Page 43 of Lights, Camera, Love

I hear the front door open and close, and I jump off my kitchen stool. Finally. I swipe my hand over my lips, wiping off any cereal remnants, and tap the volume down on the new Onefour album.

‘Where on earth have you been?’ I ask Mum as she clip-clops into the room on a slight angle, her six-inch heels clearly maiming her feet.

She’s swathed in the same red scoop-neck dress she threw on yesterday as soon as she got home from work.

I was ready to sit her down and confess to her about the lunch with Gabriel, but she’d already made plans for a date, so I had to wait until she got back. Only she never turned up.

‘Didn’t you get my text last night?’ she says. Her voice is all raspy, like she’s been smoking, and while the front of her hair looks vaguely brushed, the back is a bird’s nest.

‘You know I did.’ I watch her head straight for the fridge’s water dispenser. ‘But you said you were staying out late, not that you weren’t coming home at all. And you didn’t reply when I texted this morning.’

‘Sorry.’ She gulps back an entire glass of water. ‘Phone ran out of battery.’

No further explanation follows, such as where she was or who she was with. The man I glimpsed through the window when she left yesterday looked an awful lot like Jack, the one with hairy fingers from months ago. But that would be so unlike Mum.

It’s really not the best time for me to tell her this, but I’m tired, too—tired of waiting—so I take a deep, steadying breath while she turns to set her glass in the sink. ‘I had lunch with my father,’ I announce.

Mum swings back to face me, her lips falling open. She shakes her head. ‘No, you didn’t.’

‘I did.’

She flinches as if she’s been slapped, inhales what appears to be the entire volume of the Earth’s atmosphere in one breath, then trudges down the hallway. I trail her into the messy spare bedroom.

‘I wanted to … to meet him,’ I explain.

She toes out of her rose-gold stilettos and drops her bottom down onto the edge of the bed, keeping her gaze locked to her feet as she rubs them.

‘I was curious,’ I continue. ‘I guess I … I wanted to hear what he had to say. Before he left the country.’ I don’t tell her that I fell to pieces during the lunch and did a runner, nor do I mention that I haven’t heard a peep from him since.

A sinking feeling of disappointment that he hasn’t tried to contact me drags down my chest.

Mum sets her weary eyes on mine. ‘And what did he have to say, Evie?’

My heart pushes into my throat. ‘He said … he said … he said—’

‘Oh, for goodness sake. I’ll save you the trouble.’ She folds her arms, her fingers quivering against her skin. ‘He told you I ran off to Australia and didn’t tell him where I was, so he never had a chance to see you. Is that it?’

I gape at her, thrown by her frank admission.

‘So, it’s … it’s true?’ I say in a breath.

‘I only did that because he refused to admit you were his,’ she splutters, blinking away. ‘And it’s not like I moved to the moon. If he really wanted to see you, Evie, he wouldn’t have had to look that hard.’

You mean like calling everyone he knew in Australia, trying to find a way to get in touch with you when he had no way of contacting you or your family?

I place a palm on my chest, attempting to settle the turmoil brewing there, as I move to sit beside her.

I don’t know who’s being more honest about the events that transpired back then, Gabriel or Mum, but I do know which one of them is sitting beside me right now.

My mum may be some distance from perfect—who isn’t?

—but she’s been by my side for my entire life.

Yes, she should have done the paternity test Gabriel asked for.

And no, she shouldn’t have packed her bags and moved to the other side of the world without leaving a contact number or a forwarding address.

But she’s not going to cop all the blame for my broken relationship with my father—it took him twenty-seven years to reach out to me.

And she’s right: there must have been other ways for him to track me down.

I lay my hand on her knee. ‘I’m not mad , Mum. I’m just … I don’t know. I’m confused. Shocked.’

Somewhere deep down, though, I’m also ecstatic . We’re actually talking about me having two parents—even if one is, so far, performing at a level only slightly higher than rock bottom.

Mum’s fingers knot together in her lap. ‘I don’t know why he suddenly wants a relationship with you, Evie, but I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with him. That bridge was burned a long time ago.’

‘I know. And I don’t even know if he does want a relationship with me. Our conversation kind of got … cut short.’

‘Well, if he does,’ she says, her frown lines forming a small hollow between her brows, ‘it’s going to be all about him.

You know that, right? He was already intolerable when he was on his way up.

Now that he is who he is, I imagine he thinks he’s some sort of god, and all the yes-men fawning all over him probably treat him like one, too. ’

My eyes trace over her little ski-jump nose, the exact shape as mine. ‘He’s never going to mean more to me than you, Mum. I don’t care who he is or how many rabid fans he has.’

She gives me a sidelong glance. ‘You do realise he could probably introduce you to all those pop stars you love.’

My eyes widen in exaggerated excitement as I lean in towards her. ‘Flo Rida? Beyoncé? Eminem? ’ She brushes me away, and I laugh. ‘I’m kidding. I can live without meeting them. I think.’

‘Oh, Evie,’ Mum says, drawing me closer with her arm. ‘I wonder if I should have made myself easier to find when you were little.’

‘It’s okay,’ I mumble, even though I know she probably should have.

I rest my head on her shoulder, and she grazes her cherry-red nails up and down my forearm. ‘I’m sorry, Evie,’ she murmurs. ‘I am. I’m really sorry.’

This time, I don’t reply. Part of me thinks I should be more upset with her than I am, and perhaps I will be with time—or maybe I won’t. Right now, my mum feels like solid ground, and I huddle close to her, not wanting to tip off the edge.

‘It’s going to take me some time to get my head around all this,’ she says with a sigh. ‘But if you would like to get to know your father, I want you to know that I won’t stop you.’

Pressure builds behind my eyes, and reality delivers a solid blow to my chest as I remember the glimpse I got of him after I left the restaurant, tucking in to his pizza like he didn’t have a care in the world.

‘I thought I wanted to,’ is all I say.

And I thought he wanted to as well.

I allow myself one more check to see if my father has contacted me— nope —then decide to use my stung heart as motivation to keep my phone buried at the bottom of my bag.

I know he’s still in town—Kiara told me over coffee yesterday, while I was waiting for Mum to finish her work shift, that she heard he’s recording his cameo next week for the local production he’s invested in.

I didn’t want to talk about it, so I just changed the subject as smoothly as I could while my insides broke apart.

I get to DanceLab early and pump some comforting music—a feel-good soul vibes playlist—through my studio while tapping out a few email replies.

A throbbing wish to see Kye and bury my face in his warm neck takes root in my chest. I look up each time a figure appears at the door, but it’s never him.

Still, my heart warms at the sight of all my beloved regulars.

Avalanche has been getting to class early ever since the performance at Barfly, clearly inspired to keep improving after the show’s success.

Snuggles and Bliss have begun arriving together, clutching hands, which is cute.

And right before I kick off tonight’s lesson, Usher confesses to me that I’m the reason he keeps coming to class, even though he’s learned every routine three times over.

I break out in a full-face blush, and he hastily clarifies it’s because he thinks I’m an amazing dancer, not because he’s harbouring a secret crush on me.

God, I love these people.

Halfway through the fourth song of my lesson—the playful ‘Espresso’ by Sabrina Carpenter—Kye slips into the studio. My stomach crushes inward with that nervous, hyper-excited feeling I get whenever I’m around him.

He finds a spot at the back of the class, his eyes locking with mine.

He gives me a soft smile, and a shard of heat spears my stomach.

I turn away, hiding my dopey grin. I can only imagine how embarrassingly giddy I must look right now.

Through the mirror, I catch Snuggles’ focus land on Kye—‘he hasn’t come to class for ages! ’ she recently lamented to me.

Incoming , I silently warn him.

I laugh as she squeals and dashes to wrap her arms around him. Kye tips back on his feet, throwing me a startled look over her shoulder. Beaming, I reach for my phone to change the song.

‘All right, we’re gonna take the routine from the top!’ I call out. ‘Those who can’t keep time and are late for class will just have to catch up.’

I shoot Kye a wry smirk, and have to prise my gaze off his lips as he bites down on another smile. I tap back to the start of the track and get moving.

Once the class is over and the other students have trickled out, Kye comes right for me and wraps me up in a tight ‘I’ve missed you’ hug.

I bury my face in his neck, still marvelling at the fact that Groucho , of all people, can make me feel this breathless.

When he pulls away, I gather the fabric of his black T-shirt in my fist, lift up onto my toes and press my mouth to his.

Chuckling against my lips, he folds his arms around my neck and tucks me against his thumping chest.