‘All right,’ he said. ‘Yes. That’s it. Unless they invent something clever in the next year, which, given the state of the NHS, I wouldn’t bank on. I’ve had more time than some. Less than others. I’m trying to be grateful. I’m not very good at it yet.’
She stared at him. The man who’d taught her to count to ten, to ride a bike, held her when she’d hurt herself. How could it possibly be?
She’d always known, in some abstract grown-up way, that he’d die before her. That was how it was supposed to go. You buried your parents eventually. It just wasn’t supposed to be so fucking soon.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and his voice went hoarse. ‘I didn’t want to put this on you. But we have to… plan. Talk about what happens. With the shop. With you.’
The words she’d brought to this conversation suddenly weighed a thousand times more.
I’m not taking over. I’m leaving. I’m going with Callie.
Those words seemed obscene now.
‘This is probably a good time to tell me the thing you wanted to say,’ her dad said.
‘What?’ Mae said, panicked. ‘Nothing.’
‘You’re thinking of leaving,’ he said quietly.
Her heart stuttered. ‘How did you—’
‘I’m ill, love, not blind,’ he said, with a faint twitch of a smile. ‘Part of me wants you to stay. And I know I could ask that right now, and you would. But I won’t ask that. I don’t have the right.’
‘But I obviously can’t go now,’ Mae said.
He pretended she hadn’t said anything. ‘I can’t tell you what to do,’ he said. ‘You’re not a child.Youhave to choose. It’s your life.’
‘But if I leave…’ The words came out strangled. ‘You’ll… you’ll be here. Working. Sick. Alone.’
‘I won’t be alone,’ he said softly. ‘This village doesn’t let anyone be alone, for good or ill. There’s Tom, and Mrs Kavanagh, and that lot from the pub. I can hire help. I should’ve done it years ago instead of leaning on you like a crutch.’
‘You weren’t—’
‘I was,’ he said. ‘Let’s not pretend otherwise. It was easy having you there. I told myself it was training. Maybe it was. For this. For…’ He faltered. Swallowed. ‘For you to run the place when I’m gone.’
She flinched as if he’d slapped her.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered. ‘Please don’t say that.’
‘I have to,’ he said, and his eyes shone suddenly, bright. ‘Because it’s the reality. I don’t have anyone else. No brothers, no cousins… It’s you, or I sell up before… before it gets to the point where you’re dealing with solicitors on top of everything else.’
The thought of the bakery in other hands, maybe even owned by some chain, made her want to throw up. She could see it: the sign changed, the bread worse, the regulars muttering. Her dad’s life’s work dismantled while he was still here to watch.
He saw it in her face.
‘I know it’s not fair,’ he said quietly. ‘That I’m even saying this. I’m not trying to… trap you. If you look at me and say, “Dad, I love you, but I have to go,” it’ll be OK. You and me will be OK.’
She believed him. That was the awful thing. He meant it. He’d sell the bakery if she asked. He’d let go of the thing that had given his days shape for decades.
If she left now, she would spend every day wondering if he was all right. If he’d fallen. If he’d had a bad appointment. If he was sitting alone in the flat upstairs, too proud to ask for help.
She’d be with Callie, yes. She’d be in the life she wanted. She’d also be pulled in half, a constant, gnawing guilt eating away at every good moment. And she might not be here when…
She couldn’t do that. Not to him. Not to herself.
‘I’m not going,’ she whispered.
He flinched again, as if he were trying to stop himself from seizing on it.
