“Maybe. School breaks up for summer in a couple of weeks so we’ll sort something out for September.” Which might have to be boarding school. Which meant there’d be fewer hands to help with Callum.
Which showed what a shit father I was.
“You’re not mad at me?”
I sighed. Another test. “No. I am disappointed. You’ll need to help with Callum during the day. I don’t really want him being looked after by Amelie’s mum.” For a whole range of reasons, including the fact that Amelie’s dad could’ve also fathered Callum. I doubted it, Callum already looked too much like me and he was going to be tall. Amelie’s dad and my dead wife’s lover was short and fair. Callum was dark eyed and olive skinned, a mini-me. “And I’ll speak to the nanny.”
That conversation with the nanny did not go well. I was told that my children were wild and had no manners, they swore and shouted and threw food at each other and her. I was told that I was rude and paid too little and that she wasn’t surprised my wife had killed herself. I was told she was leaving the house tonight and if it meant the children were left unsupervised that was my problem and not hers.
A favour was called in from an aunt who hated children and had never had her own, but had expensive taste in wine. For two hours, no adult was present with my brood, leaving Max in charge which even I knew was totally wrong.
I sat on the bed in my hotel room nursing an overpriced whisky that tasted as vile as my conscience felt. I could fly back home in two days and sort the mess out that the nanny had left then, missing the court case. That was one option, but not one I wanted to take.
Callaghans was my family firm. I would inherit it, as would Max, if he decided to go into law, which he inevitably would. My peers saw the silver spoon in my mouth and judged my skills as being limited and useless anyway – I’d still own the firm no matter how good or bad I was at my job.
It made me determined to prove them wrong.
I was damned good. Damned dedicated.
Damned fucking confused.
I fell asleep to the sound of New York, praying for a miracle or at least some guidance.
CHAPTER 3
MAX
Iwatched my parents lock the door of the house where I’d grown up since the age of eight behind them for one of the last times. I wasn’t sure how to feel, practicality and sadness interwoven in a complicated cloth covered with memories.
Overwhelmingly, I was worried about Rose and Seph. Seph would be trying to hold everything together for everyone else and would implode piece by piece. That was if he was still the same as he had been pre-Georgia when he’d toppled into random one-night stands and late night into early morning partying, living with whichever of his siblings was willing to put up with him.
But that had been some time ago. Since just before he’d met Georgia, he’d chilled out, grown-up, realised how toxic the relationship he’d had in his early twenties had been. Since Georgia, he’d become one of my best friends only I’d never tell him that, of course because I was frequently, as Vic told me, emotionally stunted.
I carried a box of champagne, walking behind everyone else as we routed from our childhood home to my house, which had been Victoria’s grandfather’s home and where she’d grown up.She was sentimental about the house, but that hadn’t stopped her adding things to it, or changing the layout, or finding the perfect wallpaper that happened to be two hundred quid a roll, and I was pretty sure she’d lied about that price.
I stayed lost in meandering thoughts, following my pack, until we reached my home, a river of children pouring out of the door to meet us, including Rose.
She was so petite, but she always had been, a slight, slender dot of a kid who reminded me of a red-headed Matilda given her book obsession. She was always pale, the red-headed complexion more obvious at the moment though and I wondered how much of that was due to her health.
One of my own kids launched themselves at me as if they hadn’t seen me for days, when it’d been hours and they’d have spent most of Saturday with the cricket team they’d been playing for. Will and Maddox were our twin boys, because it seemed that twins ran in our family and why should our plans for second and last baby not have an added bonus. They weren’t identical by any stretch. Will was my mirror, while Maddox looked like Victoria and had her personality as well. He was bookish and intellectual already, totally able to hack into whatever block we had on the internet and allow Lucy free range on it. Maddox was also stupidly good at cricket, so much so he’d been scouted already and it looked like we were heading down the pathway of potential professional sports if that was what he wanted.
Lucy was our eldest and was almost a replica of Claire, possibly because she’d spent a lot of time at her aunts. She was close with Claire and Killian’s four daughters, which didn’t bode well because they were wild like their mother, and I often wondered why Killian hadn’t carried out his promise of building a boarding school for girls in the middle of the moors.
“Daddy, we’re playing cricket in the garden and Uncle Eli got hit in the head with the ball.” Will was finding this hilarious.
“What sort of cricket ball was it?” We had a couple knocking around.
“A leather.” Will’s grin grew wider.
“Who bowled it?”
“Uncle Owen.”
“That’s probably not okay then.” I winced. If it’d been one of the kids, there wouldn’t have been much power to it. Owen was actually pretty good at cricket, so Eli was probably going to be sporting a nice bruise. “How hurt is he?”
“Mamma’s got him to put ice on it. And she’s given him a beer.” Will thought beer solved every adult’s problem. I should be concerned why he thought that, but I was leaving it for Vic to sort out.
We headed into my house, the floor of which was covered in jackets, shoes and muddy footprints. A couple of dogs were walloping around, giddy as fuck, and I trod on a piece of lego straight away.
