Chapter 25
NICO
The yacht keys were in with the teabags, it turns out.
No, not a place I would usually keep them, but that didn’t stop my dad.
I suppose I should count my blessings; he put them in there willingly, of vaguely sound mind, to make sure no one found them.
Don’t get me wrong, I love a good strategy, I’m not above a scheme, but in hindsight, Dad’s kidnap operation was never going to work, was it?
You don’t need to be an expert with women to know that they don’t like being kidnapped – and definitely not being essentially held hostage at sea.
I think Dad might need to google ‘the implication’ before he sets about dating anyone else.
He retrieved the keys about two minutes after Sammie and Chrissy sailed off back towards dry land on a bigger boat full of much bigger men. I can’t blame them really. You’d take your chances with anyone, if the alternative was a kidnapper.
For a while after they leave, neither of us speaks.
Dad stands at the rail, watching the world keep turning despite everything that happened, but I can see his knuckles turning white from his grip.
The wind tugs at his shirt and he squints a little. He’s gone quiet in a way you don’t see often. It’s rare he is without a joke, never mind a word.
I don’t know what to say at first. Partly because I’m angry, and partly because I don’t trust what will come out if I open my mouth too quickly.
Working with so many people, in such a high-pressure environment, you have to know how to speak to people calmly, but those skills are much easier to deploy at work, less so with your well-meaning dad who has fucked up big time.
Dad finally clears his throat.
‘Well,’ he says, really dragging out the word. ‘That could have gone better.’
I look at him and he smiles.
‘Too soon?’ he checks.
‘A bit,’ I reply. ‘But, in hindsight, commandeering my yacht, and “losing” the keys, wasn’t your smartest move.’
‘I know.’
‘To prevent two women leaving, who very clearly wanted to leave,’ I continue, really hammering that point home.
‘I know. I know.’
‘Dad…’
‘I know.’
The last one comes out differently. He sounds defeated.
It takes some of the anger out of me, which is annoying because I wanted to stay angry for longer. Anger gives you something to hold on to, to get shit done. But I can tell that he’s cut up about this and I can’t help but feel responsible in a way.
‘What were you thinking?’ I ask him.
‘I thought if I could buy us an hour, maybe two, then everyone would calm down and talk properly.’
I understand but… Ah, it’s only made things worse.
I got us back to the marina – it’s my yacht, after all. I did hope that maybe Sammie and Chrissy would be standing there, wanting to talk, worried they might have left too quickly. I totally get why they did, I just hoped they might have… I don’t know, wanted more of an explanation at least.
I pour us a couple of drinks so we can sit on the deck and talk.
‘I’ve made a right mess of this,’ he says.
He leans back in his chair and looks towards the empty stretch of deck where Chrissy and Sammie had stood less than an hour ago, suitcases beside them, the two of them looking so heartbroken and betrayed. I can still see them.
It’s strange how quickly people can leave a void.
I feel like Sammie is everywhere. I noticed the towel she left on our bathroom floor, one of her hairs on the pillow – I even clocked a blob of pasta sauce on the ceiling that I’m going to have to get rid of.
Like an absolute weirdo, I don’t want to, I don’t want to remove all traces of her.
‘You really like her, don’t you?’ Dad says quietly.
I stare out towards the marina.
‘Yes,’ I say eventually. ‘We might have thought we were pretending but it was real. I don’t know when things shifted but they did.
At first we thought if we made you two uncomfortable, you’d want us gone.
Then when that didn’t work, we tried to get ourselves kicked off, which, in hindsight, wasn’t our best idea, but I think we were getting some kind of kick out of doing it all together.
Like, I don’t know, we felt braver to do more together, telling ourselves it was an act, that there were no feelings involved. ’
‘That makes sense,’ he replies. ‘No one wants to put themselves out there in case they get rejected.’
‘I don’t know when I stopped pretending, but I did,’ I admit. ‘And I thought she had stopped pretending too.’
‘She likes you too, anyone can see that,’ Dad assures me.
I think of Sammie in the water, hand on my shoulder, our mouths close enough for the difference not to matter. The two of us in the club together, finally kissing, then coming back here. I thought that was it, the moment that cemented something between us.
‘I thought so,’ I say.
‘And now?’
‘Now I don’t know.’
He nods.
‘I’m sorry, Nico, I didn’t mean to mess it all up for you,’ he tells me.
‘I’m sorry too,’ I tell him. ‘It says something, that we both had the same idea. I don’t love you meddling in my love life, but I can’t say anything, can I?’
‘Still, I’m sorry I lied,’ he says. ‘About the yacht. About me and Chrissy. About the keys being missing and the… hostage situation. I’m sorry about all of it.’
‘I know.’
‘It started out fake for us too,’ he says. ‘With Chrissy and me. We met at that singles night, realised we both had kids who could do with a leg-up, and knew we needed to do something – or thought we did at least. This was the best we could come up with.’
‘I’m a big boy, I can sort my own life out,’ I remind him.
‘But I’m your dad, I love you, and I want you to be as happy as your mum and I were – we’d had you, by the time we were your age.’
‘I know, and I appreciate that,’ I insist. ‘But, Dad, you need to take care of yourself. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you’ve really liked Chrissy from the start, but that you were the one too scared to go for it, so you did all of this just to spend time together?’
Dad sighs.
‘I think you might be right,’ he admits.
He stares out across the marina. He doesn’t look at me.
‘I know what you had with Mum was special,’ I tell him. ‘But it’s not about finding that exact kind of love with someone else, it’s about finding someone to be happy with for what time we’ve all got left.’
‘I think Chrissy is that person for me,’ he says. ‘I know that she didn’t care about the yacht, not really. I cared more about impressing her than she cared about being impressed by me. I think she liked the idea of being swept off her feet… she just ended up feeling more like I’d tripped her up.’
‘But you did tell her the truth,’ I remind him.
‘I did,’ he replies. ‘And I’ll never forget the look of disappointment on her face.
I just wanted to seem like the sort of man who could give her some excitement.
I’ve spent years feeling unimpressive, people feeling sorry for me.
What am I to people? A widower. Your dad.
Some old bloke. And then I met Chrissy and I felt like I could be anything, and it felt great. ’
He smiles faintly, but it fades almost immediately.
‘I liked how she looked at me when she thought I was that man.’
‘You don’t need to pretend to be something you’re not, Dad,’ I insist.
He looks down at his drink.
‘Easy for you to say,’ he replies. ‘You’re the man I was pretending to be.’
‘You wore it more proudly than I do,’ I tell him. ‘I worry people won’t like me for me, so I like to let them underestimate me, I let them think I’m some slacker gamer, so that if anyone ever did like me, I would know it was for me.’
‘You don’t need to test people,’ he says. ‘Especially not Sammie. That girl doesn’t have a bad bone in her body.’
‘I know that now.’
I know that I didn’t technically lie, but lying by omission is as good (or as bad) as. I’ve lived my life keeping certain things separate: work, money, family, the version of me Dad sees, the version of me who goes on dates.
‘You’ve never liked people knowing,’ Dad says quietly. ‘You should be proud of what you’ve achieved. Like I’m proud of you. Like your mum would be.’
A lump forms in my throat. I do my best to swallow it away.
We’ve had versions of this conversation before, just never this directly.
When the business started doing well, Dad wanted to tell everyone – neighbours, the bloke he chats to at the petrol station, a woman in a queue at M&S.
He was proud, and I understood that, but I hated the shift that happened when people knew.
The sudden interest, the sucking up – I didn’t know what was genuine any more.
It was easier to withdraw from dating, that’s for sure.
It was easier to let Dad be the proud one – he enjoys it far more than I do.
‘I didn’t think I impressed her at first, I didn’t even think she liked me, so I didn’t want the business to be the thing that won her over,’ I say. ‘And we were so different. She’s the kind of girl who runs a risk assessment before doing a risk assessment. I’m… I’m not like that at all.’
‘You’re a savvy businessman,’ he points out. ‘Risk is currency in business.’
‘I suppose so,’ I say with a sigh.
‘I guess we both pretended to be something we’re not,’ Dad says. ‘The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree, eh?’
‘It seems that way,’ I reply, allowing myself a chuckle. ‘I should have said something this morning too. You had that right.’
Dad doesn’t say anything. He gives me space to talk.
‘After last night, she said we’d made a mistake,’ I continue, hoping he reads between the lines. ‘That we should forget it. I thought she wanted me to agree, so I did.’
‘Did you want to?’
‘No, of course not. I wanted to tell her she was wrong. That we had something between us.’
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘Because she looked so freaked out.’
‘By you?’
‘By what it meant,’ I reply. ‘I didn’t want to be one more person pushing her. You and Chrissy were already doing plenty of that.’
‘Fair,’ he says.
‘So I gave her space.’
‘And I gave her the push she needed to run away and never want to come back,’ he adds.
I run a hand through my hair. I really hope that’s not true, but…
‘I think it might be too late,’ I say.
‘It might not be, if you talk to her.’
‘I think the best thing I can do is nothing,’ I insist.
He pauses for a second. Then…
‘After your mum died,’ he starts quietly, ‘I did nothing for a long time. I told myself it was loyalty, then what was best for you, then it was all habit. Really, I was scared. Scared to want something and lose it again. Scared to show myself up. And, yes, scared people would think I’d forgotten about her. ’
He doesn’t talk about Mum often – not like this, I mean. Usually, it’s a funny anecdote, an old memory, something that feels emotionally safe.
‘Then I met Chrissy,’ he says. ‘And I wanted to be someone who wasn’t frightened any more. I went about it badly, I know that. But I don’t regret wanting love, or trying to get it.’
His voice wobbles slightly at the end of his sentence.
‘I don’t regret trying either,’ I say softly.
‘Then tell her,’ he insists.
‘She’ll be on the flight home before I can get to her,’ I reply.
‘Then go home.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ I insist.
‘Why?’
‘Because she’s angry. Because her mum’s angry. Because we’ve made a right mess between us. I don’t know if they’ll ever want to hear from us again, but I know they won’t want to hear from us today.’
‘Okay, then give her a bit of space, let her cool down, but then talk to her, yeah?’
‘We’ll see,’ I reply – but we won’t see. I know when I’m beat. This isn’t a video game, I can’t just go back to the last checkpoint, to try things again and hope I win this time.
Nope, I’ve really blown it this time. I just need to accept that.