Chapter Twenty
Two years, three months ago
One year, nine months until Hattie’s engagement party
Finn jangled a set of house keys as they stepped out of Brighton train station, the air warm and bright around them. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until Mel clasped a hand around his to make him stop.
“Sorry,” he said, letting the keys fall back into his jeans pocket. “It’s just—don’t ask him about the past, okay?”
“No problem. I’ll steer clear of Harry, my childhood pet spider.”
He raked a hand through his hair, dodging a woman with a twin pram who was somehow also trying to juggle ice cream. “I mean it, Mel.”
Mel linked her arm through his, and the feel of her against his side settled him a little. “Finn, give me some credit. I’m not going to start asking him why he cheated on his wife, if that’s what you’re worried about. I do have some tact.”
“Right. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just I barely even see my dad and…
” He trailed off, not quite sure what he was trying to say.
They turned right at the bottom of the road, toward the line of flats where his dad lived.
You could see the pebbly shore from here, along with a glimpse of the pier, which would no doubt be packed on a day like today.
“Finn,” Mel said firmly. “I’m not going to judge you on your dad’s actions. I know you. Nothing your dad does or says is going to change that.”
He stopped walking, looking down at her.
“What?” she asked, reaching up to pat her hair a little self-consciously.
He shook his head. “It’s just…” But he couldn’t explain what it meant that she just got it. So instead he slipped his arms around her, leaning in to kiss her. The taste of her both settled him and worked him up, the way it always did.
“I love you,” he said as he pulled away.
She grinned up at him, her black hair gleaming a little in the sun. “I love you too. Now stop distracting me and let’s go meet your maker.”
He linked his fingers through hers as they walked up to the entrance of the flats. “Is that the right way to use that phrase?”
“Not really sure. Feels appropriate, though.”
He glanced down at her as he pressed the buzzer to number 7. “Did you really have a pet spider called Harry?”
She nodded somberly. “My first love. He lived under my bookcase and I tried to feed him cheese. I was so upset when he died.”
“Right. Not an actual pet, then, just a random spider you found and tried to win over with unsuitable dairy products.”
“Well, it was the closest thing to a pet I was allowed, sooo…”
His dad’s voice came through the intercom. “Come on up!” The door buzzed, and Finn held it open for Mel.
“Would you want a pet?” They’d not quite built up to talking about kids yet, but pets…He reckoned they might be able to handle it.
“Of course. One day. But it feels a bit unfair to have a pet in a London flat, doesn’t it? Especially when I’m out a lot.”
Right. Because she was set up to live in London for the foreseeable—whereas he was still moving around. “Depends on the pet, I suppose,” he mused.
“True. I bet I could fit ten Harrys under my bookcase, easy.”
“And I’m sure Priya would love that.”
Mel snorted out a laugh as Finn’s dad opened the door to number 7.
His face was a little sun-weathered, as if he’d spent too long on the Brighton beaches, and his hair was thinner than Finn remembered it being last time.
He still had the same smile, though—Finn’s smile, so he was told—and he still looked in great shape.
He clapped Finn on the back, then beamed at Mel. “The famous Melanie!”
She did a sort of curtsy, which made his dad laugh, and Finn rolled his eyes at her. She only grinned at him. He knew she was nervous—but she was hiding it well. For his sake, he knew.
His dad ushered them into his flat, which was the same as Finn remembered from when he’d last visited, over a year ago.
His dad had lived here for a couple of years—rented, not owned—and the place still screamed bachelor pad.
A sleek, modern kitchen gave way to a minimalist living room, with an entertainment center as the focal point.
There was one sofa and a glass coffee table with a book on gardening landscapes sitting there—slightly pointless given the lack of garden.
There was, however, a balcony, where two metal chairs sat looking out at the pebbly pitch, Brighton pier visible in all its glory.
“What can I get you to drink?” his dad asked, opening up the glass doors that led onto the balcony and gesturing for them to take the two seats. “Beer? Wine? G and T?”
“I’d just love a water, if that’s okay,” Mel said, to which his dad scratched his thinning head of hair—as if the concept of not having an alcoholic drink was unfathomable.
“If you’re sure,” he said with a shrug. “But I’ll bring out some beers in case, hey? It’s a beautiful day, after all.”
Finn accepted the beer his dad offered and only stopped spinning the bottle in his hands when Mel gave him a look.
His dad pulled the little table over and perched there—the three of them just about fitting on the balcony together.
And Finn had to admit, on a late summer day like today, when sunlight bounced off the waves and the sound of laughter drifted up to you, he could see why his dad had chosen to live here.
Finn let the small talk wash over him—the weather they were having, how long it had taken them to get here, the extortionate cost of train fares these days.
“So, Mel,” his dad said after a pull on his beer. “What is it that you do?”
Finn straightened as Mel shot a glance at him—and he could tell she was surprised his dad didn’t already know.
“I make jewelry,” Mel said, with a kind of shrug—something she always did, like she was trying to downplay it. Like the fact of starting her own business—a successful one at that—wasn’t something to be enormously proud of.
His dad’s brow furrowed, showing the lines in his face. He was still handsome, Finn thought, but he was now looking his age rather than the ten years younger he’d always managed to pull off through Finn’s teenage years. “Like necklaces and whatnot?”
Mel smiled. “Exactly.”
“Well, that’s very clever, isn’t it!” His dad beamed, but Finn tried not to squirm. Was that patronizing? It sounded patronizing.
“What about you?” Mel asked. “Finn said you’re a photographer?”
When Finn was growing up, his dad’s career was something Finn used to be proud of— my dad’s job is more interesting than yours . It turned out that women also tended to find the job interesting, if the number of women his dad had picked up at jobs was anything to go by.
His dad raised his bottle in a kind of toast. “I am, for my sins.”
“Do you still get to travel around a lot with it?” Mel asked. She was doing a good job of pretending she hadn’t made Finn show her the photos of his dad’s they could find online only last night—photos that included some pretty incredible shots from all corners of the world.
“Oh, I try to. I’m not quite so spry anymore, so some of the travel stuff is a bit trickier now—and they want new blood.
Or, I suppose, cheap blood.” He chortled, making a joke of it, and Mel laughed obediently.
Finn realized, too late, that he was just sitting there, watching the two of them like a gormless orange.
Mel raised her eyebrows ever so subtly and he could hear her silent reprimand.
Try to act less like this an orientation for hell, will you?
“I’m steering toward weddings these days,” his dad continued. “Good money in it.”
The irony of his father working as a wedding photographer was not lost on Finn, and Mel glanced at him, the corner of her mouth twitching. He looked away from her before he started laughing—and inwardly marveled that just one look from her could turn him from feeling awkward to amused.
His dad embarked on a story about a recent wedding he’d been working at where the groom had actually dropped the bride during their first dance, and he’d caught the moment on camera—the look of horror on the bride’s face just before she hit the floor—and the way he told it had both Mel and Finn laughing.
This was the good part about his dad—the easy way about him, the fact that you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.
So maybe he’d been wrong to stress about this—maybe he’d been overdramatic, putting off the introduction for so long.
“Anyway,” his dad finished. “Weddings for now, at least. And it still means I can move around—there are weddings in all parts of the world, after all. I don’t like staying in one place too long,” he said, winking at Mel. “Itchy feet—like Finn.”
“But you’ve settled in Brighton,” Finn said, more pointedly than was perhaps necessary.
His dad shrugged. “For now, yes.”
It sat between them—and Finn wasn’t sure why, or why he felt defensive about it. He took a breath, tried to shake off the feeling. “How’s Maria, Dad?”
His dad grimaced. “Oh, I haven’t spoken to her in a while. She thought we should be settling down—at our age!” He shook his head as if the idea was preposterous. “At some point you just get too old for that.”
Finn rolled his eyes, trying to make a joke of it, and his dad leaned back on his palms. “So where are you off to next, Finn? Got the next project all lined up?”
“Not sure yet,” Finn hedged. He did his best not to look at Mel as he spoke, sure that she would read something in his expression. The truth was that he had an idea of where he’d like to be next—had even started applying for proper adult jobs—but he hadn’t actually run it past Mel, yet.
“Have you got any exciting travels planned next, Andrew?” Mel asked—and her tone was bright, like she’d sensed a need to change the subject.
“I’m heading to Italy in a couple of weeks.” He rubbed his hands together. “Can’t wait for all the pizza.”
“We went to Tuscany recently,” Mel said, smiling.
“Oh yes, I remember—Finn told me.”
Another brief glance from Mel.