Nine hours later after dropping Elly off at Paddington station, I’m kicking a football around the backyard with Daniel. Exhausted is not a word I could apply; no I need a word much stronger. I would have had a better night’s sleep if I lay down on the street and paid for a bulldozer to drive over me. I’ve had two espressos but no amount of stimulants will fix the dull pain in my lower back from sleeping on a tiny shit-quality bed.
Still, it was worth it. She was worth it.
“You look really old today,” Daniel informs me.
Thanks, son.
“I have a secret to tell you,” he says as he walks towards me. The match is finished, and it didn’t take much for Daniel to win today. “I’ve got a girlfriend,” he announces proudly.
“Oh yeah?” I raise my eyebrows. “Is this a girl from your class?” The kid looks like a catalogue model. No wonder he’s doing well with the ladies at school.
“Uh-huh.” He nods. “Talia.”
Nice name. “How long has she been your girlfriend?”
His brow furrows in deep concentration. “About a week,” he finally says as we walk into the kitchen. “I was hoping Miss Hargrove would be my girlfriend but she’s a son of a bitch.”
“Daniel.” I stop him in his tracks. “We’ve been through this. You can’t call people that, especially not your teaching assistant.” I don’t want another angry phone call from Mrs. Maguire, and she is a son of a bitch.
“I’m telling Talia tomorrow,” he adds, matter-of-fact.
“Telling her what?”
He looks at me like I’m stupid. “Telling her she’s my girlfriend.”
Do I have to teach my son about rejection at seven? “Maybe ask her, buddy, you know, rather than inform her she’s your girlfriend,” I advise. “She might want a say in it.”
“She holds my hand,” he says, deadpan, and cuts me a glare that tells me I’m not qualified to give dating advice. “Yesterday, I gave her my juice.”
That’s a good start. “Maybe don’t rush into commitment,” I offer. “There’s plenty of time for girlfriends in a decade. Just concentrate on being her friend now.”
He looks up at me. “Like you and mum are best friends now?”
I force a smile. “Exactly like that.”
His phone beeps in his pocket. It was a tough decision to buy it. It’s ludicrous for a seven-year-old to have a phone, but it’s the only way I have a direct line of contact, since Gemina is volatile as fuck.
“Who’s messaging you, Daniel?” The phone is just for me to message him, he’s too young to be talking to anyone else on it.
He takes it out of his pocket and reads it. “It’s Mummy. She’s waiting outside. Does that mean we can’t have potato waffles?”
My chest tightens, and I fake a smile for my son’s sake. What’s she playing at? She should be messaging me, not Daniel, and she shouldn’t be cutting into my visitation time.
I ruffle his hair. “We can still have potato waffles. Stay here, and I’ll speak to your mum.”
A big goofy smile plasters across his face. If only frozen potato waffles could solve all my problems.
Before I get a chance to go out, there’s a knock on the door. I open the door and stare at the woman I had loved for over a decade.
“Hi Tristan,” she says in her soft American twang. It has been toned down from years of singing on the London stages. “How are you? You look tired.”
“Gemina.” I greet her, feeling my temperature rise. “You’re not supposed to be here until 4. I have forty minutes left.”
Her eyes search mine. “I hope you’re looking after yourself,” she replies, ignoring my complaint.
I wish she wouldn’t do this. Pretend she cares.
Not when she destroyed me.
Twice.
“Change of plan,” she says when I ignore her. “We’re going to spend the night at the holiday home in Devon. We need to leave now. I’m sorry.”
“You can’t do this,” I say gruffly. “When you agree on a time, you stick to it.”
As I look down the driveway, I see the red Porsche that I bought for Gemina.
He’s here. The man I would do a prison sentence over.
“So, he’s driving my car now?” I snarl, trying to temper my anger.
I glance back to make sure Daniel is out of earshot.
She chews on her lips, studying me. “Tristan…you know things will have to change. We have to talk. We need to tell Daniel.”
“No.” Pain takes over my voice. “Don’t do this to me,” I beg in a strained whisper. “Don’t you dare talk to Daniel without me. Please.”
“This isn’t going away.” Her eyes flicker with wariness then she sighs, defeatedly. “Let’s deal with this when I get back from Devon, okay?”
I change the subject. “You look good.” I smile sadly.
Her eyes glaze over. She looks tired too.
“Thanks,” she says awkwardly. “We have to go. I’m sorry. Daniel,” she calls over my shoulder. “Get your things together.”
He runs to the door. “But Dad promised me potato waffles.”
“Not today, baby” she says. “Some other time.”
He looks up at me, and my heart breaks.
“Sorry, son.” I run my hand through his blond hair. “No potato waffles today. Next time, I promise. I’ll see you on Thursday night, okay? You can tell me more about Talia. Aunty Charlie will want to hear about her too.”
Daniel nods and runs into the living room to collect his trucks as I retrieve his Spiderman coat from the hallway.
I hunker down on my knees and bundle him up in my arms so I can give him a proper goodbye hug.
He wraps his arms around my neck. “Bye, Dad. I wish you were coming with us.”
“Me too, buddy.” I smile at him. “I’ll see you in a few days.” My voice is strained. I can’t wait another seven days to see my kid. “Can we lock in Thursday night, Gemina?”
“Sure,” she says, too breezily for my liking. Her flakiness is breaking my soul.
“Bye, kiddo.” Watching them walk towards the car, I am filled with a sick sense of disappointment as I always am when I see my son leave. He shouldn’t be living somewhere else, he should be living here in the house he grew up in and called home since he was born.
Daniel looks back at me and gives a little wave as Gemina takes his hand down the driveway.
I don’t look at the driver of the Porsche. I can’t.
I close the door to my empty townhouse. The silence is a sharp gloomy contrast to the sound of us laughing thirty minutes earlier. The laughter that reminds me of what my life used to be like.
***
“Tonight, we have a selection of Irish-influenced dishes, sir.” The caterer opens my commercial-sized oven and points at the first dish. “Guinness braised pork topped with cabbage, green crema, and queso fresco. Next,” she points at the second dish, “corned beef tacos served with a creamy, spicy mustard sauce, and a simple cabbage carrot slaw.”
She pulls out the second chrome wire shelf. “The main dish—slow-cooked lamb shank with a selection of three potato dishes.”
The Irish theme is for my County Cork born mother.
I inspect the dishes and nod my approval as the intercom buzzes.
“We’ll let ourselves out discreetly, Mr. Kane.” The caterer smiles at me as if we’re sharing some big secret.
I’m not sure why, I’m very open about the fact I don’t cook my own dinners. I often work twelve-hour days so the last thing I want to do is come home and spend an hour cooking. There’s no chance of the Kane ladies thinking I cooked any of this.
I walk down the hall to greet my guests and open the door for Danny, my mum, and my two sisters, Charlie and Callie. Callie, my youngest sister, sports one of those rings that goes right through her nose like a bull ring. We all hug.
Mum kisses both cheeks, leaving lipstick smudges I’m sure, and marches in briskly, peering over my shoulder. I know what she’s at, she’s scouting to see if Natalia, my housekeeper, is here. Natalia keeps my house in a permanent state of clean, the fridge stocked, my suits dry-cleaned and pressed and the bed linen changed at least once a week. None of this sits well with my mum who thinks that letting a stranger in to do your washing is vulgar. As far as she is concerned, it’s as bad as having a harem of women living in the house with me.
There are twenty years between the three Kane siblings. We joke that Charlie and Callie are accidents. In the seventies, Mum and Dad met in London when Mum was at nursing college and Dad was a labourer. They came from an era in Ireland when condoms were frowned upon, and the withdrawal method was the choice of contraception. None of us were planned, hence the age gaps. When I was fifteen, Dad decided he had enough of England and us, and skipped over the water to be with a woman from Kilkenny. A harlot, as my mother would say.
I spot Jack walking towards the house. Good timing. “Go into the bar area,” I instruct the others. “I’ll let Jack in.”
Off my kitchen is a custom-designed cocktail bar, one of two in the house. The second is in the cinema room downstairs. I’d spent a few million buying the house and the same again on the renovation job.
“Mate.” Jack grins as he approaches the door. He hands me a bottle of Scotch.
I spot the vintage and nod approvingly.
“You know I had to send my PA all over town because of your particular tastes?” He hands me his coat, and I lead him into the hallway. “She called five times in a panic. She said I can only find a twenty-five-year Glenfiddich vintage reserve. ‘Is that sufficient, Jack?’ I had to say, ‘No, Julia. It must be at least a Glenfiddich 1975 or older.’”
I shrug. “I have good taste and know what I like.”
We join the others in the bar area where Danny is serving up the drinks.
“Mrs. Kane, your favourite sherry.” Danny hands my mum her tipple, beaming at her. Lickarse. He’s even more attentive to her now he’s dating Charlie. “Sweetheart, what do you want to drink?” he asks, kissing my sister on the forehead as she pops herself onto a barstool.
I resist the urge to snap at him. While I’m delighted that my best friend and sister have found happiness together, the big brother instinct sometimes takes over.
When I found out about their secret relationship, things were rough between Danny and me. I knew Danny when he was working his way through every beautiful woman in London. That’s not what I wanted for my sister. It was a dark time when I thought I’d lost my closest friend, but Danny and I hashed things out when I realised he was serious about Charlie. In fact, we all spent Christmas in Danny’s holiday home in the Shetland islands.
Still, they are a new couple and it’s taking us all a while to adjust to the change in dynamics.
“Wine, please.” Charlie smiles back at him adoringly. “This smells amazing, Tristan.” Her eyes dance with mischief. “We hear you men had a lovely night out last week at the Regency.”
Danny flinches.
For fuck’s sake, he’s a leaking tap now he’s with my sister. Doesn’t he understand bro code?
Mum looks up sharply. An Irish mammy can sniff out a story that’s been kept from her.
“Ah, yes” Jack pipes up. “We met a lovely female lawyer that works for Tristan. Tristan knows her quite well, don’t you?”
“How well?” Mum asks briskly.
I grimace. “Not well enough to send me up an aisle, if that’s what you’re asking.” I take the canapes out of the warming oven.
Charlie eyes them suspiciously. “What are these? No surprises tonight, Tristan.”
I grin. “Smoked Gammon Ham with mustard glaze.”
She sucks in air. “Pig is out. Sorry, I just can’t.”
“I think you should write out menus for us,” Jack says, taking three. “Do you have any of those pork pastry things that you had last time?”
I skewer him with a look. “No, Jack, you slept with my last caterer, remember?” I shoot an apologetic look at Mum.
His brow furrows as he thinks. “Oh, yes! That’s unfortunate. If I knew I had to give up those pork pastries, I wouldn’t have done it.”
I lead them into the dining room, where the caterers have set the table according to the menu, and then I return to the kitchen to fetch the first course.
Danny follows me out. “You okay?”
“I saw Gemina earlier,” I reply flatly, lifting the braised pork from the warming oven.
“And?”
“And she says she wants to talk. She suggested telling Daniel, for fuck’s sake.”
“She’s right. About the talking at least. This isn’t going away.”
“Jesus, Danny, who’s side are you on?”
Danny pours himself another Scotch. “Yours. Always yours. But I can’t just tell you what you want to hear. We’ll find a solution to this that doesn’t involve murder.” He swirls the liquid in his glass. “Enough about the past. What about the present?” His eyes twinkle. “You booked Asha’s private room last night, didn’t you? You know they had to cancel some Chinese billionaire’s booking to squeeze you in. I reckon your boner cost us twenty grand.”
“It was worth every penny.” I hand him two plates of pork then crick my neck. “Although my back is killing me now.”
“I’ll assume by that comment she finally relented,” he says dryly. “Can’t keep up with a twenty-five-year-old?”
“No, can’t sleep on planks of wood.” I grimace. “Didn’t sleep a wink. She lives in a noisy house-share with a million people. One of them even barged into the bedroom in the middle of the night.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Let me get this straight. You stayed at her place?”
“Had to,” I grumble. “She refused to come back to mine.”
“So, it’s heating up then,” he muses as we walk back through to the dining area.
“Heating up? It’s so hot the Met Office will need to issue a weather warning. Everything about the woman is perfect.”
“Nobody is perfect, Tristan. You learnt that lesson the hard way,” he says in a low voice so the others don’t hear.
We place starters down on the placemats and I pop open a bottle of champagne to toast us.
“What’s new with you, Callie?” Jack throws me a lifeline and diverts attention from my love life.
My youngest sister shrugs.
“You’re in your final year now, right? Remind me what degree you’re doing?” Jack probes.
“History of Art,” she tells him.
He nods. “What will you use that for?” he asks.
“Fuck all,” Callie replies. “I just like the student lifestyle.”
“Language, young lady!” Mum interjects, her face blanching.
“Maybe I’ll do a second degree afterwards like History of History.” Callie sniggers, and I bite my lip. I’m paying her university fees.
Mum smacks her lips. “God above, give me patience. Over my dead body. You’ll earn a living like everyone else. I didn’t raise you to be lazy.”
Callie groans. “If you don’t stop nagging me, Mum, I’m going to drown myself in this soup.”
Charlie darts a glance at me then turns to Callie. “Callie,” she says, “you can’t be a student forever. I’ll help with your CV.”
“Mr. O’ Neil even offered her a job in the arts and crafts shop,” Mum explains.
“I’m not working for your boyfriend,” Callie moans.
“What?” I sit up alert as Charlie smirks at me like she knows something I don’t. “Who is Mr. O’ Neil?” I ask sharply.
“My companion,” Mum announces.
“You have a boyfriend? What?”
“Don’t be silly, I’m too old to have a boyfriend.” Mum tuts. “He’s my companion,” she repeats. “Don’t call him my boyfriend. People will talk.”
“What people?” Charlie rolls her eyes. “Who are these people you are always worried about?”
I frown. “Who is this guy?”
“Don’t give away any details, Mum, unless you want poor Mr. O’ Neil subjected to criminal checks.” Charlie laughs.
“Of course, I won’t,” I say, but that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I make a mental note to get his details from Charlie later and to ask what the hell is the difference between a boyfriend and a companion. At least it must be innocent enough if she’s still referring to him by his second name.
The conversation swings to Jack’s new hotel project, and my mind drifts to my Elly. What’s she doing right now? Is she enjoying dinner with her mum? Her home life seems unsettled. The father in me wants to mollycoddle her and to protect her. To give her emotional and financial stability. To invite her to my home, to this dinner with my family.
Pretending to listen to Mum, I retrieve my phone from my pocket under the table.
How is Wales? I message
I see her typing then stop.
The birthday present I had planned for my mum didn’t go as planned.
I frown. Everything OK?
She doesn’t reply quickly.
I miss you this evening. Stay with me tomorrow night.
Two simple letters pop up on the screen. OK
Before I can stop myself, I tip my head back and smile unrestrainedly.
“See?” Mum says as I drift into the conversation again. “Tristan is delighted to give Callie a job at Madison Legal.”
What?
