It’s been a busy afternoon today, a PR man called Pierre came round. He had a diamond earring the size of a Skittle and fist-bumped Dad when he first walked in, but he was kind and listened and made many phone calls so everything would go away. In any case, it would seem Dr Sara’s fisticuffs made for far more interesting clickbait. Over the course of the day, things did escalate, the tweets became more personal, everyone suddenly had an opinion on sex education, but the small positive is that people were googling Mum’s charity and donations online saw a two hundred per cent increase. People at least listened to what she had to say.
All the while, I looked at my phone. That’s the problem with modern technology, you know when someone is online, when their fingers are hovering over a phone, when they last liked something or reacted to a post. I’d see himtyping…but the messages would never reach me. I imagined him writing, stopping, deleting, starting again, but it’s now the early evening and there’s been nothing.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry you found out that way. I should have led with jokes.It’s Josie here! We shagged in my car? The one who humiliated your dad on live TV!Surprise! Wasn’t that funny? Yep, that was Mum. The one you had Christmas dinner with. My dad’s name isn’t Fabio. Nan wasn’t a showgirl. I’m not in catering.But the lie would have unravelled like a big ball of wool and at the end of it would be nothing. I had no idea how to fix this or what to do next, but I thought the best thing would be to see him, to come to his flat and say sorry in person at least.
‘How’s Mum?’ I mumble. ‘Have you texted her?’
‘I’ve put her in the bath and then she’s going to watchBridgertonwith Dave. Nan’s with her, she’ll be fine.’
‘That was a bad business idea of mine to let her do that debate. I’m sorry. It was naïve of me to think people wouldn’t attack her like that.’
‘Oh god, don’t apologise. You did good by her. This was all him, not you. Your mum will be fine. You know that. She’s survived me all these years,’ he says, trying to joke.
A couple walk past the car and I sink into my seat. Maybe I should have dressed up for this. It was a panicked plan where, after Pierre left, I just grabbed a hat and coat and told Dad we were going out.
‘You like this boy, don’t you?’ Dad says to me in the twilight of the car.
‘Maybe. But maybe it just isn’t to be, Dad. I mean, can you imagine that asshat as a father-in-law?’
‘Seriously? No. I’d be the one punching him at the wedding. I’d put laxatives in his champagne.’
I laugh as he takes off his gloves and adjusts his seat, pushing it right back to get ready for this stakeout. An old man walks past the car with a greyhound, a newspaper tucked under his arm, giving us the eye. It’s OK, we’re here to fix my crappy love life, not for crime. I scan my eyes up Cameron’s building, around cold, empty cars parked nearby, searching for his.
‘The least I can offer him is an apology, though,’ I explain.
‘Do you want to practise what you want to say? With me?’
I shake my head.
‘Well, do you think I can get pizza delivered to the car? Will we be here a while? It’s just I’ve been running around after you girls all day, I’ve forgotten to eat.’
I go through my handbag and find a cereal bar.
‘Since that episode during tennis, you’ve really got to start looking after yourself, you know?’
Dad pulls a face at being reprimanded, taking the cereal bar and breaking a bit off for me. ‘That’s your problem, Josie. You’re always looking out for everyone else. Never you. Since you told us about that Mike stuff, this is what I worry about. Who’s looking after you?’
‘You do.’
‘But I mean, when do you put your needs first?’
I shrug, looking down at my hands. ‘Do you think Mum will be OK? Fulham kick off at 5 p.m. too, tell Nan she can watch it on the downstairs telly.’
‘You’re changing the subject.’
‘But, seriously, it’s a top-of-the-table clash.’
Dad laughs. I put a hand to his as I realise I gave him the chewy cereal bar with the sultanas; his teeth won’t like that.
‘The stuff with Cameron was all a bit of a mess to start with and I probably made things worse. Don’t worry about me, please.’
‘I will always worry.’
Our attention is suddenly taken by a figure walking towards the flats with a rucksack on his shoulders, carrying a shopping bag. It’s him. Crap. The immediate reaction is to duck, but I’m here. I’ve got to do this. I reach for the door handle, but as I do, my dad grabs my arm. It’s definitely Cameron walking, but there’s a little girl who runs towards him and into his arms. ‘DADDY!’ He picks the girl up and spins her around. ‘Erin!’ He drops the shopping bag to the floor and pushes the black curls from around her face to kiss her forehead. I can’t quite breathe. From a nearby car, a woman gets out carrying a bag and walks towards Cameron. They share a hug and a joke and she pokes at his face where his chickenpox used to be. I can’t look at the scene any more so bow my head and let tears fall into my lap. I can’t quite tell if that’s pain or guilt.
‘Oh, Josie,’ Dad says, looking on at them. ‘Shall we just go?’
But, instead, I open the door and stand next to the car. You’re a daddy? How? I don’t know what this is. I don’t think I ever did, but now I need to at least find out.
