I need to know if my parents were involved. Hence why I’m here.
“Darling.” Mum rushes out to greet me. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She holds my arms and looks me over. “You look like shit, and it’s no surprise.” Her lips purse. “I did not like hearing I am to be a grandmother on Sky News.”
“I was going to tell you, but the media beat me to it.”
“Come in and tell me everything.” She loops her arm through mine as we climb the steps and enter her three-story townhouse.
She bought it with the divorce settlement from Dad—later supplementing her portfolio with a villa in Portugal, a beachside property in Barbados, and a condo in New York—which happened seven months after they sent me to boarding school—and she’s lived here alone ever since. She doesn’t seem short of male company, regularly jetting to luxurious destinations with various younger men. Some are even younger than me, but I don’t judge. It’s her life, but I can’t help feeling they are just using her for her money. I wish she’d find a new husband. She must get lonely, and I don’t like thinking of her so far away from me and my sister, all alone in this big house.
I confide everything about Toria and the baby over ham and cheese sandwiches, scones with jam and clotted cream, and English tea.
“Jesus, Jared.” Concern is etched all over her face. “I always knew she was a manipulative little bitch, but she’s certifiably nuts. You’re right to be worried about the baby.”
“She’s almost five months pregnant. We’re more than halfway through, so I just need to hang on and get her safely through the rest of the pregnancy.”
“Oh, Jared. You poor sod. You’re fucked. She’s your baby’s mother, and you’ll be dealing with her tantrums for years, my boy. I wish you had knocked up anyone but her. She puts Naomi Campbell to shame with her antics.”
Truth. She’s chucked far worse things than cell phones at my head. “It wasn’t intentional. Trust me.”
“Are you even sure it’s yours?”
“She had a paternity test. It’s mine.”
“What can I do to help?” Mum asks, propping her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands.
“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do yet, but if you could come to the US for a while after the baby is born, I’d appreciate the help.”
“I’ll be there with bells on. Heather will help too.”
Heather lives in Boston, and she has her own family, so I’m not sure how often my sister will be able to visit, but I know if I asked her she’d be on a flight straightaway.
“I didn’t just come to tell you about Toria and the baby. I wanted to ask you about something else.”
“Let’s grab some beers and sit in the garden,” she suggests, and I don’t protest.
Ten minutes later, I’m enjoying the late August sunshine in Mum’s garden, nursing an ice-cold beer.
I clear my throat and eyeball my mother as I say, “I saw Sydney recently.”
Her eyes pop wide, and then I see it. Fear. Panic. And something else. She’s quick to hide it, but I saw, and it tells me enough to confirm my suspicions.
“Oh, how lovely,” she says when she recovers. “How is she?”
“Cut the crap, Mum.” I grind my teeth to my molars as I level her with a sharp look. “I’m sick of all the lies, and I want the truth. I want to know what exactly you did and why you purposely sabotaged my relationship with Sydney.”
ChapterEighteen
Jared
“Idid it for you.” Her lower lip wobbles, and her hand shakes as she lifts the beer bottle to her mouth.
Rage charges through my veins, and I grip the side of my chair in an attempt to calm down. “I knew it! I fucking knew it,” I snap. “You sent that picture to Anvil from my phone, didn’t you?”
She gives me a curt nod. “I suspected Herman was intercepting your calls and texts to Sydney, so I had to get creative. I heard you arguing with Anvil shortly before we left New York. I knew he was planning to make a play for her. I knew if I sent him that picture he would jump to the obvious conclusion, and I knew he’d show it to Sydney.”
“Why, Mum? Why would you hurt Sydney like that? She was like a daughter to you! You practically raised her after Michelle died. Did her feelings mean nothing to you? Did mine?” I drain my beer and throw the bottle against the wall, watching it shatter into smithereens, as anger pummels me from the inside.
“Are you done?” Mum’s tone is firmer, and she’s more in control.
