“Seems like a poor excuse.”
“But one the social worker approved.”Father and daughter need a safe space to learn to communicate, she’d said.
“I suppose you’ve already tried to buy him off.”
“Whatever makes you think that?”
“Oh, just a hunch,” she replies, fighting a smile. “Pity you couldn’t frighten him off.”
“Yes, isn’t it?”
“You already tried.”
“I have thought about it.”
“Oh, that tic in your jaw says you’ve thought about it a lot.”
I could’ve made him disappear before now, but I won’t be the reason he abandons Daisy. I never want to have to look her in the eye and admit I was responsible for his absence.
I slow the car at the lights. As usual, the McLaren draws attention.
“It’s so loud,” Lavender mutters, slinking down in her seat.
“You’re embarrassed?”
“I just don’t like people looking at me.”
“Then get ugly.” I chuckle, my attention returning out the windshield.
“It’s not me, it’s this car. You shouldn’t even be driving it. Adding miles will diminish its value.”
“It’s not yours yet.”
“Twelve months. Do you really think it’ll take that long? To convince whoever I’m meant to convince, I mean.”
“These things are complicated. Mediation, assessments and evaluations, home visits, fact-finding timelines. The list goes on.”
“Sounds like you’re getting desperate.”
“No shit,” I mutter under my breath. I expect her to begin some kind of negotiation when, in the periphery of my vision, Lavender’s hand appears. I frown as I glance down at it.
“Hello.” She gives an impish grin. “Looks like I’m desperate.”
The corner of my mouth curls. I make it look reluctant as I take her hand. The lights change, and I pull it away.Also reluctantly.When Lavender is shining, she really fucking shines.
“While I hate to admit it, I do get it. I have nephews and nieces, and I love the bones of those little snot machines. Whit and Mimi have three-year-old Irish twins. Augustus,” she says, pulling a face, “or as his auntie Lala calls him, Gus. His little sister is so sweet. Her name ischeese.”
While the Whittington siblings all have unusual names, I’m going to guess the next generation hasn’t tried to one-up their parents.
“Go on then,” I say in the vein of one who is long-suffering. “I can tell you’re dying to explain.”
“Thank you!” She rubs her hands together gleefully. “It’s Annabel. Boring, right? Her name was shorted to Belle quite early on. Baby Belle. Can you see where I’m going with this?”
“I bet her parents just love that.”
“Gus does. He thinks I’m the greatest. Heather, my eldest sister, and her hubs, Archer? They have Milo. He’s almost five. I held all three of those babies as wrinkly new humans and swore I’d be the best aunt ever. Better than Primrose, anyway. I’m good with kids.” The look she slides me seems to dare me to contradict her. “The good thing about being an aunt is that I get to do thefun stuff,” she says, beginning to count her points against her fingers, “that I’m not responsible for them, and that I get to hand them back at the end of the day.”
“Daisy won’t be your responsibility. Obviously, I’d like you to get to know her, given we’ll be living under the same roof.”
