Page 33 of Love at First Sight

‘I know you’re worried about me,’ Dad says the next afternoon, over coffee at the café with the pavement seating I like to think of as my little secret, in the back streets of Stokey. ‘And I just want you to know,’ Dad continues, ‘that you really don’t have to be.’

‘Of course I’m worried about you,’ I say. ‘I love you! And I’m here for you, okay?’

‘Yes,’ Dad says, ‘I know. I appreciate you saying that, but you seem … tired, darling. Lacklustre. Like worrying about me is sucking the life out of you.’

I wave a hand. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘No, it’s not that.

I didn’t sleep very well. Funny dreams. Weird ones.

Late night, too.’ I leave out the bit about the dreams featuring Cal, because Dad doesn’t even really know the Cal story.

He’s been absent for that bit. But yeah, after Cal left he was in my dream, on the other side of the road, and couldn’t hear me when I called him.

In my dream I felt desperate to reach him and woke up horribly sad that I couldn’t.

‘Hmmm,’ Dad muses. ‘If you say so.’

‘I do say so,’ I retort, and then change the subject. ‘So. Simone …’

‘Simone,’ Dad repeats. ‘You know, on some level I knew this would happen. I’ve been waiting for it ever since I met her. I knew she’d ditch me if something better came along, so I pushed for the engagement, the wedding, just wanting her to promise she wouldn’t leave me. What a fool I’ve been, eh?’

‘Oh Dad,’ I say. ‘You’re a catch! I hate that she made you feel that way.’

‘Probably made myself feel that way if we’re going to be blunt,’ he says. ‘I know you never liked her.’

I pull a face. ‘I wanted to. I really do want you to have everything you want for yourself. Maybe I could sense she was always going to leave, too.’

‘Maybe,’ Dad says. ‘And it’s happened now, hasn’t it?’

I look at him. ‘I know.’

He wells up, using the back of his hand to wipe away a stray tear.

‘You’re so good to me, Jessie,’ he says, reaching out to my arm. ‘I don’t deserve you. Not after the way I treated you. I don’t know what happened, with the engagement party, and the wedding. Telling you not to come like that …’

A huge sob escapes from the base of his throat, low and guttural. It makes me feel like crying too, except I’m all cried out.

‘I’m sorry too, Dad,’ I say, and he shakes his head.

‘No. You don’t have a single thing to be sorry for.

I’m the parent, I’m the dad …’ He looks at me, pressing his mouth into a resolved line as he studies my face.

‘I should have been better to you. There’s no excuse.

I just need you to know that I’ll be the dad you deserve from now on, okay?

I’ve been awful, and you still came …’ He cries properly now.

‘I pushed everyone else away, Jessie. It’s like I’ve been in a trance … ’

I get up from my side of the table and go to him, wrapping my arm around his back and pulling him into me.

‘Thank you for saying sorry,’ I tell him.

He nods, sadly.

Our waiter comes over to clear our dirty plates, so I go back to my seat and let Dad’s apology settle into my bones. I really feel like he means it, and I want everything to go back to normal so desperately.

‘Do you want me to fill you in on what you’ve missed?’ I ask him, when the waiter has gone. ‘Because there’s a lot,’ I add, in a way that lets him know I forgive him.

‘Tell me everything,’ he says. ‘I hate that I’ve missed anything at all.’

I get him up to speed on Cal, the one-who-got-away, as we head over to the Stray Kids site so he can see the vision in person. We meander past the toy shop, gift shop and greengrocer’s as I try to explain the best I can.

‘Hmmm,’ Dad says, once I reach the punchline of Ali’s ultimatum.

‘I don’t think I’m happy about any of this,’ he muses.

‘She can’t dictate what you do outside of your working hours, I’m sure, whether it’s who you date or any other work you do.

Although I know it’s not been mentioned since that text. ’

I sigh. ‘You know Ali,’ I say. ‘She likes to be in control of everything. It’s just how she is. She’ll come around, once she sees it.’

‘Well, yes …’ Dad says. ‘Radical acceptance of people is important, but I have to say: not at the cost of your own life. You’ve always said she’s like the sister you never had, that you’re part of her family, but I don’t think we can turn a blind eye to this any more.

She’s not your sister, she’s your boss , Jessie, and not a very good one. ’

‘That’s not fair. She’s been great to me! To you, too.’

‘Helping financially when your dad was poorly and giving you make-up cast-offs that PRs have given her does not make her great to you,’ India says, and I turn around to see her right behind us.

‘India!’ I say. ‘How long have you been stalking us?’

‘Since the greengrocer’s,’ she says, before looking at my dad and saying, ‘Hi, Paul. Bring it in, big guy.’ She opens her arms and envelops Dad in a hug. ‘I heard about Simone. You doing okay?’

Dad looks at me. ‘News travels fast.’

‘She’s my best friend,’ I say, in my defence.

‘And I have her on Find My Friends, so could see that she was at your house last night,’ India points out. Dad shrugs.

‘Are you going to the site?’ India asks, and I nod. ‘Cool. Can I come with? Am I gatecrashing?’

‘You are,’ Dad says. ‘But since you talk such good sense, we’ll let it happen.’

‘Oh yes,’ India sing-songs. ‘Where was I? Ali … Hmmm. Oh. I know. She can be great, but I don’t think she’s as respectful to you as you deserve. She takes you for granted.’

India knows all about what happened with Cal – and the ultimatum too. I spent this morning texting her updates when Dad was in the shower.

‘Hmmm,’ I grumble. ‘Well. I could never leave Henry, so.’

‘So …?’ India grumbles back, the unsaid being: So … what? You’re going to turn your back on this guy, then? Turn your back on Stray Kids? The grumble is her way of saying we should agree to disagree.

‘Anyway, I don’t listen to everything Ali dictates. Stray Kids is still happening, even if she doesn’t exactly know that. Let me piss her off with one thing at a time, okay?’

‘Would it piss her off to know we’re up to two hundred people on the mailing list now?’ India says.

‘Two hundred!’ Dad echoes. ‘Can you look after two hundred kids at once, Jessie?’

‘No!’ I cry. ‘India, I can’t have two hundred people on the list …’

India smiles. ‘Chill,’ she counsels. ‘Common marketing lore says a one per cent conversion rate is expected, a two per cent conversion rate a success. So that’s four kids, maybe eight if it’s two-child families. And that you can do.’

‘Okay,’ I say, breathing deep to try to bring my heart rate back down.

‘Even if the first sessions have a handful of kids in them,’ I continue, ‘hopefully it’ll be so good that those families will tell their friends, and we’ll work towards a bigger capacity sooner rather than later.’

‘Exactly!’ says India. We round the corner of Clissold Park and head for the bottom corner, to our spot.

‘Is everything on schedule?’ India asks.

‘Anything I should know? I was thinking that I don’t want to confirm the first session or open for booking until we’re absolutely certain of the launch day.

I know we still have some outstanding paperwork. ’

‘We do,’ I say. ‘But I’m expecting that via email any day now.’

‘Perfect. Okay. But I can’t stay. I’ve got a nail appointment in ten. Love you both!’

‘Love you!’ I reply, blowing her a kiss.

‘Bye, India!’ Dad says.

I see the back of Leo before I see what he’s done to the hut.

I suppose I’m territorial already, because somebody being even close to our HQ sets off alarm bells, like they might be ruining it, somehow, or doing something they shouldn’t.

But Leo hears us approach and turns around, a smile bursting from his face like water breaking a dam.

‘What do you think?’ he says, splaying his arms wide. He’s in workman’s gloves and a vest top with jeans and Timberland boots, so it takes a beat for me to look beyond him. But when I do? Wow.

The hut is now French Blue with a yellow door, and there’s a huge Stray Kids logo along the side.

There’s a porch light, and Leo swings the door back – no longer rotting off its hinges – to reveal what lies beyond.

The shiny brass knob turns easily in his hand; the matching hinges are totally squeak-free.

The inside is painted yellow too, and has deep shelves running along one wall into the corner, where clear plastic boxes sit, ready to be filled with equipment, toys and spare clothes.

On the free wall is a painted window with an imagined view of what it would look like on the other side if it was real: a ‘view’ of the pond.

Underneath is a thin shelf with mugs and a kettle, which appears to be plugged in.

‘How is there electricity?’ I say, stunned.

‘Generator!’ replies Leo, proudly.

‘Bloody hell, mate – did you do all this?’ my dad asks him, sounding as overcome as I feel.

‘Had a bit of help from the lads, but yeah,’ Leo says bashfully. ‘Great project deserves a great HQ hut, no?’

‘Leo,’ I say, taking it all in once more. ‘This is above and beyond. I had no idea you were thinking of doing … this .’

Leo looks at me, eyebrow crooked and lips pursed in amusement. ‘So you like it?’

‘Like it?’ I repeat. ‘I can’t believe it.’

And I burst into tears, hand over my mouth and then covering my face to hide my embarrassment.

‘These are happy tears, right?’ Leo says, reaching out to rub my back. ‘You’re okay?’

‘Yes, this is happy crying,’ I say, pulling him in for a big hug. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper into his neck. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you.’

Leo hugs me back tightly and says, ‘Babe. Don’t mention it.’