“Muffin.” He sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face. “I love you. I can never stay mad at you.” He opens his arms to me and I close the distance, letting out the breath I was holding. “Just tell me the truth. Why has your life fallen apart?”
Lorraine rubs a hand over my back. “How about I make you a nice hot chocolate?”
“Yes, please.” I let go of Dad, determined not to cry. I want to show him I’m capable of taking care of myself and even though I still need him, he doesn’t need to take care of me.
“I’ll have a glass of brandy,” Dad says as he guides me into the living room.
I drop onto the sofa with a bounce. “I’m not going back to London. I’m staying here.”
“Muffin, you can’t give up your career for a man.” Dad sits in the armchair next to the fire.
My eyebrows pull together. “Mum left her job for you.”
“No muffin, your mum left her curator role at the National Gallery for you. She found out she was pregnant and didn’t want to raise you in the city.” A hand runs over his tired face. “Please tell me you’re not pregnant. Just how long have you and Sawyer been carrying on?”
I fiddle with the hem of my pyjama sleeves, pulling them down over my hands. If Dad’s upset for me lying about my whereabouts over the last week, he’s going to be devastated when he finds out I’ve been lying about my job all year. “I’m not pregnant, Dad. Sawyer’s been the perfect gentleman…until last night. He has nothing to do with me leaving London.”
He seems to relax a little and lean back in the chair, waiting for me to continue.
“I went to London because I wanted to make you proud and make Mum proud.”
“Muffin, you have. I couldn’t be prouder. I tell everyone about how you’re living your best life down there.”
Lorraine comes through carrying a hot chocolate and a brandy for Dad. “Get that down you, love. Everything’s better with hot chocolate.”
“That’s what Mum used to say.” A smile cracks my face, breaking through my sadness like a flicker of hope. The pathetic lights on the Christmas tree flash, reminding me that even whenall hope seems lost, even the smallest light can eliminate the darkness.
“Your mum knew what she was talking about.” Lorraine’s warm smile fills the void in my heart with a little more courage.
“Thank you, darling.” Dad takes the brandy from Lorraine and she retreats to the kitchen.
“I loved listening to Mum’s stories about the National Gallery, and each Christmas she would take me to London with her to see the enormous tree in Trafalgar Square and we’d look at all her favourite paintings.”
“She could talk the hind legs off a donkey when she started going on about art. I used to switch off, but you were always so engrossed in what she would say.” Dad has a whimsical smile on his face. He never talks about Mum like this. “I miss that about her now. Wish I’d listened to more of her stories, but I’m glad you remember them. Maybe the two of us can visit the gallery together sometime.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to visit since you started working there. The last time I went was when I was working down there on the remodelling of the offices. It’s how I met your mother.” His features soften as he reminisces. “I was hoping you’d give me a VIP tour.”
Inhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes, the hot chocolate aroma soothing me, then exhale with the truth. “I can’t do that anymore. I got fired.”
Dad sits up in his chair, the ice in his brandy rattling against the glass. “What happened?”
I blow on the hot chocolate and warm my hands on the mug. “I never worked for the National Gallery. I’m sorry I lied.” My shoulders cave inwards. I stare into the swirling hot chocolate, unable to look Dad in the eyes.
“But you used to send me photos, selfies of you after hours.” Dad’s brow furrows. I’m sure he’s gained ten more wrinkles from tonight alone.
My fingers outline the key at my neck, wishing Sawyer was still here, but if he’s given me anything this Christmas, it’s the confidence to speak up. I drop my hand to my lap and lift my chin. “I was the cleaner. A cleaning agency employed me.”
Now Dad looks even more perplexed. “You, a cleaner?”
“I’m sorry I lied, Dad. I thought I could keep applying for jobs and you’d never know, but when I got fired, I couldn’t afford to pay rent on my own since Eve moved to the States when she got offered her dream job as a forecaster.”
“Back up for a minute.” Dad lifts his glass of brandy, waving it around in his hand. “Someone employed you as a cleaner?”
“Yes.” When he says it out loud, I know what he’s thinking.
“No wonder they fired you.” He takes a long pull on his brandy and lets out a hearty laugh. “I’m sorry, muffin, but I’ve never known you to clean anything in your entire life.”
