‘I am not sulking.’
‘I said skulking.’ Another glare. ‘And who’re you trying to kid? You’re taking the whole mournful mime act to another level. Why don’t you join in with the games?’
‘I wouldn’t feel comfortable.’ He glanced over to where his twenty-one-year-old nephew was currently administrating beauty treatments to the four girls, putting on a comic French accent and declaring them all, ‘magnifique!’
‘Zac doesn’t seem bothered.’
‘Zac’s a natural extrovert. He enjoys dressing up.’ Hence his flamboyant French Dandy costume, complete with frilled shirt, silver cummerbund and knee-length breeches. A look that hadn’t allayed his brother-in-law’s fears that his son favoured ‘messing around’ with make-up to pursuing a nice sensible career in IT. ‘Plus, he’s closer in age and doesn’t pose a threat.’
Gemma swung around to face him. ‘A threat? What do you mean?’
How could he explain that being the single father of a young girl wasn’t as straightforward as when you were part of a couple. He still felt uncomfortable hanging around the school gates, even though he had a legitimate reason for being there. He avoided hosting playdates at his home for fear of someone accusing him of doing something untoward, and he declined all requests to act as a school chaperone. The one time he’d accepted, he’d spent the entire trip trying to avoid being hugged by a tearful girl who’d been picked on by another child. Hugging his own daughter was acceptable. Hugging other people’s daughters wasn’t.
Single mums didn’t seem to face such scrutiny. But as a single dad, he definitely did. Which was unfair, but it was the reality of his situation.
Consequently, there was no way was he about to assist Zac in applying face masks to four eleven-year-old girls and decorating their nails with glitter. ‘It’s better if I let Zac run the show. After all, it is his job. Why would I interfere when they have a trained make-up artist to pamper them?’
Gemma looked unconvinced. ‘Feeble. But you may have a point.’
‘Big of you.’
‘It doesn’t mean you can’t join in and be useful.’ She leant closer, her white powdered face turned up to him. ‘Everyone else is running around like blue-arsed flies.’
She was right.
Will’s dad was blowing up balloons and attempting to twist them into sausage dogs, his French onion seller outfit a far cry from his former work uniform as a Police Chief Inspector.
In contrast, his mum looked in her element as she loaded the long dining table with buffet food, adding pink cupcakes to the stands and sprinkling them with icing sugar. As a former Head of a primary school, dealing with pre-pubescents wasn’t something that fazed her. She’d even made her own costume, converting a French flag into a makeshift dress.
Even his normally dour brother-in-law was making himself useful. Chris was in charge of the music, overseeing the playlist and ensuring Billie Eilish featured regularly – even though he doubted his brother-in-law knew who Billie Eilish was. Chris wasn’t a fan of popular culture. He liked the opera, maths equations, and rarely wore anything other than a suit. Today he was dressed as wartime Napoleon – which although not exactly suitable for a pre-teen birthday bash, was at least French.
Gemma nudged him in the ribs. ‘Go and offer the mums a drink.’
Will cringed. Oh, God. Not ‘the mums’. He risked a glance over to where the three yummy mummies were huddled in front of the backdrop of a Parisian cafe. ‘Do I have to?’ But they caught him looking over and smiled, waving in unison like an elite synchronised swimming team. ‘They’ll eat me alive.’
Gemma’s hands went to her hips. ‘Ignoring the fact that you’re being incredibly sexist and judgemental, not to mention completely up yourself, have you even spoken to them?’
‘Yes. And it wasn’t fun. And before you accuse me of being sexist, I overheard them discussing what they’d like to do to me.’ He checked no one was listening. ‘Believe me, there was nothing respectful about it.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s only to be expected.’
‘Meaning?’
She sighed. ‘You’re a widowed dad. You’re reasonably young. You’re good-looking… in a feminine sort of way, and you run your own company. Even as your sister, I can see that’s an appealing package.’
‘“Appealing package?” Now who’s being sexist? And what do you mean, “I’m good-looking in a feminine sort of way?”’
‘Well, you know, you’re not all buff like the twenty-somethings you see down at the gym.’
‘Excuse me? I’ll have you know I work out.’
‘You’re not exactly Magic Mike, are you? You’re more…’ She tapped her lip in contemplation. ‘Jude Law-esque. You know, all boyish and dimpled, rather than manly and chiselled.’
‘Oh, that’s not judgemental at all!’
‘I’m just saying, you’ve been on your own for eight years. Maybe it’s time you got back out there and started dating.’
‘I date.’
‘Oh, please. That is not dating. That is fu—’
‘Keep your voice down.’ He attempted to cover Gemma’s mouth. ‘You want the whole room to hear? Including my ten-year-old daughter?’
‘Eleven.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Your daughter is eleven. Cute little thing? Small for her age? Has her dad’s grey eyes?’
‘I know who my daughter is.’
‘Yeah, well, she’s eleven.’
‘Only just.’
‘Either way, she’s growing up fast and you need to stop living in the past. Or at least, start dating someone age-appropriate.’ She patted his chest. ‘Now, go and offer those lovely mums a drink. You never know, one of them might be the woman of your dreams.’
Except that was an impossibility. The woman of his dreams was dead.
He had no intention of engaging with ‘the mums’, but he was sick of squabbling with his sister, so he headed in their direction.
The pair of them had been the same as kids. Bickered constantly. Gemma was five years older and liked to be in charge. A situation that continued to cause grief, as Will was now technically her boss. She’d taken over as Financial Director for TaylorMade Events a few years back. And despite being very good at her job, she didn’t like taking orders from her younger brother.
Will headed towards the mums in the pretence of topping up drinks, a ruse to stop his sister nagging. He knew her desire for him to ‘find love again’ came from a good place, but it didn’t make it any less annoying.
He crossed the dining room, wondering if it would be inappropriate to pinch a can of beer from the fridge? The fruity pink cordial his mum had made earlier didn’t appeal, and he’d rather stick to water than endure the sickly strawberry milkshakes that were also on offer.
He searched out his daughter, which wasn’t easy amongst so much pink clutter. His parents’ normally rustic open-plan farmhouse in picturesque Chobham, was currently filled with balloons, fairy lights, ribbons and feathers. There were cut-outs of the Eiffel Tower dotted about, along with trays of sweet treats. A three-tier cake perched on a stand covered in white icing and topped with a giant pink poodle.
He wouldn’t mind if Poppy looked like she was enjoying herself, but her smile was a little forced, and it soon faded when she thought no one was watching.
Unlike her three friends, who’d turned up wearing pink chiffon dresses, complete with black and white accessories, pink lips and nails, Poppy hadn’t been keen to dress up. She’d only relented when her cousin had intervened and swapped the party dress Will had bought for her with a sophisticated ‘French artist’ look. Zac had rolled up the sleeves of one of Will’s navy suit jackets and teamed it with a stripy top and blue beret. He had also used the pink sash from the party dress to make a neck scarf. He’d then drawn on a moustache, given her bushy eyebrows, and rouged her cheeks. Poppy had loved it.
Will knew why. She was in disguise. His daughter was the proverbial wallflower.
; He’d often wondered if she would have been this shy if Sara hadn’t died. Was it a lack of a mum that had caused such timidity? Or was she always destined to be an introvert? He’d never know.
Poppy had barely been two when her mum had died. A freak skiing accident. Not even a bad one at that. Well, that was how it had seemed at the time. Just an awkward landing and an innocuous bump on the head. It was only later in the evening when Sara’s headache had worsened that they had called a doctor. A precautionary measure – not because they’d genuinely feared anything was seriously wrong.
And then she’d lost consciousness. One moment she was alert and chatting, the next she was unresponsive. A brain scan showed extensive swelling. An operation followed to relieve the pressure, after which she was placed in an induced coma. Hours turned into days, days into weeks. But she never regained consciousness. With no possible chance of recovery, the decision was made to switch off life support. A decision that would haunt him for the rest of his days.
Something touched his ankle, jolting Will from his thoughts.
He glanced down to see a small hand poking out from underneath the white tablecloth.
Checking no one had noticed, he crouched down and lifted the tablecloth. ‘What are you doing under there?’
‘Hiding,’ his daughter said nonchalantly, as though this was perfectly normal behaviour for the birthday girl.
‘Don’t you want to hang out with your friends?’
She shook her head.
He suppressed a sigh. ‘Have you eaten anything?’
She shrugged. ‘Not really.’
It didn’t surprise him. Poppy didn’t like people watching her eat.
‘I’ll get you something.’ He stood up, never sure how to handle situations like these.
Should he force her to rejoin the party? Or let her be? If only Sara was around to guide him.
He fetched a paper plate and added a sausage roll, a handful of Skips and a cheese spread sandwich. An overload of additives. She probably wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight. Still, it was her birthday.
He added a frothy pink cupcake. Let the kid enjoy herself.
One of the mums spotted him and wagged her finger. ‘Too many carbs,’ she chastised playfully. ‘You’ll ruin that nice figure of yours.’ She made a point of checking him out, her eyes travelling down his chest, her head tilting to one side so she could admire his backside.
He probably should feel flattered. Violet’s mum was an attractive woman. Bubbly, sociable and clearly interested. But she was also part of his daughter’s world, and he wasn’t about to risk becoming the latest school gate gossip.
And it wasn’t like he fancied her. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he was interested in a woman. Not in a meaningful way. His sister was right, he had occasional hook-ups, but never with anyone he really liked. In fact, his dalliances were with women he specifically didn’t like. Which was probably an issue he needed help with, because although he didn’t need a shrink to tell him he was deliberately avoiding relationships, he certainly did need someone to explain to him why.
He smiled at Violet’s mum, whose name he couldn’t remember, and nodded to the plate. ‘For Poppy,’ he said, moving away before he got trapped in conversation.
He waited until she’d resumed chatting with the other mums before ducking down and shuffling under the table, squashing himself into the gap. He handed Poppy the plate of food. ‘Eat up.’
She took the plate. ‘Thank you, Daddy.’ She had her mum’s smile. Wide and disarming. ‘Crisps and cake?’
‘It’s your birthday. I’m indulging you.’
She took a bite of sandwich, leaving a mess of cheese around her mouth.
He used a napkin to wipe it away. ‘Are you having fun?’
She nodded.
Why didn’t believe her?
‘Are you excited to play with your smartphone later?’
‘I guess.’
Hardly a convincing answer.
He’d bought her the phone because general consensus amongst the other parents was that eleven was about the right age to get one. Starting secondary school without one would alienate her from the other kids. They’d all be scrolling through various social media sites, exchanging messages, video clips and selfies, and she’d be left out.
Plus, she’d be going to school by coach, so from a safety point of view he wanted to be able to contact her. It didn’t make the decision any less daunting, though.
He’d insisted the guy in the shop show him how to manage parental controls, a feeble attempt to protect her from cyber-bullying. But it still scared the shit out of him.
But his worrying would be a moot point if she wasn’t into the phone. Her expression when she’d opened her present indicated that she wasn’t thrilled. She’d been polite and thanked him, because she was a well-mannered child who wouldn’t want to upset her daddy, but he knew her well enough to know she was disappointed.
This feeling was compounded when she’d opened her second present, the Fashion Angels Crafting Kit, and an expression of pure joy had lit up her face. Now that was a present she liked.
He guessed not all eleven-year-olds were ready to venture into adulthood. He shouldn’t push her. His baby girl still preferred dolls to technology, and pets to boys. And he was totally okay with that… most of the time.
Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to try and sell her the virtues of the phone.
‘You’ll be able to send me messages from camp,’ he said, trying to sound excited. ‘And photos, too.’
She stopped chewing. ‘Do I have to go to Wales?’
He experienced a sudden sinking feeling. ‘I thought you were excited about your school trip?’
Her eyes lowered. ‘A bit… but… I… I don’t want to be away from you for so long.’
His chest contracted. ‘It’s only two weeks. And think how much fun you’ll have. You get to go pony-trekking, kayaking, and camping in a treehouse. You’ll be with all your friends, and nanny and granddad will be staying in a hotel close by, so you can call them if you need anything.’ He reached for her hand. ‘And now you have your phone, you’ll be able to call me and tell me all about your activities. How cool is that?’
Her forehead creased into a frown. ‘But you’ll be in the carbon.’
‘Caribbean,’ he corrected. ‘And yes, I’m going on a little holiday, too.’
‘But that’s miles away. My teacher says it’s in another continence.’
‘Continent.’ Bless her. ‘And yes, it’s part of North America.’
Tears pooled in her eyes. ‘What happens if I get sick?’
‘Oh, sweetie, that won’t happen. And if it does, then nanny and granddad will look after you until I get home.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I promise you, if you get sick, I’ll be on the first flight home. But that’s very unlikely to happen. I doubt you’ll even miss me. You’ll be having too much fun.’
She launched herself at him, knocking the wind from his lungs. ‘Violet says I need a new mummy. She doesn’t understand why I don’t have one. And… and neither do I.’
Oh, Christ. Not this again.
He tried to compose himself. ‘Sweetie, we’ve spoken about this. I’m sorry you don’t have a mummy. I wish you did. More than anything, I do. But it’s not like a job vacancy. You can’t advertise for a replacement. That’s not how it works.’
She clung hold, her skinny arms wrapped around his neck. ‘Violet’s mummy said she thinks it’s odd that you don’t have a girlfriend.’
Does she now? Bloody woman. He’d be having words with Violet’s mummy.
‘You’re the only woman in my life,’ he said, rubbing her back. ‘You know that. And we do okay, don’t we? We have fun. You have lots of people looking out for you, and who love you. We don’t need anyone else. We’re a team. Right?’
‘But what if something happens to you on holiday? I’ll be all alone. An orphan, like in the Annie film we watched.’
His daughter
sure knew how to lay on the guilt. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to me on holiday, sweetie. I promise. Now come on, stop crying. It’s your birthday. You should be enjoying yourself.’ He patted her back, trying to soothe away her concerns, meanwhile praying that she didn’t back out of her trip.
It would be the first solo holiday he’d had since… since… well, he couldn’t remember when. His teens, probably. He’d holidayed with his family as a kid, with mates as a teenager, and then with Sara. They’d met at university. Married at aged twenty-two and had had Poppy a year later. Holidays since Sara’s death had been child-friendly, involving kids clubs and waterpark activities, in family resorts, where everyone was in bed by nine.
He was thirty-four. He’d been a full-time solo parent for more than eight years. He’d started TaylorMade Events shortly after finishing uni and had been working like a dog ever since. What with trying to build his company and parent Poppy, there’d been little time for anything else. It had been an onslaught of work and child-rearing. Nappies and then playdates. Meetings with clients, interrupted by horseriding lessons and gymnastics classes. There’d been no respite. Just the occasional day off when Poppy’s grandparents or his sister had taken over.
He was grateful for his family’s help, he couldn’t have done it without them, but he’d never wanted to impose. Poppy was his child, his responsibility. And if he was honest, a part of him had wanted to keep her close. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, too.
Did that make him selfish? A bad parent? He wasn’t sure. Maybe his insecurities had made her clingy and afraid to be away from him.
Oh, God. He’d caused this, hadn’t he? His anxiety had dented her confidence. He should cancel his holiday. He was naive to think Poppy was ready to be away from him for two weeks. What had he been thinking?
Poppy released her hold and sat back, smudges of white on her cheek.
He wiped away the face paint with his thumb. ‘If you don’t want to go to Wales, you don’t have to.’
Someone Like You: Escape with this perfect uplifting romance Page 3