If I play this right, it’ll be a lot easier to ditch him tonight that I thought.
Once I know the coast is clear, I knock on my father’s door.
“Who is it?”
I jump at the sound of his angry voice. I should be used to it by now, but apparently not.
“It’s me, Bryn.”
“Ah, Bryn, my love. Come in.” I flinch at the use of endearments. That’s always a bad sign.
I open the door and enter his office, wrinkling my nose involuntarily at the smell of cigarette smoke and whisky. My father must have something on his mind if he’s locked up in here. He does this from time to time, subsisting on cigarettes and whisky, having his meals brought to his desk. He sleeps on the couch and doesn’t leave this room for days on end. The last time he did this he’d gotten into a fight with my mother.
I saw Mum this morning, though, and she seemed fine. She didn’t mention anything about my father’s binge-working, though.
“Everything alright?” I ask. Despite the fact that I loathe the man, a part of me can’t help but be concerned. I wish it wasn’t so. I wish I could detach myself mentally from him the way I can with so many other things, but it isn’t possible with him. Ever.
He leans back in his chair and lights a cigarette. I cringe. I hate the smell.
“Everything’s fine, love. And how about with you?”
I smile, pulling out the chair in front of the desk and sitting down as far away from him as I can.
It’s a shame how much I hate him now.
There was a brief time when I was younger that I almost liked him. I’d learned to follow the rules and his expectations, and rarely rocked the boat. I thought maybe I could learn to get along with him, that I’d finally be the daughter he deserved.
That seems so long ago now. I close my eyes, willing myself to forget how things changed, when his rage made me harden my heart against him.
“Oh, I’m good,” I say. I’m not one to beat around the bush. “Why did you call me?”
He shifts in his chair and gives me a long look before he speaks. The feeling of dread intensifies, and I’m suddenly afraid I’m going to be sick. He knows something.
“Tell me again how work was?”
Shit.
“Good. Very good?—”
“Don’t lie to me!” He slams his palm on the desk in front of him so hard, I jump, and a little shower of paperclips falls to the floor.
Oh, God. Of all the things my father despises, lying and betrayal are two of the worst. There was no warning this time, though. No warning at all.
“What do you mean?” I say, trying to keep my dignity. “What is it?” I don’t know why I’m putting off the inevitable, though. If he knows about the shop, I may as well own it. “Is this because of my job?”
His lips pinch together, and his eyes narrow. “Job,” he snorts. “You mean the business you lied about. The useless failure of a shop.”
I ignore the wave of sadness he makes me feel and swallow the large lump in my throat. It’s quickly followed by a flash of anger. I’ll keep my temper.
“Is there something I can help you with, then?”
He glares, and I snap. I get to my feet. I’m ready to leave. I don’t care if someone follows me. I don’t care if he does himself. If he’s brought me here just to mock me?—
“Sit down.” His voice is a deadly whisper. I’m smart enough to do what he says. I’m fuming inside, but I keep myself calm.
“I’m not as dumb as you think, Bryn,” he says, but his voice is sad, not as angry as he was before. I know him, though. This is how he plays things, how he manipulates people into thinking he’s forgiven them, he’s forgotten, that he doesn’t plan on seeking the revenge he’s absolutely going to get.
“I didn’t think you were?—”
