I nodded, but somewhere in the depths of my stomach? I wondered if I would be the next broken human standing on top of that building, trying to figure out how not to jump.
Chapter 1
Peter
“It’s been five years, Dad. It’s not unheard of, you know, people getting back in the game, widowers remarrying someone new. People move on, and Mum would want you to, she always said,” my son exclaimed, waving a pack of paperwork in my face. I knew the envelope well because it had been sitting here, on the kitchen worktop, mocking me for the past two weeks.
“Always is a weird word, Cal.” I shuddered with unease. It was still a sore point, talking about Mary that way. Putting words in her mouth, sentences I had no recollection of her ever having spoken out loud.
“She told us, all the time,” he continued. “Me and Ed. Sat us down and told us we needed to make sure you moved on, and that you were happy. You’re not happy, hence we’re putting things in place.”
“Things!” I shouted. “Outing myself as a complete tool on a ridiculous dating show, not only that, but on one that is broadcast to the nation? That is not moving on. That is… I can’t even think. I’m not sure, not at all. It’s a very suspect company. I read up on some of their work. And apart from that, it clashes with the British Dentistry Convention in October.”
“Excuses, Dad. Look, we tried getting you on Tinder. Hinge. Plenty-of-Fish or whatever. You hated all of them and still haven’t gone on a single date. This production company has been around for years and produced lots of successful shows. They have experts on board, psychiatrists for heaven’s sake. And Gina DeSanto is hosting! See? The British Dentistry Convention happens every year. It’s not like the world is going to go under, just because Peter Felton doesn’t show up in the crowd.” Here was my second son, getting his words in, leaning over the counter, grabbing a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl and shoving them in his mouth as he spoke.
These two idiots were my flesh and blood. My sons. Both twenty-something and out of the house, having gained places at university last September. It was now early June, and I was losing every argument, even the ones I had with myself in my head. Also, the fridge was once again bare, and the fruit bowl looked pathetic, with just a bunch of sad-looking grapes, dried up and smelling sweetly, making me swallow some weird nausea down my throat.
I didn’t like the pressure, nor the boys’ constant insistence that I needed to change things. I didn’t particularly like change. I’d lived in this house since forever. My sons had grown up here, the commute to work was decent, and I liked my weekends to be my own. I cycled daily, ate healthily and played pickleball at a semi-professional level. I had no intention to change anything. Nothing.
“Who’s Gina DeSanto?” I huffed out as both boys rolled their eyes.
“Gina DeSanto. Who doesn’t know Gina? She’s like the ultimate babe.”
“Also, an award-winning TV personality and influencer. You know. Mega famous. Mum knew her, I think.”
“She follows you on Insta,” Ed muttered.
“That’s a fake account,” Cal snarled. “I can’t believe you’re still so naive. Dad, he thought Hudson Williams was messaging him. I had to block stuff on his account.”
“I did not. I was pulling your leg.”
“Bullshit.”
I rolled my eyes as well. Hard. The boys had taught me well, hence I had zero social media. Apart from my dentistry account. Professional stuff. My practice handled all that.
“You’re refusing to downsize the house,” Ed continued. “Fair enough. I’d hate it if you sold up, but then you need to do something. It’s all good and well that you’re living here on your own, but at least get a dog.”
“You’re allergic, Ed. I need you to be able to come home, and the house is a basic three-bed semi. What am I supposed to downsize to? A nursing home?” I was waving my hands in the air. Frustration seeping out of my pores. Only because somewhere deep down, I knew the boys had a point. A very small one, but still.
“I dreaded moving out, but now that we have? I’m going nowhere,” Cal continued. “Total freedom. Adult life.”
“Still? You’re back here demanding I do your laundry and feed you.”
“I know how to cook, Dad. And you’re banned from doing my laundry. That dress shirt is still a sore point. You need to stop using my clothes!”
He wasn’t wrong. These boys were my life. My soul, and everything else. And I wasn’t perfect; I absolutely made mistakes, including adding red football socks to the white wash. Burning dinner, and on occasion dishing out completely bonkers life advice. And Cal’s clothes were better than mine and were also constantly littered around the house.
I’d spent the past fifteen years running my own clinic and had learnt my lesson, more than once. People were never perfect. And making mistakeswas more than human, something I had instilled in my children from day one. Mistakes. I had made a few, apart from these two standing in front of me in our kitchen, two pairs of eyes pinning me down.
“The clinic will never function with me gone for that long. Ever. Seriously.”
“Deepak’s cool. He’ll handle it.”
“He’ll have me fired.”
“It’s your clinic. You’d have to fire yourself. More stupid excuses, Dad.”
“Mum would have laughed.”
