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“I don’t know you. Why should I spill all my troubles over some stranger?” he spat out in a sudden spurt of vitriol. I didn’t blame him, but this was exactly what I was hoping for. Some kind of reaction.

“Because,” I said calmly, putting the teacup out of reach. I wasn’t going to risk getting one thrown in my face. “It might stop the crying.”

“Nothing will stop the crying,” he said miserably.

“So talk to me. We don’t know each other, at all, but perhaps we will one day. What I’m trying to tell you, notvery eloquently, is that while I’ve not been in your shoes, I have been in mine. Same place, different leathers.”

“That’s not even a saying.”

“No.” I smiled. “But it’s a good start, isn’t it?”

4. Dylan

Okay, this was weird. Suddenly, I was no longer alone in my dwelling of sorrows, hiding out from what had once been my life. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d actually set foot down here before everything had imploded. This used to be our nanny flat, inhabited by a succession of young women who had dedicated their lives to caring for my offspring while Veronica and I built our careers. It had only been Constance at first, but once Marmaduke was born, the nanny had left and been replaced, time and time again. Two children were a handful,apparently, and…well. I’d seen the light; I decided to take on less work and spend more time with the two little whirlwinds who ruled the house.

“Veronica hated it,” I said to the man. Stewart. Now I was talking, I couldn’t control it. I blamed him because he’d started sorting the recycling into bin liners and then asked if he could take them all upstairs and out to the bins—something I had failed to do for weeks. I dreaded seeing the state of upstairs so I simply remained glued to my seat while Stewart quietly removed the offending rubbish.

I could smell it now, a stink that had become as familiar as this chair where I sat when I got sick and tired of my bed. Well, technically the nanny’s bed. Caroline, Firenza, Jorja… So many names running through my brain. Celeste had been the last one, leaving a mere two months into her placement, after Marmaduke had thrown a particularly bad tantrum.

I didn’t blame him because I was his dad and I was never there. I would have thrown a tantrum too, had it been me. My dad had been around most of my life, working in his study, admittedly, but always available for a chat, while my mother pottered around the house—an idyllic picture painted by my brain. How much of it was wishful thinking, or had I really grown up like that?

I was still talking, apparently, and another cup of tea had appeared in front of me. I wouldn’t sleep tonight, but I had stopped caring.

“You need to stick to decaf,” he said, sitting himself back down on the chair opposite. “So, you cut down your hours and took on caring for your children in a more hands-on role?”

It sounded like a question when it was just a statement of fact. I had.

“She hated that I was letting my career slip. Her whole life revolved around her next case, each one bigger and better, more risk, more money, each client more prestigious than the last. She’s a divorce lawyer, Veronica. Handled the Princess of Devon’s split from Omar Thakur. That was her launch into high profile cases, and she never looked back. I, on the other hand, went into planning law and took on smaller cases. Kept to business hours and picked up the kids from school every day. Never late, never missed an after-school class, cooked them homemade meals and put them to bed. It didn’t mean a thing once Veronica had her mind made up to leave me and take the kids away.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

I shrugged. “It’s just what it is now. I fought. I fought for my kids, and it got me nowhere but here.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“Nobody can.”

“I only met my son when he was thirteen,” he said, his voice full of something I recognised. Pain. Regret perhaps. “Didn’t know he existed before then. Changed my life completely because I wasn’t in any state to become a father. I understand because I fought too. Changed things around and got my house in order. Made him a bedroom and went to court. The day I picked him up was the most terrifying day of my life. But that’s a story for another day.”

I liked that he smiled. Good memories did that to you.

“My oldest, Constance, was fourteen last time I saw her. Her fifteenth birthday was coming up, and she was telling me what gifts she wanted. She’s smart as anything—has her mother’s brain. She manipulates me with a wink and a smile, and I don’t even see it coming.”

He laughed gently. “She sounds amazing. I hope I get to meet her one day.”

I went quiet, my body reacting like he’d stabbed me with a knife. “I never got to give her those gifts. They’re stillupstairs somewhere. I bought her exactly what she asked for, but I suppose they’re out of fashion now. Things for a young girl when she’s now almost a woman.”

“You will see her again. You’re her father.”

That’s what people said, thinking they knew how these things worked. That wasn’t the reality.

“The children are in Miami. I had regular visitation for a while, jetted back and forth once a month. But I overstepped the mark with my wife, being one hour late returning the kids. It was only the one occasion. We got stuck in traffic, no fault, rhyme or reason. Visitation became supervised one-hour slots after that.”

“I hope you went to court.”

Such juvenile ideas. Idealistic visions of fairness and justice.

I just shook my head. I didn’t want to get into all of this.