“That would be lovely…” I trail off as she smiles at him coyly. He licks his lips and tickles her ear with his finger.
Dear God.
“I’m going for a walk,” I mutter. I might as well not be here.
I leave the room to go get a fork to gouge my eyes out.
Of course, I want Mum to be happy and find a partner, I just wish she wouldn’t be so blatant about finding him directly in front of me.
Grabbing my coat, I slam the door behind me and walk with purpose to the green fields bordering the town.
Every time I visit Mum I feel on edge. Between the house-share and my bedroom in Wales being used for storage now, I feel a bit driftless. Someday I’ll own a house of my own and then I’ll call it home.
Until then, I’ll indulge in online house porn.
There it is. The cottage I’ve lusted after for two decades. It lords over the valley like something straight from the pages of a fairy tale. The owners retained its original character with beams and exposed stone walls, but I know they have a hot tub in the garden.
When I was younger, they used to have loads of kids playing in the garden. Now the gardens are deserted, and the children are grown up and have moved away.
I sit on the grass, looking out over the peaceful countryside, and take my book out to read. My plan is to stay up here long enough for Mum to exhaust Barry. Hopefully he’s not on Viagra.
19
Tristan
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.”