“Sorry, who are you?” I demand, deciding that attack is the best form of defense.
“Don’t you recognize me?” He grins. “You used to sit on my knee and tug on my beard, when I had one.” He massages his clean-shaven chin ruefully.
My eyes widen, and my jaw drops. “Dad?”
He smirks. “Guess you took after me for your height, eh?”
I’m so shocked, I lose the power of speech. He sits there for a moment, waiting for me to say something. Then, when it’s obvious that words aren’t coming, he says, “Cat got your tongue?”
“I haven’t seen you since I was six,” I state. “I think I’m entitled to be a bit surprised.” I glance around the coffee shop. “How did you find me?”
“I went to your house, and your neighbor said you come here most afternoons.”
Well, thank you, Mrs. Apiata. That’s the last time I tell you what I’m up to.
My heart is racing, and I feel a little nauseous. I shouldn’t have had the cake. “What do you want?”
“Isn’t it enough to want to see your little girl?”
“Don’t call me that. I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a grown woman, and I’d like to know what you’re doing here.”
“Don’t be like that,” he says. “We had some good times, didn’t we? Do you remember that day at the park when we flew the kites?”
I glower at him. “Yes.” It was one of the few nice memories I have. I was five, and Clare was only three. He bought a couple of kites and took us all to the park to buy us ice cream and show us how to fly them. It was only later that I found out he was doing it to make up to my mother after they’d had an argument about his drinking.
“And I used to readThe Wonky Donkeyto you,” he says. “You loved that book so much.”
It makes me think of Marcus, and I can’t help but smile a little.
Dad picks up on it. “Yeah, see! You remember. We had some fun, didn’t we? It wasn’t all bad.”
My smile slowly fades. “It mostly was, Dad. Nearly all my memories of you are bad ones.”
He frowns. “I loved you girls. I never did anything to harm you.”
Anger flares inside me. “You mean other than abandon us? You might not have harmed us physically, but it was emotionally devastating. You were only ever nice to us when you wanted something. I might not have realized it at the time, but I understand it now. I’m not surprised Mum took out a restraining order on you.”
“Yeah, your mother was a bitch. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll always be my daughter.”
I bristle at his description of my mum. “You’re breaking the law,” I say loudly, “and I’d like you to leave.”
He leans forward. “Now, don’t be like that. I’m not here to cause trouble.”
“You were causing trouble from the day you met my mother,” I say bitterly. “Oh, yes, I know all about you, Dad. How Mum found out you’d been having an affair just before you got married. But you swore to her it was a mistake, and that it would never happen again. But it did, didn’t it? How many times? Was it four, or five?”
He just sits back, lips curving up.
“I’m pretty sure it was five,” I say. “And then when Mum finally accused you of cheating again, what did you do? Face up to it like a man, and beg her forgiveness?” I lean forward, fury billowing through me. “No, you hit her, like a fucking coward. Hard enough to leave a scar.”
He shrugs. “Your mother and I… we didn’t always see eye to eye. She was always giving me this.” He flaps his fingers and thumb together, miming someone talking incessantly. “Sometimes walking away is the best thing you can do.”
I put my phone into my pocket and slide my laptop into my bag.
“Don’t go,” he says, reaching out and grabbing my wrist. “We’re having such fun.”
“Let go of me.” I glance around, my pulse racing. The teens have left. The women in the corner are still engrossed in their conversation. The girl making the coffees has noticed what’s happening, but she’s about eighteen, five-foot-nothing, and reed-thin, so I don’t think she’s going to run to my aid. The guy in the black tee has left the shop and is standing outside, talking on his phone. He glances through the window at me briefly, but turns away when he sees me looking at him.
I look back at my father, and eventually manage to pull my wrist out of his grip. It throbs—it’s going to bruise. “What do you want?”
