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“The Reuben?” I questioned.

“The Reuben. Married to The Dieter, Dad. You know? The guy I used to have pictures of all over the walls? Mommy got me an autograph when we ran into him on the drive. I still have it up there. Is it all right if I go upstairs? There are a few things I want to grab, things I miss. Marmie wanted his teddy off his bed. I assume it’s still there? Mommy left it behind, told him he wasn’t a baby anymore.”

“He’ll have to hide it, or she’ll throw it out.”

“Like she did with Phinneas’s blankie. He cried for a week while Mommy said we should treat him as an adult. He was, like, two!”

“Are you allowed to call him Marmie now?” I asked, shocked. Veronica detested nicknames. She’d named our children with great care and expected their full names to be used at all times.

Constance rolled her eyes. “She can’t really stop us when she’s never there. Nice in a way, but yeah. I miss home. I miss being here with you. And there’s a really good art college that I have my eye on here in London. Mommy will kill me, as she already has me on the Ivy League path, but I don’t want to go into law. I don’t want to be like her. I never did, and I don’t know how to get through to her.”

“That’s growing up for you,” I said softly. “Choosing your own path. I just don’t want you to regret your choices later when you realise you’re a very poor artist instead of a high-grossing lawyer.”

“Like you?” She smirked. Trust Constance to call me out. “Looks like you’ve been burgled. When was the last time Olivia came to clean this place?”

“I had to let her go,” I admitted.

“He’s got me now instead. I’m going to work on the dust later, promise.” Stewart laughed as Constance grimaced.

“I think you should try again,” she told me sternly. “Get new representation and fight Mommy for this. I know what she’s up to, and it’s not fair. Phinneas is a mess, Marmie still wets the bed, and he’s nine, Dad. And I’m stuck in the middle, trying to avoid bloody Brandon.”

“Who’s Brandon again?” Stewart asked. He was armed with tea again. I was starting to wonder if he was some kind of domestic demon who produced the stuff like magic.

“Mommy’s new husband. Total sleazebag. Younger, fitter and definitely cheating on Mommy.”

“Constance,” I warned. But yes, she was probably right. I’d met Brandon, and behind the fake tan and the unusuallytight skin and puffy lips was someone I really didn’t care for, a lost puppy who followed Veronica around as she threw him titbits of affection. Not a particularly nice person. He was a judge, though, and well connected.

“You need a new divorce lawyer, Dad. I know I shouldn’t say it, but whatever Mommy says, we’re not better off in America. She’s too busy to look after us, and I can’t do it all. I need to have a life.Mylife. I want to come back here.”

“I’d love for you to come back here,” I said in a voice that was a little too high-pitched.

“The boys need to come too.”

“There’s nothing I want more…” I was struggling to find the words, my whole body a mess of emotions.

“But?” she questioned. “What’s your excuse? Wanna hear Mommy’s reason for not moving us to New Orleans despite being there on a two-year tenure?”

“Constance, there was a settlement and an order of full custody to your mother and none for me. I’m not even allowed to contact you by letter.”

“Well, that sucks. Marmie thinks you’re dead because that’s what Brandon told him, and Phinneas doesn’t even know who you are. He doesn’t know who Mommyis either because last time she was home, he hid behind the sofa the entire time.”

“Sounds like you should probably try,” Stewart put in.

I regretted my words because now I kind of wanted that privacy he’d offered.

“Constance, I never gave up. I want to have you all here, more than anything, but the law is the law, and I was given an order not to contact you again.”

“Bullshit! You have my number.”

“I do.” I was going to start to cry. Any second.

“Then bloody use it, Dad. You just abandoned us over there and fucked off. I know there was an injunction and all that, but you’ve got to fight back. Get some new lawyer, someone who really hates Mommy. Shouldn’t be hard to find.”

“Why would anyone hate your mother?” Stewart again. How much time did the man have to listen? Veronica was successful, and that came with a price. There wasn’t a lawyer in town who didn’t hate her guts. She made no friends but took plenty of prisoners.

I’d once had that mindset too, brutally climbing the ladder that Veronica had built, barely holding on thenfalling spectacularly to the bottom. I had no idea how to explain all that to my daughter, who was breathing heavily.

“You’re a chicken, Dad. Who was that lawyer who beat Mommy to the Michael Handel divorce? She was German, I think. Pistol something?”