by Lynsey James
‘I’ll never eat all of this,’ I said, looking down at it, ‘but I’m going to demolish these mozzarella sticks. Anyway, what did you bring me here to tell me? You said it was important.’
Mum’s knife and fork paused as she was about to cut into one of her loaded potato skins. All the colour drained from her face and she pursed her lips. I saw a flicker of what looked like fear cross her face, but it was gone before I could ask any questions.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ She waved a dismissive hand and popped a forkful of potato, bacon and cheese into her mouth. ‘It can wait until you come round tonight. So, come on, tell me what’s new. Have you got yourself a man yet?’
I shook my head. ‘Nope. I don’t have time for all that romantic stuff; too busy trying to conquer the world, remember?’
I peeked up and saw my mum visibly wince. She leaned over and took my hand in hers. ‘Emily, you really should try and meet someone nice. Although maybe get some highlights in your hair first.’
Chapter 2
Over the course of lunch, Mum pointed out no fewer than twenty things I had to sort out in my life. They included my flat, my car and my pores (they were apparently ‘huge’). Luckily for me, my dad came to join us just after the main course had been served. Mum was never quite so critical when he was around.
‘Emily, you’re like that Bruno Mars song,’ he’d said when Mum subtly suggested I should stop wearing the colour grey. ‘You’re amazing just the way you are.’
I couldn’t help but smile. Dad had my back in every situation, even if his lines were a bit cheesy. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to stay for dessert and Mum’s suggestions for improving my life came thick and fast. Another attempt to find out what she wanted to tell me failed; she dodged the question and said she was late for an appointment. It would have to wait until I went round for dinner later that night. Somehow, I got the feeling a big bombshell was on its way, and that I wouldn’t like it one bit.
*
By the time I got back to the office, I was more than ready to throw myself back into work. It was the one thing I could always count on in life: closing deals, enticing new customers to join our group and developing my portfolio of clients had become a way of life to me. When I was working, all my mum’s criticism and the stresses of the world seemed a million miles away.
The first thing I saw as I walked in was Tara Murray’s smug, cat-like grin. My stomach instantly turned and I wondered if Paul had gone back on his earlier promise to hold off on a decision about the promotion.
‘Hi, Emily!’ Her voice was dripping with syrup and I felt like throwing up in my mouth. ‘Have you heard the news? I closed on the Ashbury Hotel today.’
Her smile was so sweet and simpering that she made a Care Bear look bitter. I knew I had to hide how annoyed I was, so plastered a fake smile to my face and hoped it would stay.
‘I heard,’ I replied through clenched teeth. ‘Congratulations. I signed Mulberry House just before lunch.’
Although I couldn’t swear to it, I was sure I saw Tara’s smile shrink a little. She knew how much Paul wanted to land Mulberry House; the Ashbury Hotel was small fry in comparison. I could see it in her eyes as she realised the promotion might not be as ‘in the bag’ as she thought.
‘Oh!’ Her voice rose by an octave and she clapped her hands together. ‘Good for you, that’s brilliant! Have you spoken to Paul?’
‘He’s aware.’ I flashed her a quick smile and sprinted to my desk before she could ask any more questions.
My phone ringing made me jump. It was Paul. He’d made his decision.
*
Minutes later, Tara and I were standing in his office, our respective nerves on tenterhooks as we waited to hear who the proud recipient of the promotion would be. Paul was cradling the phone between his neck and shoulder as he took a last-minute phone call. Nervously, I tapped my foot on the floor and worried at my thumbnail. Every second was eking by slowly, mocking and tantalising me. My whole life was hinging on this one single moment.
Paul muttered a goodbye then put the phone down, turning his attention to us. ‘Sorry about that! Right, so, as you know, you two are the top candidates for the business development executive position. You’ve both got great numbers and today you both closed really important accounts. This company is really lucky to have you two.’
His eyes lingered on Tara for a little longer than I was comfortable with. I couldn’t help feeling like I was third-wheeling something, but I wasn’t sure what.
‘Anyway.’ Paul cleared his throat before he continued. ‘I’ve had a think about things and, given the circumstances, I’m giving the promotion to Tara. Congratulations!’
‘What?’ My voice barely rose above a whisper. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; all my hard work and dedication had come to nothing. My world slowly began to unravel around me and I knew there was nothing I could do to stop it.
My boss shrugged at me and got up to celebrate with Tara, who was jumping up and down and squealing like an excited toddler who’d just found a new box of crayons. She threw her arms around his neck and I noticed two pops of colour rise in his cheeks. The hug lasted a little too long and I was sure I saw a lingering look pass between them.
‘Thank you so much, Paul. I won’t let you down!’ she said, her voice shrill with excitement.
She scampered out of the office like an excited puppy, eager to share the news with her little coven of friends. When she closed the door, I turned to Paul. My arms were folded across my chest, like that would hold all my anger and disappointment in.
‘Better get back to work,’ he said, trying out a smile. ‘Lots of hotels out there we don’t have in our chain yet!’
‘Cut the crap, Paul; that promotion should’ve been mine and you know it! You said it yourself. My numbers were better than hers and I signed Mulberry House today. So, unless Tara managed to pull a master stroke and get us the bloody Savoy or something, I don’t see why you promoted her over me.’
Paul blew air out through his cheeks and laced his fingers together behind his head. ‘It’s just one of those things, Emily; better luck next time, eh?’
Something was off, I could feel it. There had been something in the way Tara had just leapt on him that didn’t sit right with me. But what could I do? Throwing baseless accusations around wouldn’t help and would probably put me in an even worse position. I gave him my best I’m-onto-you stare and stalked off, wondering how the best day ever had gone so badly wrong.
*
By the time it came to finishing for the day, I was more than ready to leave the office. I’d lost my dream job to none other than Tara bloody Murray and had had to listen to my mum finding fault with me for most of my lunch hour. Now it was time to go home, put my feet up and… Oh no. I screwed my face up as I realised I’d have to sit through yet another thrilling instalment of Things Emily Could and Should Be Doing Better.
‘Great,’ I said to the largely empty office. ‘This’ll be a barrel of laughs!’
Mum and Dad’s plush flat in the West End of Glasgow was like something from an interior design catalogue. It was decorated in subtle, muted shades of cream and brown with hardwood floors and sumptuous furniture. Tasteful photographs and artwork were strategically placed around the rooms, yet the whole place still managed to look cosy and lived-in. It had taken several meltdowns to achieve that look, including one about whether ecru or eggshell would work best in the living room.
Mum greeted me at the door, arms outstretched with a large bottle of champagne in one hand.
‘Hiya, darling!’ Her accent was thicker than usual; her vowels were slacker and her tone wasn’t as clipped. She’d obviously had her standard ‘few glasses of wine’. ‘Come away in, dinner’s nearly ready.’
I wondered if her tipsy state would mean she’d tell me what the ‘something important’ was from lunch that day. I followed her inside and the gorgeous smell of cooking ensnared my senses. Unless I was very much mistake
n, it was my mum’s signature spaghetti carbonara.
‘Something smells nice,’ I said, hoping the compliment would lead in nicely to some subtle detective work. ‘Listen, I—’
‘Did I tell you Gillian from my book club’s been having an affair? Husband caught her in bed with their accountant last week and threw her out. Rumour has it she and the accountant are staying in a hotel somewhere and planning to start a new life in France!’
Mum shot me a serene smile as she bustled into the kitchen. I knew her well enough to read the message behind it: don’t ask me what I wanted to tell you about earlier; you’ll get nowhere.
I stood in the doorway to the kitchen while she chatted away happily and dished up dinner onto her favourite china plates. Behind me, I felt a hand on my shoulder: Dad.
‘Back for another one of your mum’s “inspirational pep talks” then?’ he said with a chuckle. ‘Good luck!’
‘Hey you, any more of your lip and you’re not getting dessert!’ Mum threw a smile over her shoulder as she sprinkled some Parmesan over the spaghetti. ‘Anyway, dinner’s ready.’
As much as I enjoyed tucking into Mum’s utterly delicious food, I couldn’t help wondering when the bombshell would be dropped. I kept looking for gaps in the conversation where I could bring it up, but they were both making it difficult. One minute, the topic was politics and the next Dad was passing on idle gossip from his mates at the golf club.
Eventually, I decided a direct approach was needed. I set my fork down and pushed my plate away from me.
‘Mum,’ I began, dreading the words that were about to come out of my mouth, and what might follow. ‘When we were at lunch today, you said you had something to tell me, but when I asked what it was you said it could wait till later. Well… it’s later! Could you just tell me what it is so I’m not worrying myself sick about it?’
Dad sighed and threw his cutlery down. ‘Pamela, you didn’t! I thought we’d already decided we weren’t going to tell her!’
‘She has a right to know, Simon! It might’ve been easy for you to keep this a secret for twenty-five years, but it hasn’t for me. Emily’s at an age now where she can make her own decisions—’
I shot up from my seat with such force that the entire table shook. ‘Instead of talking about me like I’m not here, tell me what’s going on!’
Silence fell over the table and Mum slowly got up, her face taking on an odd grey pallor. In all the years I’d known her, I’d never once seen her ruffled or flustered.
Until now.
‘Emily, you might not like what you’re about to hear, but please don’t fly off the handle.’
Dread crept over my skin and my eyes darted over to my dad, trying to get some clue as to what was about to happen from his face. It was set in a hard, stern line that gave nothing away. It was unusual to see him without his trademark carefree smile.
‘What’s going on?’ I fixed Dad with a hard stare, hoping he’d shed some light on the twenty-five-year-old secret he and Mum had been keeping.
Mum left the room and the silence grew even more uncomfortable. It was such a contrast from the lively buzz of conversation there had been just a few minutes ago. I looked at Dad again, but he didn’t meet my gaze.
‘We’ve always told each other everything in this family,’ I said. ‘What’s so bad that you and Mum had to keep it from me?’
His head snapped up and I was sure I could see tears in his eyes. ‘You don’t understand, Emily… It was a very difficult decision for both of us at the time. Mum didn’t want to keep it from you, but I felt it was best…’
Before I could ask him to explain himself, Mum came back with a large shoebox in her arms. Her eyes were rimmed with red, as though she’d been crying, and her skin was paler than ever.
‘Emily, before you open this box… I… I just want you to know that I love you sweetheart. And so does your dad.’
She handed the box over to me, hands trembling and breathing ragged in her chest. I stared down at it, tracing the worn brown cardboard and wondering what lurked underneath. Whatever it was, it was enough to unsettle my usually unflappable mum and make my dad upset.
I pursed my lips and looked up at them. Dad’s hands were on Mum’s shoulders and they looked as though they were bracing themselves for the dire consequences of my opening the box.
‘I take it there’s not a pair of brand-new Louboutins in here?’ I managed a weak chuckle, but it wasn’t reciprocated. ‘Guess I’d better open it then…’
I sucked in a huge lungful of air and lifted the lid, half expecting a load of demons to come flying out like Pandora’s Box. However, all I found inside was a huge pile of letters.
I frowned, picking one up like it was an unexploded bomb. ‘Oh God, guys, don’t tell me these are your old love letters to each other!’
Mum let out a huge, sharp sigh. ‘No, not quite.’
Dad ran a hand across his tired face and looked like he wanted to run out of the room and never come back. ‘I told you this was a bad idea, Pamela.’
‘She deserves to know, Simon! We should’ve told her years ago!’
I couldn’t take their bickering any longer; it wasn’t helping anyone. As they sniped back and forth at each other, I reached into the box, took out a letter and ripped it open. The sound of the envelope tearing brought the argument to an abrupt halt and they looked at me as if I’d just unleashed hell.
‘Oh God…’ Mum’s voice was a ragged, trembling whisper. Dad clutched her hand as sweat began to bead on his forehead.
‘Let’s see what all this is about, shall we?’ I forced brightness into my voice and smiled, hoping it would lessen the tension in the atmosphere. By the looks on my parents’ faces, it hadn’t worked.
I wriggled the letter out of the envelope, treating it like it was made of fine china. Whatever was on this page, I said to myself, it wouldn’t have the power to change anything. They were just words; why were Mum and Dad so scared of a bunch of words?
Then I read the letter, and that was when all hell broke loose.
Chapter 3
Dear Pam,
Thank you for your letter and the pictures you included from Emily’s fifth birthday party. She looked absolutely beautiful in her pink party dress, didn’t she?
I know this is yet another special occasion I’ve missed. I’ve spent the last five years wondering about her: if she looks like me or if she has any of my personality traits. I know our arrangement is in place for a reason – my marriage to Diane would be ruined if she found out I’d fathered another child – but it still hurts that Emily has to miss out on knowing her real father. Still, I know it’s for the best. She has a man to call Daddy and I’m sure he’s a wonderful father to her. It’s best for everyone if I stay away, live my life and let you all live yours.
I still think about that night, you know. The moonlight on the bay, the look in your eyes, the texture of your skin: it’s all so clear to me, even though five years have passed. I do wish things could be different and that we could be together with our beautiful daughter. I have a wonderful life with Diane and out daughter, Nicola – they’re the best family I could ever ask for – but I can’t quite forget what I had with you. It’s just a wish, though, and where does wishing ever get you? I hope you, Simon and Emily are happy in Glasgow; from what you told me, you have a very good life there. I’ll always remember my brief time with you with fondness: it gave me some incredible memories that I’ll never forget. Hope you and Emily are both well. Perhaps one day in the future, I can meet her. One day.
All my love,
Derek
I read the letter over and over again, hoping that would somehow change the words within it. Each time I looked, though, the message was the same. My world cracked and slipped beneath me as I tried to wrap my head around what I’d just seen.
‘Who’s Derek?’ My voice came out as a strangled croak because my mouth was so dry. ‘And why were you sending him photos of my birthday party?’
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I looked up at my parents, studying their expressions. Both of them looked utterly devastated. Mum had started to cry, while Dad didn’t know where to put himself.
‘Come on, guys, who is he?’ I’d learnt a long time ago never to ask a question I didn’t already know the answer to. I knew exactly who Derek was; there was only one reason Mum would be sending him photographs of me. All I wanted was to hear it from them. Maybe I’d be proven wrong and this nightmare would be over.
It was Mum who spoke first, as usual. She’d regained some of her composure, but not enough to mask how worried she was.
‘Derek is… Emily, he’s—’
‘He’s your real father.’ Dad’s voice stabbed the air, none of its usual warmth and humour present. ‘Derek Simpson is your biological father.’
With that, my neat and ordered world slipped and crumbled around me.
*
Of course, I wanted answers. I demanded to be told absolutely everything from start to finish, with no details left out. And, while dessert was being dished up, Mum obliged.
‘Just after I married your dad, I went on holiday to visit a friend who lived in a little village in Yorkshire called Luna Bay. It’s a beautiful place, right by the sea. While I was there, I…’ She trailed off to take a sideways glance at Dad, tears sparkling in her eyes. ‘I met a man named Derek Simpson. We, er, became friends, I suppose and… Well, one thing led to another and I found out I was pregnant shortly after I came back to Scotland.’
Out the corner of my eye, I could see Dad visibly tense up. It was strange to see him be anything other than carefree and happy. Usually, he was telling Mum to calm down if she was flapping about something, or cracking a joke to lighten the atmosphere.
I rose from my chair and turned to face him. ‘Dad, please tell me this isn’t true.’
He blinked back tears and stared down at his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Emily…’
With that, my last shred of hope disappeared. I felt as though I was in some sort of nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. I could feel the last twenty-five years unravelling at a rate of knots. The man I’d called Dad my whole life wasn’t my dad. I’d apparently been the product of some ill-fated holiday romance with someone Mum had barely known.