Chapter 36 #2
The room felt small, crowded with a decade’s worth of struggle finally being pushed aside by a few yards of well-cut wool and the kindness of the woman standing in our hallway.
I looked at Carrie, who was still fussing over Dad’s lapels with a focused, professional intensity, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying myself.
She didn't just buy him a suit. She bought him the version of himself he thought he had lost.
Carrie beamed. "Right then," she said, clapping her hands together softly. "That’s one. What about the next? We need to see the full range of 'Executive Phil' before the clock runs out."
The atmosphere shifted from heavy sentimentality to a buzz of genuine excitement. The next ten minutes were a blur of activity—Dad disappearing and reappearing like a model on a runway, gaining a little more confidence with every button he fastened.
The second option was a sharp, authoritative black suit, but it was the third—a deep, rich navy—that really did it. The blue brought out the colour in his eyes and made him look approachable yet completely in command.
We spent the next few minutes locked in a warm, spirited debate. Mum was firmly team charcoal, I was holding out for classic black for the sheer sleekness of it, but Carrie remained utterly unyielding on the navy.
"The navy is the winner," she declared with her signature finality, smoothing a stray thread on his shoulder. "It’s professional, timeless, and frankly, Phil, it’s your colour."
Dad looked at the three suits draped over the sofa, his expression flickering with a bit of the old worry. "Right. Well. Better get these back in the bags then, shouldn't want to crease them before Richard needs them back."
Carrie waved a hand dismissively, her tone so casual it was almost criminal.
"Oh, don't bother with that. Richard has more suits than he knows what to do with; he’s actually been complaining about the space they take up.
" She met Dad’s eyes, her gaze steady and warm.
"You might as well keep them all, Phil. You never know—once you land this job, they may come in handy. "
The room went quiet for a heartbeat. We all knew the truth.
Richard was a mess who lived in tracksuits, and these had never seen the inside of his wardrobe.
But the way Carrie said it—as if she were doing Richard a favour by leaving them there—gave my Dad the out he needed to accept them without feeling like a charity case.
"Keep them?" Dad asked, his voice low.
"Consider them a long-term loan," Carrie said with a wink, finally turning to me. "Now, I believe a certain menace has a shift to get to, and we’ll need to leave if I’m going to drop her off in time."
I rolled my eyes as I stood. "I’m not a menace."
"You are."
I gawped at the three of them as they replied in perfect unison. There was something very strange—and slightly terrifying—about having Carrie and my parents simultaneously agree on what a problem I could be. Rude.
Carrie smirked, sharing a look with my parents that felt like a private, inside joke. My heart raced seeing her like that—not just a guest in our home, but a part of the team.
I sprinted upstairs, changed into my work uniform—the standard-issue black shirt and trousers—and tugged my hair back into a quick ponytail. After a round of hugs, I headed out the door with Carrie.
She opened the passenger door for me as she always did, her movements fluid and effortless. As we pulled away, I ran my hand over the cool, luxurious interior of the car.
“Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t been nicked or stripped for parts down my street yet,” I chuckled, looking out at the rows of dented hatchbacks and ageing vans.
Carrie smirked, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Nobody would dare.”
I grinned, leaning back into the leather. “Ah, so you really are a high-powered supervillain. Good to know.”
She just winked and kept driving. As we moved through the streets, my mind started to drift. If Dad got this job—if that salary actually started hitting his bank account—it changed everything. He’d be making more every month than his odd jobs and my shifts at The Dam combined.
For the first time, I saw a clear path. I could leave the bar.
I could move into Carrie’s world without the crushing guilt of leaving my parents behind or the fear that they were solely relying on her charity.
It would be the best-case scenario. Dad would have stability, and if Mum had a bad day?
I was only a short drive away. I could be there whenever they needed me, but I wouldn't be trapped by the need to survive.
We pulled up to the curb outside The Dam, the neon sign flickering against the damp pavement.
I turned to Carrie, feeling a surge of something so much deeper than just gratitude.
I didn’t know if she pulled the strings to get that interview, and honestly, right then I didn’t want to ask.
It didn’t matter. She spent her afternoon in a cramped kitchen, she made my dad feel like a king in those suits, and she fit into my messy, complicated life like she was always meant to be there.
She was incredible.
I leaned over the centre console and kissed her—a long, lingering thank-you that said everything I wasn't quite ready to put into words yet. When I pulled back, her eyes were dark and soft.
"Go on," she murmured, her thumb grazing my jaw. "You don't want to be late. I’ll pick you up tonight."
She moved, slipping out to open my door for me, and I hopped out of the car feeling lighter than I had in years. As I watched her tail-lights disappear into the traffic, I realised I wasn't just walking into a shift; I was walking toward a life I actually wanted.
I headed into the staffroom, my adrenaline still buzzing, and I was immediately cornered by Mia. I couldn't keep it in; I told her everything about Dad’s interview in one frantic breath.
"No way!" Mia squealed, her eyes nearly popping out of her head.
"If he gets this, Mia, it’ll be more than he’s ever earned. More than both our wages combined."
Mia shook her head in disbelief, but then the excitement faded into slow realisation. The penny dropped. "You’ll actually leave, won’t you? You’ll hand in your notice."
I chewed on my lip, the reality of it hitting me for the first time. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I will."
Mia pouted, letting out a dramatic sigh. "Look, I know when you first mentioned this, I thought it was a terrible idea. I thought Dr. Vixen just wanted to keep you like a trophy—well, like a pet, really. I still think she’d like that, the psycho. A sexy psycho, but still..."
"Get to the point, Mia," I nudged her, half-laughing.
"Look, getting to know her... I see it now. You actually do love each other. Jeez, Lex, who would’ve thought? You, actually settling down and being in love with a woman like her."
I shook my head, a small, dazed smile on my face. "I certainly didn't."
Mia pulled me into one of her signature hugs, squeezing the breath out of me. She pulled back just enough to grin. "I’ll probably burn your resignation the second you hand it in, but secretly? I’m actually happy for you."
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my feet on the ground. "He needs to get the job first, Mia. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
Mia nodded, her usual mischief returning to her eyes. "Yeah. But he just might."
The shift bell clanged through the bar—an annoying new habit of Mia’s dad’s—but for the first time, the sound didn't make my stomach drop.
It had been days since Dad tried on those suits, yet as I stepped out onto the floor into the familiar haze of stale beer and thumping bass, my mind was still miles away.
All I could see was tailored navy wool, a silver key in my palm, and the woman who had quietly rewritten my entire life.
***
Mum and I had been staring blindly at the TV since I got home from Uni, but I couldn't tell you a single thing that had happened on screen.
Dad was supposed to be on his way home by then, and the silence from his end was deafening.
I couldn’t stop my leg from jiggling a mile a minute as we pretended to watch Emmerdale.
Every time a car passed or a door slammed nearby, we both snapped our heads toward the window in perfect unison, like a pair of high-strung guard dogs.
Oh god, I thought I was actually going to throw up.
Then, the familiar rumble of Dad’s van pulled up outside.
That was it. Neither of us moved, but Mum killed the TV instantly.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
He took his sweet time. We listened to the muffled sounds of him putting his bag down and kicking off his shoes, dragging out the suspense until I was ready to scream.
Finally, he emerged into the lounge. Seeing him in the navy suit still caught me off guard—I was so used to him coming home covered in dust and grease. He looked at us for a long beat, his fingers reaching up to loosen the knot of his tie.
"I got the job," he said simply.
For a split second, the reality hung in the air. Then, the floodgates snapped. Mum burst into a sob of pure, unburdened relief, and I launched myself at Dad. He caught me, spinning me around in our tiny living room with a strength that hadn't been there in years.
"Dad," I breathed, my feet hitting the floor again as I stared at him.
He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, looking slightly dazed.
"I know. It just went so well. They don't care about me not having certificates or a mind for the paperwork—they said they want someone who knows what they’re doing.
Experience is all that matters." He looked at me, his eyes gleaming.
"They loved that CV you did, darl. Said I was even more experienced than they realised.
I told 'em, 'Well, my Alex is a whizz, she made sure it was all in there. '"