‘I will never, ever let you insinuate yourself into a position where you’re able to abandon her like that again. You have a fuck-load of work ahead of you if you hope to even think about having any sort of unsupervised access to her. And that work will involve you showing up. Time and time again. And making an effort with her. Not as a fashion accessory, but as the incredible, unique human being she is.
‘I’d be far happier if I never had to see you again, but, unlike you, I choose to put our daughter first. She wants you in her life. She misses you. She stilllovesyou, for fuck’s sake, to an extent that you could not deserve less.’
I brush my hand over my eyelids. I’m getting emotional over the gross unfairness of the fact that what Bea wants and what this woman deserves are diametrically opposed. Bea won’t be complete without having her mother in her life, no matter how undeserving Allegra is of that privilege.
‘I have rights. As her mother.’ Allegra’s voice is hard.
‘Do. Not. Go there. You waived those rights when you waltzed out of her life. I can make life very unpleasant for you, Allegra, and I will, if you pursue this legally. I know you don’t understand anything unless it’s self-serving, so let me spell it out for you: if you want to have a relationship with Bea, then your best, youronly,chance right now is to put in the hours. Do what I do, and every other parent does, and accept the slog. Because there are no shortcuts with kids. You put the work in, you’ll get the rewards out.
‘I want you to make her a promise. That you’ll never leave her again. I’ve seen how she is with you this evening. She’sfawning, clingy. She’s terrified you’re going to up and leave again. If we do this, we do it with clear boundaries. She knows exactly when she’ll see you. And you show up when you say you’re going to show up. And we’ll take it from there. Baby steps.’
I sit there, across the table from a woman who I was once so intimate with, who bore and delivered my child, for God’s sake, and wonder at how much of a stranger she is to me. I’ll be fascinated to see if she can redeem herself by committing properly to motherhood. There will be no telling. Only showing.
Saoirse’s there, right at the forefront of my mind. She hasn’t left it since I gave her that lame kiss and sent her on her way. How unbelievably cruel. For all the reasons I’m furious with Allegra, the fact that I had to put her before Saoirse is up there.
If she feels in any way similar to how I feel, then she must be in torment, too. Worse, probably, because she doesn’t know what’s going on, doesn’t have the benefit of understanding that Allegra is a pain in the bloody backside, but not a threat. If anything, her appearance has clarified my feelings. It shouldn’t have taken my toxic ex-wife reappearing to make me see how I feel about Saoirse, but it has. The contrast is too great.
I’m not stupid. I know I’ve been paying Saoirse well. But she does so much more than turn up every day. The love and steadfast commitment she’s shown to Bea, a little girl she doesn’t really know and owes nothing to, has been incredible to witness. She’s invested. It’s plain to see. She’d been looking after Bea for less than a week when she was faced with puke-gate. She gave Bea what she needed at the time: her presence. She even slept next to her. Allegra would have called the nanny and run for the fucking hills.
Saoirse’s treatment of Bea is a reflection, an extension,of who she is. She’s a giver. Someone who fills herself up with the joy she finds from caring for others. She doesn’t even know she’s doing it. She’s asked me for nothing in our professional or personal relationship, and it makes me want to give her the whole world.
When I think of her reaction to Allegra showing up, it makes me want to bawl my eyes out. I watched her in that lobby, pushing down her own clear devastation in favour of choosing to be delighted for Bea. That was all that mattered to her. Matters. The happiness that Bea deserves. The shit hit the fan, and she showed her true colours. And boy, were they splendid.
She’s fucking amazing. She’s so beautiful, and she’s completely unaware of it, and when I’m with her, her goodness radiates out from her. It’s such a huge part of what attracts me to her that it almost wipes out her physical beauty.
I glance at the woman across from me. Physically perfect. And she leaves me cold.
Never again will I let Allegra take priority over Saoirse. Never again. It ends here.
‘I’m seeing someone.’ My tone is terse. ‘Saoirse. Bea’s nanny. It’s new, but it’s serious, and I want her with us for Christmas. You can spend tomorrow with Bea. If you have presents for her, do them then. I suggest you go and stay with your parents, but if they won’t have you, I’m sure I can find you a room at the hotel. But you’re not staying with us after tonight. You’ve lost that privilege. I want you out of this suite.’
‘You’re screwing the nanny.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You are such a cliché, aren’t you? That sweet girl? She thinks the sun shines out of your arse, I’m sure. Is that why? She puts up and shuts up, and doesn’t give you a hard time?’
I spit out the words. ‘I don’t have to justify myself to you. But so you know, she’s one of the purest, most selfless people I’ve ever met, and that’s why I’vefallen for her. You’d do well to take a leaf out of her book. She certainly does a far better job of meeting our daughter’s needs than you’ve ever done.’
‘You’re insane.’ She shakes her head. ‘She’s a phase. I suppose she’s responsible for this revoltingly tacky display?’ She waves her hand around the room. ‘Come on, Miles. She’s just a pretty, adoring little distraction to make you feel good about yourself. Right?’
‘Yeah, she bought all these decorations. Because Bea loves them. They make Bea happy. And God knows, that’s not something you’ve concerned yourself with any time recently. And she’s not a distraction. I’m in love with her. And I already know she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me and Bea.’
CHAPTER 31
Saoirse: Friday 24 December
Ilie in bed until ten the next morning, even though I’ve been awake since six. My body clock is relentless. Lying and wallowing in bed doesn’t do it for me like it does for some people. It’s killing me to toss and turn. I’m much better suited to action.
The bathroom is looking even more grim than usual. I grab the cleaning pail and give it a good scrub. It still looks grim afterwards (I’ve definitely been spoilt by Miles’ marble bathroom) but at least it’s immaculately clean. This Christmas will be miserable enough without adding a grimy bathroom to the mix.
Still nothing from Miles. I check his WhatsApp status. Last seen at seven-thirteen this morning. Has he gone off to work? Or is he shirking from home so he can hang out withhis girls?
I drum my fingers on the kitchen counter. I am going to explode. I expected the sadness to weigh me down and pin me to the sofa, but instead I’m restless. Twitchy as hell. It doesn’t help that I’ve lost my man and my temporary job in one fell swoop. I have literally nothing to do.
Except, of course, hang out in London. I may as well get out of this godforsaken suburb for a few hours and enjoy London’s beauty before our house party tonight. My instinct to wallow in the appropriately depressing surroundings of Park Royal has worn off. Quickly.
I have Christmas presents to deliver to Miles and Bea. I intended to leave them under their tree on Christmas eve. Now I’ll have to use an intermediary, but at least it gives me an excuse to be back in their orbit for a short while.
The Montague looks particularly shiny and twinkly today, its window dressings especially lavish. I know why: it’s because I’m no longer seeing it as an insider. I got used to it. It was my turf, and now I’m back to being a girl from a small town in County Wicklow, who can only marvel from afar at its festive splendour. Its gorgeousness.
Norman, bless him, is on the door as usual. He doffs his top hat at me and gives me a warm smile, the sincerity of which hurts my fragile heart.
