Conditional Love (24 page)

Nick whistled and raked a hand through his already tufty hair.

‘We make a good team then, don’t we,’ he said quietly, not meeting my eye.

We do.

Nick took me through each of the elevations, describing the structure in great detail from the blue bricks at the bottom, which had something to do with damp, to the row of patterned brick under the roof, which was simply to make the house look pretty. He opened the folder again and withdrew drawings of the interior layout, pointing out each room in turn.

‘Downstairs there’s a large L-shaped space incorporating kitchen, dining and living room.’

‘Very sociable.’ I nodded, imagining the parties already.

‘A small room at the front of the house you could use as a study or a little sitting room when you want some peace and quiet.’

An office, or a reading room maybe – how decadent!

Upstairs there were three bedrooms and a bathroom, the master bedroom having an en suite and a small, but perfectly formed, walk-in wardrobe.

I couldn’t help myself. I squeaked at the walk-in wardrobe. Emma and Jess were going to be green with envy when they saw it. The flat had next to no storage space and we all had suitcases of clothes crammed under our beds. Except with me gone, I supposed they could use my room for all their stuff.

I was sad that they wouldn’t consider moving with me; there was plenty of room for all of us and we could carry on sharing as we had done for years. But maybe it was time for me to move on, to grow up.

A tiny spark deep inside me flickered with excitement. These sketches, even though they were only rough, held a glimpse of what my future could hold. Or – did I even dare think it? – our future. When Marc saw the plans surely he would forget all about his grand money-making scheme? This could be a home for us to be a couple in, or even one day a family!

I tuned back into Nick’s words, struck once again by how animated he was when he talked about his work.

‘You get a real buzz from this, don’t you?’ I said.

Nick looked surprised by the question and didn’t answer straight away.

‘I love structure. I love making the best of space,’ he said eventually, replacing the sheets of paper back into the folder. ‘I remember sitting at my parents’ kitchen table, telling the builders that if they flipped the staircase round in our house, there would be enough room for an en suite bathroom upstairs. I was eight.’

My eyes strayed to the graduation photograph on the wall.

‘I guess your dad is really proud of your career?’ I asked, pointing to the picture.

‘Was,’ Nick corrected, his voice wavering. ‘He passed away four years ago. Before I started my own practice.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered. I didn’t know what else to say, so kept my mouth shut, afraid of saying the wrong thing.

‘But when he was alive,’ he nodded fondly, ‘I think he was proud of me. He was a big presence in my life.’ He looked over at me intently. ‘I miss him every day.’

‘Was he an architect too?’

He shook his head and walked over to the photograph. ‘He ran a garden centre in Derbyshire. But as soon as he knew I was serious about architecture, he supported me one hundred per cent. He used to take me on day trips all over the country so that I could study famous buildings. I only found out after he died how much he hated cities.’

‘Anyway,’ Nick cleared his throat as if he was embarrassed to have revealed personal details, ‘I’m sure your parents are proud of you for undertaking a project like this on your own, aren’t they?’

I gazed at him, working out how best to answer that one. The contrast between our two backgrounds could hardly have been greater. I thought back to the phone call from my father earlier today and his desire to tell his side of the story. Terry Stone knew nothing of my hopes and dreams, my friends or my life.

To my embarrassment, my bottom lip suddenly acquired a life of its own and began wobbling.

Not again! Sophie, do not cry! Keep it together, woman!

He was going to think I was an emotional wreck. I pinched my lips together and blinked furiously.

‘It’s not still about your birthday, is it?’ he asked with a half smile.

I shook my head and managed to lift the corners of my mouth in reply.

Nick’s eyes darted round the room in every direction except mine. He patted my arm a couple of times while I attempted to regain my composure. Then his eyes alighted on the empty coffee cups and with an audible whistle of relief, he dashed over to switch the machine on again.

Nick placed a hot drink in front of me and winced as he took a sip from his own steaming cup.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, how does your family feel about this building project? I only ask because you’re the youngest client I’ve ever had and it’s quite an undertaking.’

Youngest client? I was flattered until the thought occurred to me that he might just have thought that I was immature.

‘They don’t know,’ I mumbled.

Maybe this was wildly inappropriate, especially for a man who never mixed business with pleasure, but Nick was looking at me like he was all ears.

I shrugged my shoulders and sighed. Why not?

‘It’s complicated,’ I began.

During the time it took him to slurp his way through a frothy cappuccino, his face screwed up with concentration, I offered up a potted history of my family.

I sat back and waited to see his reaction.

‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Your dad ran off to join the Navy when you were born. Your mum is a cabaret singer in Spain. She holds a grudge against your father and doesn’t know that you’ve met him. You’ve got a half-brother who you’ve never seen. Your dad wants to get to know you but your mother would never allow it.’

I nodded. Summarised like that, I felt like a character out of a soap opera. If it wasn’t my life we were referring to, I would almost find it funny.

A shiver ran down my spine as the truth suddenly dawned on me. I had only refused to meet up with Terry out of loyalty to Mum. If there was even a tiny chance that she wouldn’t find out or if I thought for a moment that she wouldn’t mind, I would have said yes. I knew it was crazy, but all of a sudden I realised I was curious, I wanted to know more about him. I wanted
him
to know about
me
.

Forget it! It’s never going to happen. Besides, he’s going back to the States in two days. Keep life simple, Sophie. It’s safer that way.

‘Well, that makes my trip to Blenheim Palace with a packed lunch look a bit tame,’ said Nick, raising his eyebrows.

‘Oh God! Give me tame over angst-ridden, dysfunctional and cross-continental any day of the week,’ I sighed.

Nick chewed on his bottom lip. ‘Are you absolutely sure that your mother wouldn’t approve? Wouldn’t she be glad to see your dad try and redeem himself after all these years?’

I shook my head sadly. How could he possibly understand, coming from his perfect ‘Two Point Four Kids’ upbringing? Despite living a thousand miles away, I was all Mum had; my loyalties had to remain with her, it was only fair.

‘I only ask because – and this is entirely none of my business, so feel free to ignore me – if I had a chance to have my dad back in my life, even for one day, I would grab it faster than Norman eats dog treats.’

Norman pricked his ears up hopefully.

‘Perhaps you should ask yourself what’s really holding you back – yourself or your mum?’

Feel free to ignore him? How could I ignore a comment like that? How dare he jump to conclusions! He knew nothing about me. And he had no right to compare his lovey-dovey family to mine.

He was right about one thing – it was none of his business!

I stood up so fast that my chair fell backwards and hit the floor. Nick stared at me with a bewildered expression. I was aware of the flush to my cheeks, but glared back anyway.

It was time to leave before I said something I regretted.

‘Can I take these drawings away with me?’ I said curtly.

‘Of course,’ he said, with a frown. He strode a couple of paces to his desk and picked up an envelope with my name on it. ‘This is your copy.’

I took the envelope from him and marched out of the door and out of his garden.

Well, that wasn’t in the least bit childish, Sophie. Really impressive.

I made it as far as the bus shelter before stopping to catch my breath. Nick’s comment had cut dangerously close to the bone. He was clearly better at reading me than either of us had given him credit for.

twenty-seven

I had had barely a wink of sleep. I lay tossing and turning until two o’clock, fiddling about with my pillows in an attempt to find a route to the land of nod. I tried two pillows, then one and then none. I lay on my back with a pillow under my knees and finally on my side with one between my knees. These last two positions were quite comfortable, but I had gleaned them from the childbirth programme
One Born Every Minute
and couldn’t get the image of wailing, red-faced women out of my head and so failed to drop off to sleep.

Fatigue eventually won the battle and I fell into a restless sleep and had a seriously weird dream. I was at a fairground which was completely deserted except for me. I stood in front of the carousel and watched the horses go round and round and up and down. I desperately wanted to get on but I couldn’t see anyone in charge and it didn’t appear to slow down.

Then I noticed that one particular horse had its beady eye trained on me. Whereas the others were painted in bright, gaudy colours, this one had a dark mane, a wide forehead, a solitary dimple and grey solemn eyes behind trendy frameless glasses. Every time the dark horse whizzed past, it would shake its mane and whinny at me, snorting warm air out of its nostrils.

All of a sudden, the carousel started spinning faster and faster and the dark horse was nothing more than a blur of grey amongst the pinks and yellows of its fellow travellers.

I stepped closer and the speed of the carousel made the air rush past me, my hair swirled round my face and I couldn’t see. I reached a hand out to try and stop it but I was too scared. I sobbed and sobbed until I looked down to find I was standing in a puddle of my own tears.

‘What’s holding you back?’ the horse shouted. ‘What’s holding you back?’

I woke up panting, Nick’s words reverberating in my brain. I was cold and clammy. The duvet was on the floor and I had thrown off my Take That tour t-shirt that I wore in bed when Marc wasn’t here.

What was holding me back?

Come on, Sophie, you know the answer to that one!

I yanked the covers up over me and checked the clock. Six a.m., seven in Spain. Too early to get up.

Perhaps Nick’s right. Maybe Mum will have softened and won’t snap my head off if I ring her and demand some answers? Maybe she’ll think that having Terry in my life, even if she hated his guts, would be better than no father at all?

Yeah, right, and Willy Wonka’s alive and living in Dudley. Ooh that would be good, wouldn’t it? Imagine a chocolate river running through the city centre and out past the zoo….

Focus! This is your future we’re talking about.

It sounded so easy when I tried out the conversation in my head: Hi Mum, Terry wants to get to know me. Why didn’t he keep in touch when I was a child? Why won’t you talk about it?

Quarter past six. Was that all the time that had passed? Fifteen minutes? Still too early.

Creative, artistic, highly strung – all adjectives I had used to excuse my mother’s erratic behaviour when I was growing up. I had quickly learned that it simply wasn’t worth asking her to go into detail about why her marriage had slipped from
Truly, Madly, Deeply
to
Sleeping with the Enemy
within a matter of months. She would fly off the handle and go into a sulk which could last anything up to a week. If she were to enter Mastermind, her specialist subject would be ‘Deflecting Awkward Questions’. Consequently, I had plodded through my childhood meekly doing as I was told, keeping my mouth shut and avoiding any topic which might provoke her.

That wasn’t to say that I didn’t adore her; when she got her own way, she was great fun. My friends were in awe of her; she was far more unconventional than all their mothers; the girls were fascinated and the boys all fancied her. She was no use when it came to helping me with my maths homework, but I always had the most creative fancy dress costumes and the best birthday parties.

You're a big girl now, you deserve the truth.

I had only spent a few minutes in my father’s company and obviously, he might have changed over the last thirty-three years, but he didn’t seem particularly malicious. And he did want to see me again.

All of a sudden, getting to the bottom of the events surrounding my parents’ spilt became too pressing to ignore for a single moment longer.

Six twenty. That would have to do.

I pulled on my dressing gown, picked up my laptop and tiptoed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I logged on while I waited for the kettle to boil and then remembered I needed my mobile phone too; I would have to send her a text first, to let her know I was online. I was going to Skype her. No more hiding, no more taking the easy option. I would look her in the face and demand some answers.

I nipped back into my bedroom to fetch my phone, but by the time I got back to the kitchen, Mum was Skyping me!

I took a deep breath before answering the call. This could get messy.

Mum was never one to be under-dressed, but even for her, she looked quite startling for this time of day; she was wearing a gold sequinned boob tube, her hair was pinned up with glittery hairslides and she was sporting enormous fake eyelashes and a pair of diamante hoop earrings.

‘I’m so glad you’re up, darling! I wanted to catch you before I went to bed!’

Bed? Has anyone told her she’s in her bloomin’ fifties! Not that anyone would guess, she looked full of energy, unlike me.

‘Whoohoo! What a party!’ She grinned and took a swig from what looked suspiciously like a shot of vodka.

‘Salsa dancing in Torremolinos all night. I’ve danced my bleedin’ feet off. All I’ve got left is stumps. Look!’ She leaned back and held a foot up to the webcam and hooted with laughter. I blinked and looked away. Was she wearing a thong under that leather mini skirt?