I bring my hands up to my face.
“You were already so angry with him, Olive. He was worried he would lose you if you knew,” she said. “I was so upset myself; I probably didn’t do enough to reassure him.”
I look up at her, and I see her eyes are glassy now too.
“But he lost me anyway,” I reply, feeling it like a sucker punch to the gut.
“Olive,” she says. “I should have told you. We should have told you. I’ve thought about it a thousand times since he died.”
“I feel like you said a lot of things about him that affected my view of him, Mum. You called him selfish. You said he only thought about Nicky’s. Is all of that really true?”
“He can have been a good father, a good partner, but also have got some things wrong. Or maybe we both did,” she says wearily.
My mind wanders to Leo. I get a striking memory of us sitting in Rocco’s, and he tells me,“He wasn’t perfect, I’ll give you that.”
“And it was right to be angry with him. He sold our house. He was a great chef, a fabulous host, a wonderful father and partner, but he was so convinced he knew best when it came to the restaurant...” Her voice trails off, and, again, I think of Leo’s stories of trying to get Dad to modernize.
I look at Mum and I reach over and put my hand on hers. “I was angry with him,” she says. “I just was. And I shared too much of that with you.”
I don’t say it, but she’s right. She did.
“I love you, Mum,” I say instead.
“Oh, Olive. I never wanted to run a restaurant. It’s not in my bones like it was his. Or it isyours. I left him because I was tired of the package. Nicky came with Nicky’s.”
I squeeze her hand.
“I’d already put all the money my parents gave me when we got married into the restaurant and I had nothing really of my own. I didn’t go to university. I worked in a dress shop, Olive.”
I reach forward for water to quench my sudden thirst.
“I know,” I say quietly. “Mum, I can’t believe you didn’t make him sell the restaurant when you divorced.Leo says he slowly ran it into the ground without your help.”
“He might have done that either way,” she says, shaking her head, a regretful smile on her face. She looks over at me, her eyes round and glassy. “I couldn’t have done it to him.”
I nod. I get that part.
“And anyway, in the end, the money comes back to you,” she says, and I look quickly away from her gaze.
“I wanted to sell the restaurant and pay you out.” I can hear the past tense in my sentence, and maybe Mum can hear it too. She smiles.
“I don’t need you to do that,” she says, holding her hands out to indicate her pretty house. “I want you to do whatyouwant with it.”
“Mmm,” I say. “Whoismy dad?” I ask, my voice tight with nerves.
“He’s from Glasgow. And I tried to contact him, many times very early on, but he didn’t respond. I assume he’s still there. I will happily give you everything I know about him. But, Olive, he was not a good man.”
I nod slowly, and a part of me seems to peel away. I feel a single tear on my cheek, but I do not dare move.
“Nicky loved you, Olive. He was as good as a father can be. He was so doting. So in love... He fell in love with you like I’d never seen. And I was happy. We were happy.”
I let out a small, miserable laugh at that. Not meaning to be cruel, but saddened by it all.
“My name,” I say.
“He thought it was fate,” she says, her eyes glassy. “Olive Stone.”
At that moment, George comes out of the kitchen area,wearing a sweatband around his head, and very short gym shorts. He makes an abrupt about-turn when he sees us both.
