“See you around,” I echo, as they walk away, leaving me standing there on my own, until Jett appears behind me.
“That went well,” he says, looking pleased. “I think they seemed convinced, don’t you?”
At first I think he’s talking about my apology, then I realize he’s talking about us, and our fake relationship.
Oh, right. That.
A shiver runs down my spine as we follow McTavish out of the now-empty restaurant. I’ve finally managed to apologize to Emerald — and she’s accepted it. So why do I still feel like I’m doing something wrong?
Chapter 30
“Let’s take this car today.”
It’s the morning after our dinner at The 39, and Jett and I are standing in the old shed I use as a garage, looking at the tiny orange convertible that Jett’s just pulled the dust sheet off, like he’s a magician doing a trick.
“This was your dad’s car, right?” he goes on, leaning forward to peer through the window. “I remember you talking about it.”
‘Talking about it’ isn’t really how I’d describe the fleeting mention I’d made of the MG, so I’m impressed he even remembered. I keep forgetting how closely Jett observes things; how you think he isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to you, but he’s actually studying your every move. It’s disconcerting — but also quite flattering, I guess. It’s nice to feel like someone cares enough to remember something I only mentioned in passing a few days ago; even when you know that’s notactuallythe case.
“Yeah, this was his,” I tell him now, running my hand along the car’s still shiny paintwork. “Or according to Mum, anyway. She threatened to get rid of it so many times when I was a kid, but she never did. I don’t know. Maybe she liked the reminder of him? Who knows? Anyway, she let me bring it here when I moved out. I had it restored a few years ago, but it’s been sitting here for over a year now. I’d be surprised if you can even get it to start.”
“Well, let’s see.”
Jett takes the keys from me and gets into the driver’s seat, looking absurdly large in the little car. It takes a few attempts, but eventually the engine splutters reluctantly to life, and Jett looks up at me, beaming.
“It’s a real beauty,” he says, running a finger over the walnut dash. “Your Pop had good taste.”
“Mum would love to hear you say that,” I tell him. “I’ve got no idea whether or not it’s true, though.”
Jett’s green eyes fix on mine, making me feel like I’m about to be interrogated.
“If you have the car, surely there must be some way to find out who owned it?” he says carefully. “Registration documents, something like that?”
I shake my head.
“The car was registered to Mum when I got it,” I say, grateful for the dim light of the shed, which I’m hoping will hide any bitterness in my expression. “She said he gave it to her, but it might always have been hers, for all I know. I only have her word for it that it belonged to my dad first. And Mum’s word… well, it’s not always worth much, let’s put it that way.”
I turn away, pretending to polish one of the bumpers with the sleeve of my sweater. The fact is that Mum had a lot of different boyfriends when I was younger. She always claimed to be madly in love with them, but none of them seemed to stick around for long, and I’ve no reason to suppose her relationship with my father was any different. She always told me this car was his, but there’s no way to know for sure. And while I’d like to think she knows exactly who he was — or who heis, even — and has some really excellent reason to keep that knowledge to herself, the more likely scenario is thatshedoesn’t know either.
Which is why the subject of my absent father isn’t something I like to think about very much, or for very long. And why I’m really starting to wish I hadn’t brought Jett out here this morning.
“I could hire a P.I.,” he’s saying now, as he gets out of the car. “The guy Asher uses could probably do it. I bet he could track him down for you in no time, and we could—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in, my tone sharper than I intended. “Really,” I add, more softly. “I appreciate the thought, but I just… I just don’t need to know. Whoever my dad is, I’ve managed just fine without him for my entire life. I don’t need him in it now. I don’t need anyone in my life who doesn’t want to be in it.”
Especially not someone who apparently made that decision without even meeting me.
“Sure thing, Lady M,” Jett says easily. “It’s up to you. Offer’s there if you change your mind, though.”
“Thanks. I won’t. But thanks.”
I know I probably sound ungrateful, but I just want him to drop this subject now, so I don’t have to think about it any longer.
“Are you sure you want to take this car today?” I ask, changing the subject. “Because I can’t guarantee it won’t break down halfway there if we do. And there’s not a lot of room in it, especially if you want to take McTavish.”
I smile to myself, trying to imagine McTavish crammed into the tiny back seat of the MG.
“Maybe we’d be better just calling the firm you’ve been using?” I suggest, turning to Jett. “It’ll be much easier. And safer, too.”
