Page 25 of Love at First Sight

I don’t know how long I lie on the sofa, alternating crying with staring blankly at the ceiling.

I’m fucking distraught, but with Henry upstairs I can’t go for a walk, or over to India’s.

I can’t even have a drink to alleviate this feeling of not wanting to be in my own skin, not wanting to be who I am.

I just lie there, barely even registering a text come through until it beeps for a second time to remind me. It’s Ali.

I can’t deal with this now, Jessie, not whilst I’m filming. It’s not a good idea, I need your full focus on Henry, especially during this time of transition with his dad. We’ll talk when I see you. Thanks.

No kiss, no emoji, just a thanks with a full stop. It’s essentially a slap to the face.

Oh god, this is horrific. I clutch a pillow, pushing my face into it to stifle the sobs.

Ali doesn’t want me doing Stray Kids, Dad has chosen another woman over me, my bloody mystery man from the stupid supermarket is dating my boss, and it all just feels so unfair.

I’m heartbroken. What am I going to do? With any of it?

I’ve pulled on a thread and everything is unravelling and I don’t know how to make it stop.

I must fall asleep, because the doorbell reverberating through the twilight sees me sit bolt upright.

It goes again. I don’t even have time to think about how it’s late – it must be about 10 p.m. – and how I wouldn’t answer the door at my own home if I wasn’t expecting anybody.

I just walk over to it, zombie-like, and fling it open.

‘Sorry,’ Cal says, standing there in his shorts and linen shirt, laden down by designer bags and their thick woven handles. ‘I tried calling, but no answer. I’ve been tasked with dropping all these off by Ali’s management? Apparently there’s so much it was blocking up their post room?’

I blink, aware that everything Cal says seems to be a question.

‘Oh,’ I say, not unused to the sight of somebody delivering an obscene amount of gifted stuff for Ali. She’s a walking clothes horse, after all – and on occasion, some of it even gets passed along to me, a non-clothes horse but still very grateful. ‘Come in, you can put them in her office.’

My eyes sting from the crying, and I find myself trying to hide my face in my hands so Cal can’t see what a basket case I am.

I point in the direction he should go, though I’m sure he’s been here often enough to already know.

He faffs about unburdening himself of the ten or so bags, and I watch him from behind.

He’s broad, and must have recently had a haircut – how strange he seems different after only a few days – because there’s a faint tan line near his collar, around his lower hairline.

A bead of sweat runs down the side of his face that he wipes away with a massive hand and a sigh.

I imagine what it would be like, to have a man of my own in a house of my own with my own child sleeping upstairs.

It feels impossible. I don’t look away fast enough as Cal turns around, catches me staring.

‘Hey,’ he says, stepping towards me. ‘You don’t look well. Are you all right?’

I try to arrange myself into something sunshiney, a fake smile and crinkled eyes, accompanied by a light breezy voice.

‘Oh yeah,’ I start to say, but it comes out too high-pitched, in a way that obviously means the opposite, and we both realise it at the same time.

The look of concern on his face makes me crack.

I burst into tears. Proper big, heavy sobs that force me to bury my face in my hands.

‘Hey, come here,’ he says. He pulls me into him, and I fit neatly under his armpit – which is convenient for muffling the sounds of my breakdown.

The fabric of his shirt is sopping wet with my tears in seconds.

I can’t stop. I know I should. I do not know this man.

He is not mine. To cry so fully in front of him should shame me, but I don’t have time for that.

Cal cradles the back of my head and makes soft, soothing sounds.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, over and over again.

‘Whatever it is, we can figure it out. It’s okay. ’

I don’t know how long we stand that way.

Ages. Long enough for me to catch my breath, to stem the tears so that I can inhale and exhale without hiccupping.

Cal is strong and stoic, in no rush to make me say I’m okay before I really am.

It’s sort of nice, in the end, just to be held.

It’s been so long since somebody did this for me – literally supported me, physically, and being strong is hard, doing it day after day.

‘Sorry,’ I say, when I can.

He pulls away and bends at the knee so we’re eye to eye. ‘Don’t be,’ he says. ‘Ever, okay?’

I nod.

‘Tea?’ he asks. ‘Water, to rehydrate?’

I manage to let out a small laugh.

‘Both,’ I answer.

I splash some water on my face in the loo as Cal bustles about with mugs and taps and whatever else in the kitchen.

When I reappear, slightly less blotchy than before, I sit down at the far edge of the sofa, legs curled underneath me, watching him grab milk from the fridge and find ice in the freezer for the water.

He looks up at me with a smile. I smile back, grateful that somebody is here.

Grateful that he is here. I’m comfortable with him.

I have been ever since that Granny Smith in the supermarket. It’s as simple as that.

He deposits our drinks on the coffee table, and I reach for the water to gulp it down greedily. He looks at me, amused. ‘Top-up?’

I hand him back my empty glass.

‘Please.’

He pours me another and then takes the opposite end of the sofa, making a show of getting settled.

‘This is like sitting on an actual cloud,’ he says, looking at me.

‘Yup,’ I say. ‘This will undoubtedly ruin all other sofas for you, sad to say.’

‘No shit.’

He tips his head, then, half a smile playing on his lips. I mirror him, not smiling quite wide enough to reveal my teeth.

‘You don’t have to talk about it,’ he says. ‘But if you did …’

I look to the window.

‘Just … life,’ I say, evasively. He waits for me to continue. ‘My dad …’

And then it all comes out, because trying to explain it to somebody who knows none of it helps, somehow. Like how I try to encourage Henry to name the feeling, telling Cal is like following the clues until I can name my own feeling.

‘Dad basically raised me alone,’ I say. ‘Mum was un-interested in me growing up, and bolted as soon as she could. And when he got sick, it was so awful. Like, terrifying. I could barely function I was so worried. And that’s when Craig, my ex, left …

he just couldn’t handle it, said I’d changed.

But obviously I’d changed! You can’t have your father go through brain surgery without it changing you, Jesus! ’

Cal nods, like duh .

‘But good riddance, you know? Trash can take itself out. And Dad got stronger, healthier, was maybe even more full of life than before. I suppose he’d seen over the cliff edge, you know?

Faced his own mortality or whatever, and so since then he’s gone for it, really embraced life.

It’s had this rubbing-off effect on me, too.

I’m trying new things, getting involved in different activities.

It was after everything had happened with Dad that I started to develop the idea for Stray Kids, which … ’

God, I can’t bad-mouth Ali to him, can’t say she’s unhappy with me. That isn’t fair.

‘Well, it’s not all as straightforward as I thought it might be.’

Before Cal can ask any questions about that, I press on.

‘I was so excited when Dad met someone. He’d dated, I knew that, and let’s be honest nobody really wants to know about their parents’ sex lives, even if they are close.

But I got the gist of it, if he was excited by someone or if something didn’t work out, that sort of thing.

And then he met Simone, and right from the off he was totally smitten, head over heels.

It was so sweet. But after a while, he would cancel plans to see me at the last minute, and he started to be evasive about setting another date.

Fair play, I guess I’m sensitive to rejection so I try to keep that in check, but …

your own dad, not even swinging by for a cup of tea any more?

It just didn’t seem right. Anyway. I finally met Simone, by accident, when I went over to his – unannounced, like I’ve always done.

And Cal, she was horrible. I can’t properly explain it, aside from she made me feel so unwelcome in Dad’s house that in the end I didn’t even stay for the cup of tea he’d offered – half-heartedly, by the way.

And it’s been that way for almost a year, and now … ’

I can’t even say this next bit. It makes me feel like I could throw up.

‘He rang. No. I rang him. I rang him and he said not to come to the wedding. That I’ll spoil it.’

‘Sorry, what?’ Cal says. ‘He disinvited you?’

‘Yeah.’

‘But … what kind of woman would marry a man willing to disinvite his daughter to the wedding?’

‘Simone.’ I shrug. ‘The only thing I can think is that with Dad being older – because she’s my age, I forgot to mention that bit, I know, it’s gross – but I think she sees him as some sort of meal ticket.

Maybe I get in the way of that? She doesn’t even know me but she does not like me.

And now she’s convinced Dad I’m the problem, and honestly, my heart is breaking … ’

I well up, voice cracking. I don’t want to cry again though, so I take some big breaths to demonstrate as much to Cal. He reaches across the sofa and puts a hand on my knee.

‘You deserve to be treated better,’ he tells me, forcing eye contact with the seriousness with which he delivers his words. He holds my gaze, and I get that it’s so stupid to be all we spoke without saying a word , but truly, the way he looks at me tells me so much.

And then he farts.

A high-pitched, long and loud mmmmmppppphhhhh emanates from him as his meaningful stare becomes a cheeky smile, and once he’s done, he says simply, ‘Sorry to ruin the moment.’

‘I can’t believe you just did that!’ I squeal, picking up a cushion to lob at him. ‘Oh my god!’

‘What!’ he says. ‘It’s natural! We all do it!’

He throws a pillow back at me.

‘Not in company,’ I say. ‘And for the record, that stinks .’ I gag a little to make my point.

‘Impossible,’ Cal says. ‘My farts never stink.’

‘All evidence to the contrary.’ I waft the air in front of my nose.

Cal sits up straight and makes a butter-wouldn’t-melt face. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Where were we? I shouldn’t have interrupted.’

I raise my eyebrows and purse my lips. ‘Because I’m going to continue talking about my daddy issues now, aren’t I?’

Cal pulls an oooops face.

‘Well,’ I continue. ‘You got me to laugh. So. Compared to how I was feeling even twenty minutes ago, that is quite the feat.’

‘And people say farts aren’t funny …’

‘They’re not,’ I say, and quick as anything he bats back: ‘All evidence to the contrary.’

He’s got me there.

‘Well,’ I say, suppressing a smile. ‘Whatever. I feel better, so thank you.’

‘A pleasure,’ he says, smiling back.

‘Jessie?’

I look to the doorway. Henry is stood in his pyjamas, holding his Mickey Mouse.

‘You okay, pal? Did we wake you up?’ I say, getting up to hoist him into my arms.

‘I had a bad dream,’ he says, sleepily. ‘I miss Mummy.’

I pick him up and hold him close, letting his hot, sleepy head bury into my neck.

‘Let’s get you back upstairs …’ I whisper, stroking his hair. ‘I’ve got you, bubba. I’m here, okay? You’re safe. I’m here.’

Cal stands up and mouths ‘I’ll go …’ and I nod. Holding Henry, I check the back door is locked and flick off the lights everywhere except the hallway, where Cal opens the front door and says quietly, ‘Night, Jessie.’

Henry already feels weighty with sleep in my arms, his breathing heavy and restful.

‘Night, Cal,’ I say back. ‘Thank you. You know. For being here.’

‘I’ll always help you if I can,’ he replies, softly pulling the door closed behind him.