“Oh my god, this isn’t happening,” I whisper. I’m nauseated, my stomach cramping like I’ve necked an entire bowl of macaroni cheese.
“Can’t you just call your dad?” Daisy says while the sales assistants share subtle glances.
No, I can’t just call my dad. I’m notthatguy. At least I’m not going to be that guy in front of these idiots. I have a few more cards in my wallet, but the next one I present doesn’t bear my name. In fact, it’s a debit card with MR W. C. OAKHAM on the front, and it’s my last shot at not leaving the store empty-handed because I already know what’s happened.
Because of course it has. He’s cut me off. Just like he’s been threatening to do for years.
I key in my father’s PIN number, and everyone sucks in their breath as we wait.
The device beeps, and the transaction is accepted.
Catherine lets out a relieved little laugh. Daisy does too. I simply grab the bags and start my journey out of the store.
“Lan?” Daisy runs after me. I picture her glancing back to the sales assistants with that apologetic look everybody does on my behalf, like I’m a dog that’s growled at someone trying to pet me.
“I’m so sorry about him. He’s usually so good with other dogs. I don’t know what’s got into him.”
“Lando, are you okay?” she says, jogging after me. I don’t slow, don’t give her five-foot-two frame any chance to catch me up.
We get a cab to the underground car park I valeted the car in. Neither of us speaks for the entire twenty-three minute journey, and every time we stop at traffic lights, I feel her eyes on me, feel words on her tongue that she’s desperate to say, but she holds them until we get into my car.
“There’s probably been some mistake with the cards.”
“There’s no mistake. My darling father wants me to take a job at his company. I’m willing to bet this is his way of forcing my hand.”
Daisy shakes her head in disbelief. “He wouldn’t do that. You’ll just have to call him later and explain.”
“I’m not calling him,” I say, making sure my tone leaves no trace of doubt that I’m shutting down the conversation.
She sighs, and her stomach gurgles aggressively, but there’s no way I’m stopping the car to get food. I don’t want to prolong this journey any more than I have to.
“Lan, you’re behaving like a . . .” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
“Behaving like a . . . ?”
Daisy still doesn’t finish, and we sit in awkward silence for forty-five minutes. Or until we join the M4. Or until I’ve mustered the courage to dislodge one of the eight thousand thoughts tumbling around inside my brain.
“I’m . . . gonna really miss you,” I say, and miraculously for once in my miserable little life, I’m not crying.
Her hand shoots out to caress my bicep. “Oh, Lan. I’m not leaving yet. I might never leave. You could be stuck with me forever.”
I pull my arm out from under her grip, suck in a deep breath, and puff it all out in slow motion. “It’s just that everything’s changing. Everything. Nothing will be the way it’s supposed to be.”
Still, I don’t apologise for my behaviour, even though I know I should. Probably. There’s more I want to say, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words out loud.
No more Daisy and me.
No more me and Daisy.
No more dinners out at random Hookborough restaurants.
No more karaoke duets.
No more crawling up the steps of Daisy’s dad’s pub to the little flat above it and collapsing in her bed.
No more cuddles.
No more shopping sprees to London or Bath, but mostly because I won’t have any fucking money any more.
