SHARI
6th June2025
Come on,come on, pick up.
The call rings out as I dump the breakfast dishes in the sink – I'll have to deal with them later – and wipe up the smashed banana on my daughter's face. And hands. And hair. And highchair.
“Hey, this is Brad, who even calls these days?”Beep.
“Brad, hey, shit, I was hoping to catch you. I've been asked to go to Cobham this morning, so I need to drop Lizzie off early. I hope that's ok? Shit, shit, shit. I really need to leave soon so...I hope you're home, because we'll be there in a bit!”
I text him basically the same message in the hopes that if he doesn't hear his voicemail, he'll see the text. It's not like him not to answer, so he might be asleep still.
At least Lizzie's bag is already packed since it's his night to have her, so I plonk my girl in her chair in front of the TV to keepher occupied for a minute and run upstairs to grab my laptop. Fifteen minutes later, we're pulling into Brad's driveway.
As I try to juggle Lizzie's nappy bag in one hand, and the squirming toddler herself in the other, I end up having to kick the bottom of the mahogany door in lieu of knocking.
He rented this place two months after I gave birth so he could be closer to Lizzie, because the daily drive back and forth between Exeter and Bristol was killing him. He couldn't bear not seeing her every day.
It's a cute, two bedroom, red brick house, with mahogany windows to match the front door, a driveway just big enough for two cars and the tiniest garden out the back. But it's all he needs for now, and the location is perfect. He's only a ten-minute drive from my house.
I can hear footsteps from inside, and soon the door is flung wide with a surprised and dishevelled looking Brad in the opening.
“Hey, you're early,” he says as his eyes shift nervously behind him, pulling the door closer so I can't see past his right shoulder.Weird.
“Yeah, sorry, I've been asked to visit that site in Cobham I told you about before I head to the office. You didn't answer your phone, so I took the chance that you'd be able take Lizzie a couple hours early. Is that ok?”
He shifts from foot to foot, and I can tell his focus is elsewhere because he hasn't even greeted his daughter yet.
“Uh, yeah, of course. That's cool, I just wish I'd seen your call before you came.” He glances over his shoulder again.
“I did text too. Why are you acting cagey? Oh shit, have you got company?” my tone is teasing but my insides start to riot.
As if on cue, a manicured hand with sharp, bloodred nails slides around Brad's shoulder, and possessively down his chestto rest over his heart. For some reason, that makes me feel queasy.
His shoulders drop and he reluctantly pulls the door open fully to reveal the stunning redhead draped over him.
She's all long legs and sharp smile, and I don't like the calculating look in her eyes as her gaze shifts between me and Lizzie. That weaponised grin grows and I brace myself for whatever hurtful comment is about to leave her stupidly pretty face.
“Braaad,” she whines – why do they always whine? – batting her fake fucking eyelashes, “is this your daughter? You literally didn't say her grandmother was coming to drop her off!”And there it is.
To Brad's credit, he immediately shrugs her arm off his shoulder and spins around as if to block us from her spite. Lizzie takes the opportunity of his proximity to tug the back of his hair and shout, “Da dee! My Da!” Brad's hand comes up to squeeze her chubby fingers, even as he hisses, “Deana! You know full well this is her mother, don't be such a disrespectful bitch.”
Deana's predatory smile falters. She clearly thought he was going to laugh along with her.Why? Does he badmouth me to his friends?
She tries to reach for him again, but he bats her hand away. “Brad, baby! It was literally just a joke, god! I mean, she is literally old enough to be either of our mums, but I was only kidding, I know she's literally just your baby mama.”
“Don't call me baby,” of course, my brain unhelpfully starts singing the song by Madison Avenue, “and Shari is not just the mother of my child. Bollocks, I knew I'd regret this.” He rubs the side of his face, eyes clenched shut.
“What are you saying? You regret what? Us?”
“There's no us, Deana. It was one night. I'm saying I regret drinking enough last night to affect my lapse in judgement. Otherwise, I never would have brought you home at all.”
“Are you literally fucking serious right now??” Deana screeches, and it startles poor Lizzie into a whimper. I cradle her little head of baby curls against my neck to comfort her, but I can't bring myself to walk away from the front-row seat I have to The Downfall Of Deana. Does that make me petty? Yep, but I don't care.Just pass the popcorn.
“Jesus, I'm too hungover for this,” he grumbles, rubbing his temples with both hands now. “Let me say this slowly, so you understand. I. Am. Not. Interested. Please leave.”
She blinks at him in shock as her face reddens. It's reminiscent of a cartoon character about to explode. Damn, this is entertaining. I'm really struggling to contain my smile as she storms off with a scoff, but of course she has to have the last word because she spins back around with her finger pointed at me and seethes, “I don't know what you're so smug about, you're literally just a glorified incubator, you old slag!”
