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Her nostrils prickled. “It’s…not working, being in London, writing…I feel sick admitting it, but…I don’t think I can keep doing this. I’ve completely lost my way.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Oh sweetheart, where’s this coming from?” Michael sat forward in his recliner. “We thought it would take a few months to get going. You’ll get there.”
“No, it’s more than that.”
Alex took a deep breath and told her dad about her misguided trust in Olivia, the weird possessiveness over Harry, the theft of her play, her public humiliations, and being forced out of the flat. When she got back to London, she’d have a day or two at most to collect her things and get out.
“Unbelievable. And all because she thinks you and Harry?” He put his glasses back on and blinked several times.
“Basically, yeah. It’s such a joke.” Tears raced down her cheeks.
“Well, then we’d best get started, finding you a new flat.” Michael grabbed his iPad from the windowsill. “Let’s find some listings online—”
“Dad, you’re not getting it…”
She pushed her bangs away from her forehead and tugged the cuffs of her black hoodie over her knuckles. “I can’t do this anymore. Clearly, I’m not cut out for playwriting or London. I’m having more panic attacks. I’ve embarrassed myself.”
Michael stopped scrolling on the iPad.
“Mom was right. I’ll just keep struggling here with nothing to show for it. I’m kidding myself—coming here was a mistake. I need to go home. I need to go home and do something else. Office work, retail, anything but…this.”
“But you don’t have to go back to the States to do something else, love. You could stay in London, right? You’ve made some smashing new friends.”
“Yeah, they’re great. I wanted you to meet them. I didn’t think I’d be here for Christmas, so I brought them with me for one last weekend before I say goodbye. I feel bad, though…I kinda brought them here under false pretences. Lucy thinks I’m asking you for help with rent money so I can move, but I’ve already made up my mind…to go back.”
Alex wiped her nose with her cuff. “If I stay in London, I’ll just be reminded daily of what I screwed up—every time I pass any of those beautiful theatres. No thanks. Writing is all that I’ve ever wanted to do…until now. If I’m not a writer, who am I?”
She brushed tears from her cheeks.
“I couldn’t tell you all this over the phone. I had to see you—and Helen and Joan, too.”
Michael pushed his eyeglasses up his nose. “I’m so sorry, love. I didn’t know you’d had such a rough time.”
He shifted from his recliner, cuddling his daughter. She sagged into his chest, her body giving in to wave upon wave of shoulder-quaking sobs. He stroked her hair and gently rocked back and forth as if his love could swaddle his baby girl in cotton wool, shielding her from further heartbreak and disappointment.
Alex felt like she was seven again…
“I think I started writing because my make-believe worlds were always happier than my real one.”
Michael gave her a squeeze. “I should’ve done things differently. When the divorce happened, I should’ve fought harder to get custody of you, appealed the court’s decision. Looking back, it’s my biggest regret.”
Alex found a tissue in her pocket, and wiped her streaming nose.
“I didn’t do enough—I know that, and I know I can’t make it up to you, all those missed moments—birthdays, Christmases…Well, I’m not making the same mistake again.”
He patted Alex’s shoulder and rose from the couch. He opened the drawer of the side table.
“I’m still paying the instalments on your university loan, but I can stretch a little further.”
Alex scrunched up her eyebrows. “What are you doing?”
“I’m writing you that cheque to cover rent for the next six months. Leave Harry’s flat when you get back home to London, but don’t move into a dump or far out in the suburbs. I’d worry about you travelling on public transport late at night.”
“But Dad, you’re not listening. I need to leave, to go home… now.”
“Alex, you are home. London’s where you belong. Look, I know you’re upset, you’ve been treated terribly, but you’ve come so far. Don’t throw it away. Your life’s here now.”
“Did you slip some Bailey’s or rum into your coffee this morning?”
