‘You’re confusing me!’ Jake put his hands out.
‘I guess what your dad is saying, love, is that he didn’t realise you were going to have to tell us; he figured,wefigured, that you knew we knew.’
‘Ididn’t know,’ Daisy piped up. ‘I mean, I don’t care, of course I don’t care, why would it matter? I love you. That’s it, but I didn’t know!’
Marty stared at his kids, his brilliant, brilliant kids. ‘All I want for you, Jake, all I want for you both, is that you find someone who makes you happy, like your mum does me. And not happy all the time because that’s impossible, but happy enough – “supported” is probably more accurate. Yes. Someone who will emotionally invest in you and support you, that’s what you should look for. Someone with whom you can weather the storm. Find someone you canbuild a life with, a good life, with friendship, love and understanding at the heart of it.’
Lisa again wiped tears that fell down her cheeks.
‘That’s the thing – I have, Dad.’ Jake’s voice was small but his face beaming. ‘I have found someone I want to build a life with. I love him and he loves me.’
Daisy threw her arms around her brother’s waist. ‘I am so happy for you! So happy for you, Jake!’
‘What’s his name?’ Lisa asked. Her eyes lit at the prospect of the detail.
‘It’s Cassian.’ Jake spoke his name in a sigh. ‘Cass and I, we ... we just work!’ He laughed.
Marty watched as Daisy’s arms slipped from her brother’s waist and fell by her sides before she staggered backwards and seemed to lose her footing, stumbling until she sat on the kitchen floor, almost like she had fainted.
‘Daisy!’ He jumped up and ran to her. Lisa followed suit. ‘What happened, love? Get her some water, Jake!’ he barked, trying to take control and calm his own sense of rising panic. ‘Open the door, let the air in! Daisy? What happened love? What happened?’
‘I can’t breathe ...’ She clutched at her throat. ‘I can’t breathe ...’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BERNIEKELLEWAY
It was bright and beautiful on this fine Saturday. At a little before midday, Bernie Kelleway parked and locked his Audi and pushed his sunglasses up on to the bridge of his nose, cursing his lingering headache. He was, as he approached his twilight years, confident that he was still in good shape. His long legs were one of his best features and he couldn’t deny that to be sporting a full head of hair set him apart, he felt, from most of his follically challenged peers.
Headaches like this were one aspect of ageing he found hardest to handle. Not for him the creak of sciatica, the swell of arthritis or the foggy memory of increasing senility, and thank the good lord above his plumbing was in tip-top condition. Nope, his biggest and most frustrating age-related affliction was his inability to handle his hangovers. He used to be a master. Knocking back plonk in the early evening, before switching to port in the winter and gin in the summer – both helped to lubricate his stories, which he happily retold into the early hours. The following morning, he’d wake, shower, eat the bacon and eggs Winnie had prepared, washed down with fresh, sharp, cold orange juice. A couple of coffees, a quick gander at the newspaper while he made his morning visit, and hewas raring to go! But these days, after overindulging, his sight was a little grainy, his tongue coated, his gait sluggish and there was the unmistakable and unwelcome hint of sickness.
Not that he had time for any of it; today was one of celebration! He had become a grandfather again! He couldn’t wait to see the little fella and hoped Cleo was doing well. Not that he had to worry too much; Georgie was about as devoted a husband as he had ever seen and he, unlike his wife, was thankful for him. Bernie was confident that his precious daughter and new grandson would always be in the very best of hands.
‘Two birds with one stone ...’ he muttered under his breath, a reminder of why he was here and what he needed to say, to do.
He slowed, walking now with a hesitancy to his step as nerves rippled through him. Or maybe nerves was too strong – an edginess might be more accurate. He formed a fist, before flexing his fingers, but took his time approaching the building and peering inside. Eventually, he rapped on the closed door of the Italian restaurant where only the previous evening they had dined in celebration of his ruby wedding anniversary, and now here he was, only a matter of hours later, Grandad to a new little boy. His life was an ever-changing and wondrous thing.
Gianna came to the door and looked behind her before opening it. He watched her do a double-take and bite her nail, as if considering whether to open up or not. He sincerely hoped she would. He was a man on a mission. He was relieved when she turned the key, opened the door and stood in the doorway, her arms folded.
‘We don’t open for another hour and a half. My husband is still at the cash and carry.’
He pushed his sunglasses up on to his head, nodded and stepped forward until his toes rested on the brass lip of the step. His breathing came heavily, and he was aware of a slight sweat covering his tanned, unshaven face.
‘My daughter.’
‘Cleo.’ She stared at him.
‘Cleo, yes, she gave birth in the early hours to a little boy. I have a new grandson!’
‘Congratulations,’ she offered flatly, clearly sharing none of his enthusiasm for the event. Not that he was surprised – the woman had never struck him as maternal.
‘He’s beautiful, perfect.’ He had only seen the one picture Georgie had texted, but it was enough to convince him that the latest addition to the Kelleway clan was a little superstar.
‘Of course he is.’ Gianna gave a wry smile.
‘They’ve not named him yet and I’ve only seen a photograph.’ He drew a sharp breath, aware that he was babbling a little. ‘But he looks a gorgeous, sturdy little thing.’
‘MrKelleway’ – she spoke over his head – ‘this is all very interesting, and I’m happy for you and your lovely family, but are you going around the neighbourhood telling everyone in person all the details or is it a special honour for me? I don’t wish to appear rude, but it might be quicker to send a group email. It’s just that I have arancini to prep, salad to wash and pasta to make.’ She pointed over her shoulder towards the kitchen.
