“How you doing Dad?”
“I’m grand,” he says. “Making some beans on toast for dinner.”
“Not again.”
“What do you mean ‘not again’? I haven’t had this in four days. Last night was a jacket potato.”
“And what topping?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Mind your business,” he huffs.
“It was beans, wasn’t it?”
“So what if it was? Arrest me.”
“You need vegetables, Dad,” I scold.
I hear him pick the can off the side and slide his reading glasses on. “It says here that a tin of baked beans contains one of your five a day.”
“Ok, good,” I say. “What are your other four?”
“I had potatoes at lunch.”
“Do you mean crisps?”
He grumbles something unintelligible.
“What was that?” I nudge.
“Are you really calling me on holiday to harass me about my dinner?”
I laugh. “No, not necessarily. I was calling to see how you were.”
“Ah, a welfare check?”
“Have your other daughters been kind to you since I left?”
He makes a dismissive tsking sound. “They’re too busy for their poor old father. Abby popped in but only because she left her clarinet here.”
I press my lips together, mildly frustrated with my sisters. Even Abby. They have a tendency to assume I’ll pick up the slack with Dad. Not that he’s a burden so much but he is lonely and sometimes I wish he could find himself someone to love again.
I catch up with him about what he’s been watching on TV and how the new recruits are getting on at work. He tells me about the roses in the back garden which are in fullbloom. I tell him all about Dubrovnik. Well, not all about it. I miss out some key elements.
And when I hang up, with him insisting he’s keeping me from things. I decide I can’t stay in the room all night.
I spend the evening alone, strolling along the decks, staring at the incredible views as we head towards Monaco, the rocky, greenery of Cape Martin in the distance as the sun drops behind me. The truth is, there’s an ounce of relief in me that he’s not shown today. Maybe he’s realised I was right and that nothing good could come of us flirting.
All that lays ahead of us is a trail of broken promises and shattered hearts.
I’m too sensible to get involved with a popstar. I’ve made a stable, safe life for myself. So much so, that I was able to leave Mike just like that and stay on my own two feet. I had a house, a decent salary and a bunch of friends who were mine and not his.
Then again, I wonder, as I listen to the yacht coasting over the waves below, if that was the problem. What if I was so focused on myself, on my career and my family, that I pushed Mike away? What if I was the reason he cheated? What if all the cruel things he complained to her about me were true? Iwashard to be around. Iwasuptight.
But even thinking it, it doesn’t sound right.
Someone who truly lovedme,would loveallof me, surely?
I think about the heated kiss back in Rome. The way I haven’t laughed and flirted with someone as much as I have with Gus this past week, maybe ever! What if I ignore that feeling and it’s the biggest regret of my life?
