And his love for us continued to be the life and soul of the Donovan family, as it had been for thirty-five years. Cooper’s dad? He was about as opposite as it was possible to get. Bridget had told me he was a lousy cockroach undeserving of the filthiest crack to creep about in. But hearing first-hand how he had treated Cooper, after Cooper’s mother died when he was four and he reluctantly agreed to take in the son he’d barely met. How he had left his son, ripped away from everything he’d ever known and dumped in hell, to scavenge for scraps from bins, wear newspaper under his jumper because he didn’t have a coat and he was so skinny that even in the summer months he froze. How he had kicked Cooper out of the way after his tiny, skeletal body had collapsed with hunger and a raging fever on the living-room floor. And how he had laughed about it. Well. That left me wondering if Bridget’s comparison was an insult to cockroaches.
After six months of his shocking neglect and drug-fuelled abuse, Cooper’s teacher had finally woken up to the fact that his haunting silence and shrunken cheeks weren’t simply due to the grief of losing his mother, but the horror of gaining a father. He’d been rehomed with his dad’s sister, daring to allow himself a twinge of hope when he saw the clean bed linen, and the full kitchen cupboards. But while Aunt Louisa could provide him with his basic physical needs (all those except warmth or affection), she resented every moment spent in her nephew’s company. As though it were his fault his mother died and his dad was an evil monster.
It was those first four years that saved him, he concluded when reading up on childhood trauma as a teenager, desperate to find some answers about whether he was ever going to become a normal person. Those vital, early years had been jam-packed with a mother’s love strong enough to last through all the very deep crap he’d had to battle through since.
So, yes, I ended up blubbering again on my first-date-honeymoon.
‘Was your dad’s name Patrick?’ I asked, dessert long since cleared away and replaced by decaffeinated coffees.
Cooper looked at me in surprise. ‘Yes. Though most people called him Paddy.’ He paused, pulling a wry grimace. ‘Or arsehole. He probably got called that most. That and Total Prick.’
‘What did you call him?’
Cooper fiddled with his mug, his gaze twenty-five years away. ‘Him. It. The Man. If I avoided giving him a name, it made him less real, somehow. And I wasn’t ever going to call him “Dad”.’
‘Thank you for sharing that. I’m guessing you’ve not told many other people.’
We got up, shrugging into our coats.
Cooper looked at me as we walked to the door. ‘Just one.’
I thought as much.
Maybe it was a bad sign that I didn’t feel more jealous of my husband’s friendship with my little sister. Maybe I was a fool not to.
We were halfway back to the cottage when I stumbled on a wonky paving slab, and Cooper grabbed my hand, gently helping me upright so that we were standing face to face in the darkness.
He took hold of my other hand, tugging me two steps into the shelter of a nearby wall.
‘Okay?’ His voice was warm and as soft as the night air.
‘I’m very okay,’ I whispered back, tilting my head up in answer to his unspoken question.
‘Good.’ Cooper bent his face to meet mine, as cautiously and carefully as he probably approached a brain sample to examine, his eyes not breaking my gaze until our lips met, when he closed them. The kiss was tender, and sweet. Still slightly hesitant, but carrying more than enough promise of deeper, wilder kisses to follow. He pulled his mouth away, letting out a faint sigh as we rested our foreheads against each other.
I smiled. ‘Sigh of disappointment?’
I felt rather than saw him smile. ‘No.’
‘Phew.’
Phew!
And then my phone rang.
17
Cooper
‘Who is this?’ Emma retook Cooper’s hand, gripping it tightly as her face froze. ‘Grandad won’t get up? YourDAD? Where’s your mum? Have you tried ringing her…? Well done, you did the right thing. The paramedics will know what to do. Okay, I’m going to hang up in a moment, and call Sofia and Annie and Bridget. I’m quite far away, with Cooper, remember? But Annie is at Nonna and Grandad’s house, she’ll be there in five minutes, ten at the most. Okay, that’s brilliant. You’re doing great. I love you, Harry. Bye… Bye.’
Emma turned to Cooper, eyes wide with shock and horror. ‘Sam’s fallen down the stairs and won’t wake up. Harry couldn’t sleep and heard him. It sounds like he’s hit his head.’ She broke off in a sob, before visibly pulling herself together. ‘Harry’s called 999, an ambulance is on its way, but Orla’s out and she left her phone at home.’
‘Where is she?’
‘At eleven on a Sunday night? Who knows the hell where she is? Probably pumping weights with Jim.’ Emma was trying to scroll through her numbers, but her hand shook too hard and she was still gripping his with her other one. ‘Shit, Orla.What the hell are you playing at?’
Cooper took the phone from her, making sure Sofia’s phone was ringing before handing it back.
