“And I never claimed to be perfect.” He coughs one last string of harsh, racking coughs, then his breathing seems to settle. “I know I made mistakes. But I did the best I could by you and your mum. I did. You’re too bloody old to keep blaming me for your life, son. That’s on you now.”
I take a deep breath, hooking my hand under his arm. “Come on, Dad, let’s get you inside.”
“Everything alright?” A friendly voice drifts along the garden path, and I hear hurried footsteps. A red umbrella comes into view, shielding the stocky body of a woman in a pink cardigan and bleached jeans. “Hello, there Dom. Had a spell has he?” Sally, my father’s carer, always has a smile on her face, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her frowning.
A miracle considering she deals with my dad every day.
“Just got a bit agitated in the car, Sal,” I say as my father leans heavily on my arm. “Think he got out and about a bit much.”
“I went to see my granddaughter,” my father says indignantly. “Sheenjoys my company.”
“That she does,” Sally says, giving me a surreptitious wink. “Mia loves you, and so do we.”
My father grumbles and waves dismissively, refusing our help once he’s on his feet, and taking off down the path to his home.
Sally turns back to me with a sigh and shakes her head. “He’s a stubborn old mule.”
“That he is.” I close the car door and run a hand over my damp hair. “Happy enough for me to drive him home, though.”
“I think the idea of a driver still makes him uneasy. When it’s you, he just feels like it’s your duty.” Sally shrugs, and she looks over her shoulder, craning her neck to make sure Dad’s gotten to the house. “He’s not coping well with losing his license. Missesdriving a lot.” She turns back to face me, smile still firmly in place. “But don’t worry, we’ve plenty to keep him busy.”
“Thanks, Sally. I appreciate it.” The rain gets heavier, and I give her a quick nod. “I’d best be off, and you should get inside.”
“Not a worry. Have a good night!” The red umbrella bobs out of sight as she scurries down the path after my dad.
The drive home is dark and quiet, people everywhere eager to get home and comfortable. I pull into the parking garage of my apartment block, ignoring the constant pinging of my phone because I am in no mood to address anything until I get upstairs.
I’ve only lived in this apartment for a year now, since my separation, but it feels like I’ve lived here for ages. Hammersmith isn’t as posh as Shepherd’s Bush, nowhere near, but that is what I like about it. Here, amongst new-builds and cheery old pubs, I’d managed to find a place to breathe.
And a place where I knew my painfully snobbish ex-wife wouldn’t accidentally cross my path.
I kick off my shoes, shrug off my coat, and take a few deep breaths in the mostly dark apartment. The only light comes from the glow of the streetlights below. It’s peaceful, and quiet, and just what I need after the day from hell.
My phone begins to buzz. Insistently.
I pull it out of my pocket to see Andrea’s name pop up on the screen.Here we go.
“Hello, Andrea,” I say, bracing myself. “How are you?”
“How do you think I am? I’m worried sick.”
“I suppose Archie did always like being a bit dramatic.” I wander into the apartment, flicking on the light in the kitchen. “Although this is a lot, even for him.”
“When were you going to tell me he was missing?” Andrea shrieks down the phone. “I have to find out from my sister? You don’t think I should know something like that?”
“Listen, I found out today, same as everyone else, and we still don’t even know what’s happened to him, alright?”
“Why hasn’t anyone called the police?”
I sigh heavily. “Because he’s quite probably gone off to Spain, this isn’t some murder mystery. He’s not been kidnapped.”
“It’s her that did it to him,” Andrea snaps, and there’s a sharp sound of high heels on tiles, no doubt her pacing through her obscenely large house in the Cotswolds while she rants. “I knew that one was trouble, nasty little madam, all she ever wanted was Archie’s money!”
“I’ll remind you that Mia is obscenely wealthy all on her own, and that Archie pursuedher,” I say evenly. “And also that our son is being unfaithful to his wife, which is hardly her fault.”
“You spoiled him,” Andrea spits out. “This is your fault. I always told you it would end badly, and this is what you made him.”
“You know what I’m going to do?” I walk over to the window, watching the cars drive along the wet street below. “I’m going to make a bingo card, so that whenever you call me, I can tick off every single thing you say to me, because it’s always the same bloody thing.”
