***
One morning, after Connor had left for work after feeding Coral and dressing her wound, Harlan sat on one of the half-packed boxes, arms folded, watching Coral march around the living room with her bandaged hand held up like a trophy.
"You know," he said eventually as he watched her carefully pack her vintage prints, "your mum wanted to have an abortion."
Fern looked up, not really surprised. "Dad—"
He raised a hand. "You're old enough to know. She was twenty; I was twenty-one. We were a useless pair of numpties. I offered to marry her, thought that would fix things. I thought I loved her. She said yes, and for a while, we rattled along and my love was just not enough. We were both unhappy, so off she went when you were two. "
Fern swallowed. "I always thought she left because of me."
"Oh, sweetheart," he snorted. "I was an arsehole, and she was a bigger one. But no, we just were not a good fit. But you were the best thing that came out of that relationship"
She smiled despite herself. Her dad never made her feel unwanted.
"I don't think Connor would do that, though," Harlan went on, softer now. "He's a complete hairy ball sack, don't get me wrong. But he loves that little girl. And I think he's learned his lesson."
"We'll see," Fern murmured before changing the subject. "What is this I hear about you and Gracie next door? She’s been in love with you for ages, Papa."
Harlan's expression grew irritated. "Mind your business, brat. I'm too old to be hunted."
Fern laughed, and Harlan leaned in as he stood to leave, his expression soft. "Listen. Connor may seem like a waster now, I know.But I have been trying to imagine being in his shoes. Not to excuse him—he cocked things up, and he cocked them up royally—but he didn't have a strong mum like Coral. Or a dad like me. Yeah, yeah, I'm a fantastic father," he added, waving off her eye roll, "and an even better grandpa."
He sobered. "But he must've been confused and terrified. Christ, I'd have been shitting my pants if someone accused me of rape. Even if the charges are dropped, people will still look at you like you did something. And he might've been worried that you would look at him differently. Or Coral would someday."
Fern looked away stubbornly.
"We were all idiots at that age," Harlan said gently. "You're still very young, and so is he. I think he regrets not telling you everything right in the beginning."
Fern just shrugged and escaped to sort out the furniture that she was planning to give away.
***
A nearly empty fridge prompted a quick trip to the local supermarket. The automatic doors hissed open and shut behind Fern as she pushed her trolley out into the grey afternoon. The sky hung low, threatening rain and Fern cursed herself for forgetting her coat.
Milk. Bread. Pasta. Things Coral would eat without fuss.
“Fern?”
The unwelcome voice slid over her spine. She didn’t turn.
Instead, she adjusted the bags in her trolley and kept walking, head down, her steps quickening. If she could just reach the car—
“Fern!”
The voice was closer now.
Of course, the shameless woman would follow.
Fern’s jaw clenched as she reached her car, popping the boot open. She began loading the bags with deliberate precision, while ignoring the woman bearing down on her.
“Don’t you ignore me, young lady.”
Kayla’s voice was sharp and offended, heels clicking across the tarmac as she approached. Fern shut the boot a little harder than necessary and finally turned to face the inevitable. The chances that she would be leaving the car park without committing murder were slim to none.
“Was there something you needed?” she asked, her voice flat, lacking her usual conciliatory tone when addressing Connor’s high maintenance mother.
Kayla looked her up and down, scarlet lips pursed, eyes glittering with that same familiar disapproval. “I tried calling. You didn’t answer.”
