by Imogen Wells
After dropping a kiss to my head, we pull apart and sit at the table. Before we get a chance to speak, the waitress comes over with menus and takes our drinks order.
“Dad, how are you? You look like you’re not sleeping enough.”
“I’m fine, Jamie. Work has been keeping me busy, besides, you don’t need to worry about me,” he tells me, a soft smile lining his mouth.
“Seriously? That’s the line you’re going with. Okay, fine.” The waitress returns with our drinks, and I immediately pick up my wine, taking a huge gulp. My father eyes me as I place it back on the table. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Nothing.” He pauses like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. “What about you, how’s work?”
He’s a fool if he thinks I don’t know what he’s doing. After all, I learnt all my best deflection strategies from him.
“Work is fine, Dad.” This is the most awkward conversation I’ve had with my dad, and that includes the birds and the bees chat he gave me when I was a teenager. I watch him and can see the gears of his mind working to figure out the best way to say whatever it is he’s called me here for. Deciding to make it easier for him, I say, “Spit it out, Dad. Mum called you, didn’t she?”
He flinches making it obvious I’m right. “It wasn’t like that, Jamie. She’s worried about you. You won’t return any of her calls. She just wants to talk.”
“Worried about me? Huh, that’s a fucking joke if ever I heard one. She wasn’t worried when she was sleeping with another man, ruining our family, destroying us. She has no right to worry about me, or you for that matter. We are no longer her concern.”
“Jamie, that’s enough. I won’t have you bad mouthing your mother. Despite what she’s done, she is still your mother, and for that reason you will show her some respect,” Dad says, rubbing a hand over his face and looking…quite frankly, worn out.
“The fuck I will. She lost any respect I had for her when she spread her legs for some prick of a guy she met at work or wherever the hell it was. So, no. I won’t show her any respect. And I can’t believe you’re defending her.” The old couple on the table next to us turn their eyes on me, and the woman scowls. Most likely at my foul language, but I don’t give a fuck.
“Jamie Elizabeth Morgan that’s enough, right now. There are things between your mother and me that you don’t need to worry about, but our separation does not allow you to pick a side. There are no sides.”
“Using my full name, Dad. You know I’m not a child anymore, right? That shit may have worked then, but it sure as hell doesn’t now. You don’t want me picking sides? Fine, I won’t, but I’m still not going to talk to her.” He looks at me across the table, thumb under his chin, forefinger like a hook over his mouth, eyes narrowed and brow drawn into a frown. I think he’s going to reprimand me again, but he just sighs before picking the menu up.
The silence between us is like a chasm, vast and desolate, but I refuse to be the first one to break it.
The waitress comes over to take our food order, and it’s clear from her flustered demeanour and quick exit that the tension at our table is palpable.
Dad’s phone rings just as the waitress walks away, and he pulls it from his pocket checking the caller ID. His face drops even further, if that’s possible, before turning to me and telling me he needs to take this. I give him a chin nod, and he gets up from the table as he answers.
“What do you want? I’ve already told you...” His voice trails off as he walks further away from me. From his sharp tone, it’s clear whoever the caller is, is not a welcome one.
It’s not unusual for my dad to be the target of backlash given his job. Running a newspaper and one more than willing to print the stories no others will, means he often pisses people off. Just recently he printed a story on a high-class businessman who, allegedly, has been linked to corporate corruption. As a prominent figure, and the owner of a huge, countrywide chain of bars and clubs, it is exactly the kind of press he doesn’t want. And for that reason alone, it makes him the kind of news my dad likes to report on.
Dad is still on the phone when the food is delivered, and as the waitress places my plate down, Dad’s voice booms out from his position at the back of the restaurant making the waitress jump and almost tip my lunch in my lap. After muttering a billion apologies, she about turns and practically runs away. Guess I won’t be eating here again any time soon.
I look over at my dad, whilst his voice is now lower, his hands are a clear sign of his agitation with whomever is on the phone. Whoever they are, they’re certainly pissing him off. Well, more than I already did it seems.
Me and Dad have always had a good relationship, and although, we’ve had our arguments like any father and daughter, we’re still close. Since he and Mum separated things have been…strained, complicated, uneasy. I’m so mad at my mum. And Dad just doesn’t seem to care too much, which makes no sense whatsoever.
Dominic Morgan is a fierce man when it comes to the things he loves, be that people or his work. He’s protective and loyal to the very bone, so this version of my dad, looking tired and broken, is wrong. And for that—I blame my cheating bitch of a mother.
I’m picking at my food when Dad finally returns, but I have downed a second glass of wine, which is going down better than the food. I block out the warning screaming in my head that favouring alcohol over food is a road to disaster, and instead, I turn my attention back to my dad.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine, Jamie.”
“Well, it didn’t look that way from here, and I’m pretty sure the waitress is never coming back after you shouted and scared her half to death but whatever.” Dad sighs, brow furrowed and hurries to change the subject.
“So, how’s work?” Dad asks again, as he cuts into his steak. I get the impression he’s visualising whoever pissed him off on the phone and is becoming more forceful with every cut.
“It’s okay, I guess. Same shit, different day, Dad. You know how it goes.”
“And what about…” He hesitates, waving his hand in the air as though looking for the right word. “Everything else?”
I scan his face, but he avoids looking at me and just continues to eat. “Everything is fine. But that’s not what you think, is it? So, do you want to tell me what this little lunch date is really about?”
He almost chokes on his mouthful, bringing his hand holding the fork to his mouth and covering a cough. Swallowing his mouthful, he looks across the table to me and shakes his head.
“Is a father not allowed to have lunch with his daughter without there being an ulterior motive?” He smiles at me, but I know my dad. I can read him like a damn book.
“No, Dad, he can’t. I get it, Mum called because I won’t talk to her. But what I don’t get is why you’re so surprised I won’t talk to her. She’s the one in the wrong, so why are you here bawling me out?” Dad screws his face up like he ate something sour.
“Jamie, we are just worried about you. You have to admit that just lately you’ve been a little—"
“A little what?” My anger at the insinuation rising. I drop my knife and fork onto my plate, and the clang of metal on china has a few more heads turning our way. Screw them all. “You know what, don’t answer that. I already know what you’re going to say, and honestly, I don’t give a shit. I’m a grown woman, and it’s my life to do with and live however the fuck I choose.” I get up from the table, snatching my bag from the floor before turning back to my dad. “I love you, Dad, but right now, I just need to be away from you and Mum ‘cause this —Yeah, I can’t deal with this shit.” I storm from the restaurant before my dad has a chance to stop me.
Outside I veer left and head, I don’t know where, just anywhere that’s not back there.
Five
Jamie
After walking for five minutes, I slip inside the next bar. It’s— a dive. There’s no other way to describe the place. The dark lighting t
hat’s clearly meant to set the mood, fails epically as the only mood it sets is one where people end up drunk or dead. There are old wooden tables dotted around with scars from years of customers who have left their mark. Low playing music that sounds like old rock or jazz but isn’t loud enough to pay much attention to and a floor that my shoes stick to as I walk towards the bar.
Behind the bar, a guy in his late 40s with short, neat grey hair and a moustache, is stacking glasses on the shelves. He doesn’t look my way as I approach, but I have no doubt he knows I’m there.
As he stacks the last glass on the shelf, he calls over his shoulder, “What can I get you?” His voice is raspy, like he probably smokes forty fags a day and washes it all down with several fingers of whiskey. I don’t miss the unspoken question, ‘what’s a girl like you doing in a bar like this?’
“I’ll have a Jack on the rocks, and make it a large one, please.” I place my bag on the bar in front of me and use the brass rail lining the bar to climb on to the rickety bar stool to my right.
The guy looks at me from the corner of his eye, quirking his brow, but doesn’t say anything as he moves to prepare my drink. I take a look around while I wait.
Over in the far left corner are two old guys with their pints of bitter on the table, one reading a paper and the other is watching the small TV screen on the wall.
Turning the other way, I spot a guy on his phone. He looks around my age, dressed in distressed black jeans and a white t-shirt and grey hoodie. His hair is dark brown, greasy looking and long, tied back at the nape of his neck in a ponytail. I can’t really see his face as he is looking down at his phone.
The sound of a glass meeting the bar top has me turning back to the barman. He’s standing with both hands on the bar in front of him, and a scowl on his face.
“Anything else?”
“Wow! Service with a smile.” He just glares at me even more. “Okaaay. No, thanks.” He turns and walks to the other end of the bar without another word.
I pick up my glass and take a swig just as the door to the bar opens. A soft breeze blows in from outside and the scent of Gucci by Gucci wafts over me. When I turn to look, I see the back of a guy heading to the table with the young guy I was looking at earlier. The long-haired guy gets up from his seat, greeting the newcomer with a friendly handshake.
The newcomer is wearing dark trousers with a white shirt and brown leather shoes. His black hair is slicked back, and from the front I don’t doubt he’ll be sporting a quiff. Because I know exactly who this man is. In fact, I know him intimately. Seb.
What is it with this guy being every fucking place I go? Can’t get him out of my head, and now I have to see him everywhere too? This is fucked up!
I quickly look away as he takes his seat opposite the long-haired guy. Not wanting him to see me, I turn my whole body away from them and focus my attention on the news report on the TV across the room.
Not looking at him does nothing to quiet the fast pounding of my heart, and the thrum of arousal that skitters over my body and between my thighs. I need to get the fuck out of here. Now!
My eyes flit around the bar for a way out that won’t draw attention to myself, and when I catch the eye of the barman, I indicate that I want to pay without having to speak for fear Seb will hear me. I knock back the rest of my JD as the barman comes over with the card machine, and I snatch up my bag, pulling out my purse and quickly pay for my drink. Thank god for contactless.
Realising I have no other way out except the way I came in, I turn just enough to be able to see Seb and the other guy from the corner of my eye. They are both hunched over the table between them, in a heated discussion. Let’s hope like fuck they are so engrossed neither of them will notice me slipping past.
Quietly thanking the barman, I slowly rise from the stool, taking a moment to smooth my clothing, although there’s not much smoothing can be done to a pair of jeans. It’s a long enough pause for me to double check I’m in the clear before I metaphorically make a run for it.
I walk with my head held high, a facade of confidence and a little bit of the ‘fuck you’ attitude I’m known for straight for the exit. ‘Nearly there. Keep going. You got this.’ I repeat it over and over again. And just as my hand latches onto the door handle, I hear a name that has me pausing. Jasper Williams. Why the fuck is Seb here talking to some street rat about Jasper? I can’t stop myself from turning to look at them both, and as I do, Seb turns my way. Before he can even form words in his brain, I sling the door open and race out onto the street. And I’m running away again. Three times in one day, and it’s only 2pm. Must be a freaking record or something.
I hear the door of the bar open, and Seb calling my name, but I don’t stop. Instead, I slip down a side street that I know leads to a park and hope he doesn’t decide to give chase.
Once I reach the park, slightly out of breath, I call for a cab. While I wait, I text Jasper and agree to meet him for dinner. There’s something going on, and I want to know what. Plus, a few drinks, dinner and some awesome sex, aren’t a bad price to pay to find out why the fuck Seb is asking about Jasper.
When I get home there’s another message from my mum, and surprise, surprise, one from Cam. There are also a dozen or so missed calls from her on my mobile and deciding that I need to put at least one fire out, I call Cam.
“Shit, Jamie. What the hell is going on? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Calm down, Cam, before you go into labour and I have Blue out for my blood. I’m fine, just busy that’s all.”
“Busy? Too busy to call me. Nu-huh, no way. I’m coming over.”
“No,” I say with a little too much force. I soften my voice a little when I speak again. “No, Cam. Look, I’m kinda busy right now, but I’m off tomorrow. How about I come see you then?”
Cam huffs down the phone. “Okay, fine. But if you don’t, then be prepared to feel the wrath of an immensely irritated, heavily pregnant and uncomfortable friend who will kick your arse. And expect to get a second arse kicking from Ryder for upsetting me and in turn forcing me to take it all out on him, up to and including withholding sex.”
“Oh my god! And there was me thinking I was the biggest ball breaker. Apparently, I have nothing on you. I promise I will be there, okay.” Cam accepts my promise, and we say goodbye.
I know she’s worried, and mad as hell, but she has enough to worry about right now. She’s having a freaking baby for Christ’s sake. She does not need me stressing her out any more than I already have, so I’ll go there tomorrow, like the model friend I used to be, placate her concern, and then deal with my shit. On my own and however I like. Yeah, I’m a shitty friend.
I grab a beer from the fridge and head upstairs to get ready to meet Jasper. Time to do a little digging. I might not know Seb well, but I do know that today, whatever it was, it’s not good.
My dad would say I’m just like him, and I have a nose for a good story. Me on the other hand, would say I’m a nosy cow, and curiosity always gets the better of me. Curiosity also killed the cat, but screw that. This is one kitty who still has her nine lives. Wait, make that eight thanks to Russ. I shudder at the thought of what that fuckhead did to me. I shake it off and swig my beer as I head to the bathroom feeling like I need another shower. Needing to wash away the memories.
An hour later, I step out of the taxi outside a new bar in town. Although Jasper had said he would cook, I don’t feel like eating, and I can’t afford to get distracted by being all cosy with him. So, I suggested we go out somewhere, and this is it. Tempest. The newest club in town, and the only reason I’ve not been, is because it’s exclusive. Members only. Apparently, Tempest is a high-end club for businessmen and socialites. And detectives by the looks of it.
There is only a small line of people waiting to be vetted by the bouncers, mostly men, but a few have a woman on their arm. The only woman that’s alone seems familiar, but from this angle I can’t see her face. She’s wearing a red bodycon dress that show
s off her shapely figure beautifully, and the matching red heels with a gold heel show off her long legs. Her blonde hair is pinned up with several loose strands at the front, that I imagine frame her face. As though she can feel me looking at her, she turns my way, and I finally get a look at her face.
Shit! It’s the woman my dad met outside work the day Cam went for her interview. I step forward wanting to speak with her, but before I can, my line of sight is blocked.
“Here she is. You look beautiful, Jamie,” Jasper greets, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. I try to look round him, but I can’t. And when he pulls back, moving to the side, the woman is gone. “Hey, you okay? You look a little spooked.”
“Huh? Oh yeah, sorry. I thought I saw somebody I know, but…” I trail off, my mind wondering to my dad and this woman. Who is she? What does she have to do with my dad? Fingertips on my face bring me back, and I look into Jasper’s beautiful blue eyes and see concern. “I did it again. I’m sorry.” I let out a little laugh and push the woman and my dad to the back of my mind. “I’m all yours. Show the way, Jasper.” I link my arm through his and let him lead me to the door.
Jasper greets the bouncers like old friends, and once we enter, he greets the woman who offers to take our jackets the same way.
She’s dressed in short black hotpants, fish nets and a waistcoat, the deep V shows more cleavage than I care to see. Her bottle blond hair is tied in a ponytail that hangs down to her shoulders. I don’t miss the look she gives him. A look that tells me she’d like to or already has sampled Jasper’s goods. She is mistaken if she thinks her hand on his arm as she greets him, or the brush of her fingers to his as she takes his jacket bothers me. I give her a buttery sweet smile when she turns her attention to me, handing my jacket to her.
She tries to engage Jasper in a conversation, purposely leaving me out, but Jasper gives her the brush off, and I watch as her blood red lips turn down.
He leads me away with his hand on the small of my back, and just before we go through the main door leading inside the club, I turn my head to catch the biting look she’s firing my way. I give her a wink, and just for good measure, I lift my left hand behind me, giving her the finger. It’s ridiculously petty but brings a smile to my face.