CALLUM
The three nights training at Carton House feels like a life sentence away from Abby.
I trawl the internet for agencies providing qualified carers that might be helpful in the search for increased help for Dad. So far, I have whittled down a list of four potential candidates to run by Brian.
‘If it isn’t Romeo the rugby player,’ he answers my call cockily.
‘Funny fucker, aren’t you? All everyone wants is for me to settle down, then when I try, the piss-taking starts.’
‘I honestly never thought I’d see the day. I loved the grand gesture live on the radio. Melissa nearly died when she heard it. After all the hearts you broke along the way, she finally thinks you might have found your own.’ A low chuckle rumbles from the phone.
‘Do me a favour, when you meet Abby, get Melissa to keep that small piece of information to herself.’
‘When we meet her… Now that sounds promising.’
‘It’s inevitable at some stage.’ I hope he won’t do his big brother act and shame me.
I relay the information I gathered from the potential carers, and we agree to sleep on it. Both of us would prefer live-in care for Dad, but there’s no way he’ll agree to it at this stage.
In the last week, Brian and I seem to have forged some sort of common ground. After years of resentment and awkwardness, things appear to be evening out. It’s as if he’s taking me seriously these days.
Is his lukewarm approval because I turned to him with my feelings for Abby?
Or do I simply seek less approval now that I have Abby? Either way, I don’t feel the negativity he usually emanates.
She’s rubbing off on me. I’m even starting to think like a shrink. I’m changing, evolving. Is this what growing up feels like? At the age of thirty-three – maybe Brian had a point, it’s time.
A new email pings as I’m about to shut my iMac. It’s from a guy called Declan that James introduced me to a couple of years earlier. We call him our fixer, he researches things for us; products, services, people. He’s sourced some information on a property investment that James and I are considering in Spain and attached a list of everyone involved in the deal and
everything about them, including what they had for breakfast yesterday. He’s good.
As I skim through his message, an idea occurs to me. I run a hand over yesterday’s stubble as I contemplate it.
The reappearance of Abby’s ex isn’t sitting well with me. After four years of nothing, why has he re-emerged the second there’s a photo of her in the paper with me? Does he simply want her back? Or is he looking for something more? Why did he leave in the first place? Who jumps the country the night before their wedding? Was he running from something? Or someone? I can’t let it go until I know. It feels like a loose cannon waiting to blow.
Before I can overthink it, I compose an email asking Declan to investigate where the mysterious Mr Fitzpatrick has been for the previous four years and why he’s returned now. I hope Abby won’t mind. It’s for her benefit as well as mine. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
I close the laptop and wait.
