Page 29 of Love at First Sight

What colour were you thinking for Stray Kids HQ? texts Leo the next morning. I recommend this brand – take a look and let me know, gorgeous.

I read the text through tears, because I miss my dad and I’m sobbing about it.

It started in the shower. My mind just …

wandered to him. I want him to see what’s happening with Stray Kids, and I want him to tell me he’s proud of me.

Shouldn’t that be the right of every daughter, to have a dad who will do that?

I miss him so much. And I can’t believe he’d disinvite me to his wedding, that this whole thing would get this far.

It’s ludicrous. I don’t think I was even this upset after Mum left.

She’d been distant for most of my life anyway, I have very few happy memories with her.

Looking back, I think she probably had depression, and so by the time she left us it was a relief because after that Dad and I could be happy.

There was laughter in the house; we didn’t have to tiptoe around anyone.

I’ve always loved him, but I think I realised just how much I liked him during those first years when it was just the two of us.

I was eighteen, but chose to hang out with him over my new uni mates because he was fun, and silly.

Even during the tumour years, at his worst, we always found things to giggle at – the levity in any situation.

I want to sit him down and tell him all this, but honestly, I think the reason I’m so upset is that I really don’t think he’d hear it.

I think I’d put my heart on the line to be rejected once and for all, and I don’t think I could bear that.

By not reaching out, I’m saving myself. By not calling or texting, I can make-believe we’ll come back from this.

If he tells me what he thinks of me to my face, I think my heart would be broken forever.

For now, it’s cracked. Plenty of things can keep functioning with a little crack in them, but few will still work if they’re torn in two.

It’s a busy day, taking Henry to school and then giving India an hour of my time over coffee at Ali’s house for updates on social media posts and more newsletter lists.

I let Leo know I like the ‘French Blue’ shade of paint from the selection he sent me.

I haven’t heard from the council about the Health and Safety sign-off, but Cal was so optimistic we decide to push ahead as if it’s already been given the final thumbs up.

I bite the bullet and set the launch date as two weeks from now.

When India has gone, I spend a disproportionate amount of time preparing snacks for the journey to see Ali, on account of having talked up my car picnic skills.

I’ve buried thoughts of my dad in the recesses of my mind, because thinking about it any more will serve no one.

Instead I head out and get some mini quiches from the expensive bakery on the green, and cut them into squares so they’re easier for Cal to pick up and eat when he’s driving.

I get Sports Mix and Dolly Mixture from the newsagent’s – the two best sweets out there – and some Haribo, too, for Henry.

Obviously there are salt and vinegar Hula Hoops, and the requisite Fruit Shoots.

‘You don’t pack light, do you?’ Cal says, observing my bag of junk food treasures when he comes to collect us. ‘Whoa! Sports Mix?’ He’s already rifling through everything. ‘And why have you put our names on the crisps but nothing else?’

I look down at Henry, who has his shoes and backpack on, ready to go.

‘So we know whose is whose,’ he says. ‘And you can eat the one that doesn’t belong to you.’

Cal squints, trying to get the logic. ‘My dude,’ he says. ‘Do you mean so you can eat the one that does have your name on it?’

‘No,’ Henry says. ‘Me and Jessie did an experiment. Hula Hoops taste better when they belong to somebody else. It’s science.’

Cal nods. ‘And who am I to argue with science?’ he says, and I laugh at the way he is so obviously not convinced. What if this was my life, with Cal and a kid and a car adventure to be embarked upon?

No. Bad thought. I can’t have thoughts like that.

I set up Henry’s booster seat as Cal loads the boot, and then I make sure Henry has been for a wee.

‘Do I need to ask you if you’ve peed too?’ I ask Cal.

‘Of course not,’ he says, eyebrows raised. ‘But,’ he adds, ‘can you give me the house keys because, yeah actually, I should probably go.’

I laugh again, and Henry and I get strapped in and wait for Cal to come back. I am vaguely aware that I am cosplaying happy families with a family that doesn’t belong to me, but I push the feeling down, down, down.

I start to feel so relaxed, in fact, that as we crawl out of London I spend most of the time looking out of the window, thrilled that somebody else is in charge of getting us to where we need to be.

The thing about singledom, I’ve found over these past few years, is that you always have to do everything.

The responsibility is mine, and mine alone, for literally everything.

So when somebody else cooks me a meal, or gets me a funding form and talks me through filling it out, or organises the train tickets or drives, it’s a really big sigh of relief.

‘That was a happy-sounding noise,’ Cal says.

‘I like being driven,’ I reply.

‘Oh please.’ He waves like the Queen. ‘One must say chauffeured . I like being chauffeured .’

‘That does have quite the ring to it.’

‘Good ideas? I’m full of ’em.’

‘I have good ideas too!’ Henry chirps up, from the back seat.

‘Oh yeah?’ asks Cal, looking at him in the rear-view mirror. ‘Like what, pal?’

‘Urm …’ Henry says, and it’s everything I have in me not to jump in and supply an answer for him. Kids are capable! They sometimes take longer to say words or form coherent thoughts! That’s okay!

To his credit, Cal doesn’t scramble to fill the silence either – he lets Henry think, and I like that.

Anyone can be ‘good’ with children when it involves buying them sweets or toys, or running around like a madman with them.

That’s not actually being good with them at all, really, more ‘capable of winding them up for short bursts’.

Being good with kids is talking to them with respect, and letting them in on the joke, and valuing what they have to offer.

It’s about being genuine. And, yeah, Cal got Henry a present when they first met, but on reflection that was more of a conversation starter than a gift.

Cal is all the things you’d want a man to be with your child: patient, curious.

I find myself sneaking a look at him, his long elegant fingers on the steering wheel, index finger tapping out an unknown rhythm.

He’s got a strong, masculine profile, with an angular jaw and a Roman nose. He senses me looking but doesn’t turn.

‘It’s rude to stare,’ he says, before breaking out into a big smile that suggests he’s actually quite pleased.

‘Okay, I have a good idea!’ Henry decides, finally. ‘Let’s tell a story!’

‘Ooooh,’ says Cal. ‘Go on then. Can somebody sort me out with some Hula Hoops, too? I’ll have Henry’s, I think. Let’s see if that makes them taste better.’

Henry laughs and says, ‘I’ll have Jessie’s! But Cal, you have to have one of your own and then one of mine for the experiment to work!’

I open Cal’s bag of crisps and offer him one.

‘Feel free to provide tasting notes,’ I say, and Cal nods, chewing for ages and pronouncing, ‘Crunchy, so that’s good. Nice flavour, which is to be expected. Give me one more? Just to be sure?’

He opens his mouth and leans in my direction, his eyes not leaving the road. I feed him again.

‘Yup,’ he munches. ‘Okay. I’m ready to try Henry’s Hula Hoops now.’

He does the same thing, waits to be fed, and I oblige, the tips of my fingers almost caressing his Cupid’s bow.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa!’ Cal cries, whilst still chewing. ‘All right, I get it, absolutely. Give me, like, three more, would ya, Jessie? This kid is really on to something. Other people’s crisps really do taste so much better than your own!’

‘Told you! Told you!’ Henry shrieks, delighted. He makes a big show of opening ‘my’ crisps and mimicking Cal’s reaction. ‘Oh my gosh!’ Henry says, excitedly. ‘These are so good! Jessie, you’re really missing out. Sorry I’m eating your crisps but whoa, tasty tasty! So good!’

‘All right, all right, my turn,’ I say, opening ‘Henry’s’ bag. ‘Gosh, even the smell of these, Henry, honestly, you’re really missing out. Do you want to try one of your own?’

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Henry says, using his ‘butler’ voice. He pops a crisp in his mouth and makes a bleurgh sound. ‘No! Terrible! One hundred per cent less good than yours, Jessie!’

I stuff a bunch in my mouth so I have to reply through a spray of crumbs. ‘Nope,’ I say. ‘Yours are the tastiest! Oh! I’m in heaven!’

We carry on that way, exclamations of adulation and sprinkles of crumbs going everywhere, and for some reason it’s so funny that I don’t even realise we’ve come to a standstill in traffic for ages.

‘I wonder where everyone is going,’ I say.

‘You mean, how dare other people be going places when we want to?’ asks Cal.

I shrug. ‘In a fashion. I mean, it is rather rude.’

Henry points at a car out of the right-hand window and says, ‘I think they’re going to a big, haunted castle, and one of them will die!’

‘Henry!’ I cry. ‘That’s so gruesome!’ I pretend to shout across to the people he’s pointed at, cupping my hands around my mouth. ‘Don’t die, any of you! Be safe! Henry didn’t mean it!’

He laughs, and says, ‘I did. No, I didn’t! Well, I did a bit, but I’ve changed my mind.’

‘Hmmm,’ I say, eyes searching for somebody else to invent a story about. ‘The people in front,’ I say, ‘with all those blankets and duvets stacked up in their boot, where do you think they’re going, Henry?’

Henry considers it. ‘An underground bunker,’ he declares. ‘Because they think there’s going to be an alien attack.’