It was also the house where I’d spent summers as a teenager, becoming acquainted with London and its houses, managing to visit Buckingham Palace each year when it was open to the public to gaze at its interiors, the wallpapers and décor and the draperies. I’d walked the museums and by the Thames; studied the East End where Jack the Ripper hunted his victims and spent afternoons in Greenwich Village, watching time go by.
I loved my city.
“Can we come stay with you for a couple of days?” Then I automatically looked at Eli, remembering that this was a grown – very grown – man who might not want to spend time at his girlfriend’s parents’ or have suggestions made without being consulted.
“I’m sorry,” I said, still holding his gaze. He was smiling. “I should’ve spoken to you first.”
My mother looked between us. “Elijah knows me well enough to not have to worry about saying the right thing to keep me happy. But why do you want to stay with us?”
“I’d like to show Eli where I grew up in the summers. And it’s a change of scenery.” It was true: his cast meant that getting around was slow and irritating, so we’d been spending more time than usual in his apartment.
“It’s fine with me,” he said. “I’ve seen too much of this place since Sunday. That’s if your mum wants us around.”
“I like your Eli,” my mother said as we sat in the snug, me with my designs for the dining room and lounge of a new client, Mum with a large glass of red wine.
My father, Eli and Seph were watching a football match on TV in the other reception room. Every so often, we would hear the sounds of shouting or cheering and the occasional groan.
“Why’s he my Eli? You’ve known him years,” I said. “Doesn’t it seem strange me being with him?”
“Why would it?” she said. “You’re both intelligent and interesting. You’re both attractive. You’re both kind and decent people. Why would it seem strange?”
“Because he’s older? Because he works at your firm,” I said.
She put her wine down and shook her head. “Ava, I met your father through work. Jackson met Vanessa through work, as did Max and Victoria. Why would you think it strange you would meet someone through a work connection?”
I shrugged. “The age?”
“Is irrelevant. It’s only an issue if you make it one. You’re far too worried about other people’s perception of you. I understand you kept it quiet because you didn’t think it would be serious, but you should know us better than to think we’d judge or interfere. We stopped doing that before you went to school in New York.”
“I know.” And I did. The person I’d been scared of judging had been myself. “How did you know you were in love with Dad?”
She laughed. “There were two occasions. The first was when I heard him talking to Maxwell on the phone. He was a big brute of a man back then – Callum looks a lot like he did when he was the same age. But the way he spoke to Max was so tender and clueless at the same time.”
I knew this. I knew the story of their whirlwind romance and how she left New York after two weeks of knowing my father to live with him in England.
“When was the second?”
“When I picked his dirty rugby clothes up off the floor where he’d dumped them and didn’t want to murder him. And if anyone told me that I’d never pick them up again, I’d have cried,” she said. “I was tired and hormonal at the time, because I’ve since thrown clothes at him when he’s left them on the floor, but that was the time I realised it was more than just a mad, impetuous moment.”
I hugged a cushion to my chest. “I think I want to move in with him properly. As in, look for somewhere to buy together. Make it more permanent than just me staying at his.”
She nodded. “I know you’re expecting me to have one of those ‘my baby’s all grown up’ moments but you’ve not been my baby for a long time, Ava. I’ll probably have one if Seph ever grows up, but let’s be fair, that’s not going to be for some time.”
“Isn’t it too soon?”
“Ava, I moved a freaking continent to be with your father after two weeks. Six months is time enough to be as sure as you can be,” Mum said, taking up her wine again. “And honey, sometimes you’ve just got to take a chance and go with your gut. You talked to him about this?”
I shook my head. “Not yet. There’s a lot I’ve not said.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because saying it makes it real.”
“What’s wrong with it being real?”
“Is this twenty questions?”
“Maybe. Answer it.”
