Chapter Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
When I arrive home in the middle of the night, the air is noticeably cooler in England.
I decide to watch Pride and Prejudice, the Keira Knightly version, obviously – mostly so that I can pine after Matthew Macfadyen and his sexy sideburns – but end up falling asleep there on the sofa, only woken again by the morning light pouring through my open blinds.
I take a shower and then make myself a coffee, contemplating what would be best to do with my final day of annual leave when I see a message from Dad asking me to call him when I get a moment.
He answers on the first ring. “Hello, darling.”
I smile but hearing his voice makes me wobble. A tiny part of me wants to tell him everything, to reveal all the messy feelings that are making my head and heart ache. And yet, I know I never will. Because it’s not who we are, even if I want it to be. “Hey, Dad.”
“How was your holiday? Millie was sharing the photos with me.”
“It was…” I take a steadying breath. “…like a dream.”
“You deserve it. I know you don’t tell me anything because you’re worried this old man won’t be able to handle it but I’m not stupid. You’ve had a tough time. And you needed a break.”
I try to brush it off. “Yes, old man. It doesn’t stop you from being nosey though. What’s this call really about?”
He clears his throat and takes a moment to find the words. “Well… Since you asked. I’ve been looking for my cufflinks.”
I make a face, not that he can see it. “And?”
“And I can’t find them anywhere.” He sounds flustered and I wonder how long he’s been sat on this. Probably not wanting to interrupt my time away.
“Dad, did you call me to help you find your cufflinks in your own home?” I ask, trying not to laugh at him.
“Yes, yes, I know. I’m useless. But I have a thing. And I need them.”
“A thing?” I press.
“Yes.”
“What thing?”
He rattles out an irritated sigh. “If you must know, I have a date.”
I bite my lip. I almost play with him some more, but I can feel how hard this is for him to share with me. And I understand, because it’s hard for me too.
“That’s great, Dad,” I say instead, a tear escaping my eye.
I blink it away because I don’t want him to hear it in my voice. Something about knowing he’s ok with moving on and trying to be happy, finally, after all these years, overwhelms me.
“They’re in the shoebox box under your bed,” I say eventually.
“Well, why would they be there?” he says, gruffly.
I laugh. “You put them there, silly man.”
“Never. This was one of you four messing with me.”
“Alright, alright. Yes. We tidied up and organised your house on purpose just to make you mad.”
I listen to him rattling around his room until he finds the ones he’s after and thanks me. “You’ll come for dinner at the weekend, won’t you? I’m going to do a barbecue. It would be nice if you could all be there to meet Sandra.”
“Oh, she has a name!” I say, knowing it will wind him up.
“She’s very nervous. You’ll tell the girls, won’t you?”
He means he wants me to inform my sisters of his news and it’s so second nature to me now I can’t help but agree because I just want him to be happy, even if it does mean taking on some extra baggage to see it. It’s not like I have a whole lot else to do.
I agree to his terms, begging him to make a salad so that his new girlfriend doesn’t think he only eats red meat and baked beans (he does) and then say farewell so I can crack on with the rest of my day.
After the call, in a weirdly high mood, I head to the seaside, taking a long blustery stroll down to the Marina and back.
I almost pop into a shop on the seafront before remembering I’m almost definitely skint until payday.
Sighing, I open my banking app to check my financial situation and nearly walk straight into someone going the opposite way.
The number showing on my screen can’t be correct.
“Holy shit,” I hiss, holding a hand over my mouth.
My bank account has fifty thousand pounds in it.
The transaction says it came from a Mr A Kenwood.
I panic, swiftly closing my phone in case anyone walking past might see and judge me for being rich.
Bastard.
I told him not to pay me any interest. And this is more than interest. It’s a massive chunk of money that he probably barely thought twice about.
My breathing is rapid, my pulse beating in my throat. I take a seat on a bench and give myself a moment before a seagull starts to eye me from the armrest at the other end and I feel harassed.
“I don’t have any chips. Bugger off you beady eyed bastard.”
The one skill every Brightonian must learn is how to speak the language of the huge, aggressive seagulls here.
I swallow roughly, getting up from the bench and walking across the crunchy pebble beach towards the rough chop of waves, crashing and retreating against the shore.
The fucking seagull follows me.
It’s just as well as the rest of the beach is quiet this fine Monday morning, because other than a man in speedos warming up for a swim I’m alone and on the verge of tears.
I’m tired of fighting my emotions. Something about knowing he’s thought about me since yesterday has me welling up, my cheeks becoming damp. I use my long sleeves to dry them, but it just gets worse.
Ok, this is fine.
It’s ok.
I can cry about him a little. I’m probably in shock and feeling overwhelmed by the sudden goodbye and also the potential implication of this money in my account. Is this it, then? Is this some sort of payment for my company? Does it not mean anything more to him than that?
No.
Of course not.
In the end, it was my decision not to pursue this. And he never hid his plan to pay me back in an obscene way.
Besides, it’s the right decision. I could never make it work with a popstar. Honestly at this point, I’m wondering if I could make it work with anyone. I throw my head back and stare at the sky, the sun bright in the middle of the day.
I made the right decision.
I did.
Time will prove that to me. I’ll never forget what we had, but I’ll move on. And if not, I’ll just keep telling myself that until I believe it.