She lets go of my hand and brings her gel nail extensions up to her blow-dried hair.
‘Mum,’ I say sharply when she takes too long to reply.
She sighs. ‘He sent me an email a few days ago, totally out of the blue, asking if we could talk. I don’t know how he got my email address, but if he’s anything like he used to be, it wouldn’t have taken much. He’s got a contact for everything.’ Her voice strains as she goes on, like she’s reluctant to give him this much airtime. ‘I replied, telling him that he’s three decades too lateand to piss the hell off, but then he rang me. He must have seen my number on my email signature. God, I’m an idiot.’ Her face drops as the lines on her brow gather into a frown. ‘He’s here in town. Something about investing in an Aussie film and doing a small part in it, but it’s not the one you’re working on.’
‘I know. I read it in the news,’ I stumble. ‘And … and I saw him the other day. At Village Pictures.’
Her round eyes snap to mine. ‘You did? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t want to upset you. It was when I went in for that meeting after the article came out about me and Austin. I … I don’t know what Gabriel was doing there, but I saw him in the lobby and’—the venomous words sting my throat—‘he walked right past me.’
‘Did he see you?’
I nod. ‘He saw me, he looked right at me, and then he kept going. That was it.’ I shrug, my lips turning down.
Shockwaves of anger rocket through Mum’s eyes. ‘What an absolute fucking asshole.’
I blink away from her. Despite everything that’s happened and how much my father has hurt me, hearing my mum speak like that about him only makes me feel more miserable about it all.
‘He rang me to ask if he could see you,’ Mum admits quietly.
My brows fly up. ‘What?’
She nods slowly, fidgeting with the silver tennis bracelet around her wrist. ‘I’m as surprised as you are.’
Her words rattle around my brain, trying to fall into place so I can make sense of them. Gabriel Dean voluntarily reached out to me? He wants toseeme? I guess he didn’t recognise me in the Village Pictures lobby then.
‘Before you snatched the phone off me,’ Mum adds pointedly, ‘I was about to tell him where to go. And that there’s no way you’d ever want to see him.’
I glance down at the silky, flared skirt of my plum-coloured salsa dress. Why is my instinct not to instantly agree with that statement?
‘I should go,’ I mumble, glancing at the wall clock. ‘Shit, I’m so late.’
‘Try to enjoy yourself,’ Mum encourages as I drag myself to my feet. She’s making her tone as upbeat as she can, but her expression is still stricken. The painted arches of her brows make her face look even more startled. ‘Just give this no more thought, Evie, okay? He means nothing to us. Right?’
A burning feeling irritates my sternum. I’m too astonished to process how I feel about any of this. In the end I just bend to give her a hug. ‘Right,’ I repeat.
Thank the stars, my car was finally fixed earlier this week, and I turn up the volume on some nineties Ice Cube for my drive to Barfly, the venue Rafa has booked for the showcase, attempting to drown out the noisy thoughts screeching through my brain.
It took me until I was fourteen—when that email to Gabriel’s agent about the family tree went unanswered—to accept that my father was never going to contact meor attempt to be a part of my life. Having that certainty blown apart today, without warning, has left me in pieces.
Why now? Does it have something to do with the baby he’s expecting with his partner? Has she pushed him into this? Has he discovered a serious hereditary condition that his doctor says I ought to know about?
Maybe he’s here to tell me that he loves me and has never stopped thinking about me.
God, what a ridiculous thought. Frustrated with myself for even having it, I shove it out of my mind.
The car behind me blasts its horn when I fail to notice the traffic light has switched to green, and I shake my head straight.
It takes fifteen minutes of scouring the city’s backstreets until I find a parking spot. I race into Barfly so fast that I nearly roll my ankle in my glittery heels. The showcase is already in full swing when I walk through the doors. Damn, I wanted to watch Rafael do his opening number—a fast-paced mambo with his dance partner, Gina.
The first celebrity of the night—a weekend news anchor—is up on stage, doing a lovely job of a simple bachata with Sebastian. Fortunately, he has no need to wear steel-capped boots with her. No time to stand and watch, though—my hip-hop crew is scheduled to hit the stage right after this track.
Barfly is a hugely popular performance nightclub, which I’ve danced at many times before and know inside out. I slip past the huddle of media videographers,through the painted black door beside the stage and into the ‘green room’—really just a storage space crammed with an old leather sofa and a stockpile of alcohol cartons.
‘She’s here!’ cries Avalanche.
Bliss, Usher, Mayday and Snuggles let out a collective breath.
