was not in love with him. It was infatuation; worse, lust. By Christmas, I wouldn’t even remember his name.
I should think of him as a pin-up, an unattainable being like a pop star.
Olly as a pop star (laughs). Olly hurting. No. No.
My phone pinged and I snatched it up. Dad, checking when I was going to arrive. I was due to have lunch at The Rowans, then we would visit Alex. He asked, ‘Have you ordered Aubergine?’ which I was puzzled about, until he wrote ‘Sorry, autocorrect. Uber.’
As it happened, I hadn’t. Instead, I took a local taxi, driven by a man called Steve.
Steve was very smiley, until the moment when another car cut him up and he turned into a steaming madman with a really inventive range of insults to hand.
Steve put Jacob’s wrath into the shade; he was, without a doubt, the angriest person I’d ever met.
He didn’t draw breath between shouting insults at other drivers until we pulled up at The Rowans and he turned to take my payment with an angelic smile.
My hands were practically in cramp from how hard I’d been clinging to the seat.
‘Have a really excellent day, love,’ he said, as I tipped him.
I arrived to find Dad had already ordered my lunch for me, having been a bit anxious that we might be waiting for a while if an avalanche of lunch orders came in from fellow residents.
Everyone here ate early, he explained. He’d chosen quiche with potatoes, green beans and carrots, and was hovering by a table for two, far from his usual eating spot.
‘It’s best if we eat on our own table,’ he said.
‘I normally sit on a six-place one, but everyone has their own place. I don’t want to disturb things.
’ He gave me a wink. Breakfast wars were still a thing, apparently.
One Sunday, pancakes had been made and there had practically been a riot.
We chatted about superficial things over lunch. I waited until we had coffee, and we were sitting in one of the communal reception rooms, the doors open onto the garden, before I felt I could broach my news.
‘Dad?’ I said, still hesitant.
He looked up, smiled, then a frown crossed his brow. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Lizzy. I forgot to tell you – Alex doesn’t want us to visit. Jenna says he’s particularly cross today. He’s thrown a few punches, I’m sorry to say. We can FaceTime him at three, if you want to say hello to him.’
‘Right,’ I said, feeling a pang of disappointment. I wasn’t offended – offence didn’t exist in Alex’s world. He knew what he wanted, and sometimes it wasn’t you.
‘Anyway,’ said Dad. ‘What were you saying?’
I cleared my throat, trying to push through my awkwardness.
I hadn’t realised how hard this would be: how much my work had validated me, that unconsciously I was always demonstrating to my father how valuable I was, how hardworking.
How much, even though I was past thirty, I wanted his approval.
‘I just wanted to let you know I’ve left my job, Dad,’ I said.
His mouth opened in an ‘o’ of surprise. ‘Oh dear. Are you all right?’
‘Yes. It was my choice.’
He sat back in his chair, looking bewildered.
‘Don’t panic,’ I continued, valiantly. ‘I’ve been putting money aside over the years for emergencies.
Not that this is an emergency!’ I was gabbling.
‘But it’s back-up. I’m just taking stock, and I’ll get a new job soon.
Also, I thought I might move this way? Flats are cheaper here.
As you know, anywhere is cheaper than London.
And I’d like to be closer to you both.’ I knew my faux-bright tone must have sounded jarring.
My father nodded. ‘Right,’ he said quietly, taking a sip from his coffee cup and putting it down on the table next to him.
‘So you’re okay with that?’ I said, my voice as uncertain as that of a teenager. The teenager I always was, in some ways, around my dad.
He glanced up at me. ‘You don’t need my permission, love.’
‘You’re not worried?’ I said.
He gave a little laugh. ‘Do I need to be?’ He hesitated, clasping his hands, eyes dipping to the floor. ‘Will you be able to help us, still?’
I saw how much he hated asking. He was a proud man; I knew that he couldn’t reconcile his self-image as a self-sufficient person with the administrative and financial help I gave him and Alex. How he tidied it away in his mind as something small, insignificant.
I had a role to play in this, too, and I played it perfectly, even now. ‘Yes,’ I said instinctively. ‘I’ll find a way.’
‘Lizzy.’ Dad’s voice was gentle. ‘I know I rely on you. Too much, sometimes. But I’m sure things will be fine. You’ve always worked everything out before.’
I felt a little fall in my chest. Yes, I thought.
I always have. I always will. But now, just for a moment, I didn’t want it to be true.
I wanted to be taken care of. But Dad needed me.
He needed me to protect him, never more so than now.
There was a kind of innocence in his denial of the world, a bewilderment when a problem occurred.
Yes, I’d been forced to be the practical one.
But that was because I had it in me, just like Mum had.
I was strong enough to deal with things. It was part blessing, part curse.
I watched him select a biscuit from a plate by his cup, his bright blue eyes taking in the details as he made the choice, and I felt a rush of love and protectiveness towards him.
I knew the serious part of our conversation was over; he was ready to put it away, it was more than he could cope with.
We were all just doing our best, after all.
He offered me the plate and I took a Jaffa cake.
‘Thanks,’ I said, taking a bite. ‘Is it a cake, or a biscuit? That’s what I want to know.’
‘A cake, obviously. Unlike this.’ Dad showed me his own choice, a chocolate Hob Nob. ‘Now, did I tell you about my excursion to the golf club the other day?’