Page 15

T he relief of getting into Stewart’s car was immense, and I slumped down on the back seat like the entitled twat I apparently was.

“You can sit up front if you like,” he said softly. “I’m not on a paid job, you know.”

He grimaced, like he’d just realised what he’d insinuated, and I squirmed on the inside for the exact same reason. I still sat there, frozen in place, unable to move.

The car engine was running.

“Is Jean not coming?”

“She’s finalising paperwork with Gun. Setting up a schedule. And then she’s running errands, so I was told to leave them to it. We can go.”

“Not going until you come sit up front so I can talk to you,” he said.

I appreciated that, more than I could put into words. I opened the door and skirted around to the front passenger seat, with the doorman chasing me, trying to help me inside like I was a child. His job, I knew that. But still.

“Let’s go,” I said. He nodded.

Was this what we’d become? Two-word sentences?

“Had a nice chat with Mabel. They used to run our restaurant and then left and took on this gig. Doing well, it seems.”

“Mabel. That the woman with the…”

“You can say it. The nonbinary human in the dress. Heels. Blonde bob. Some days, they wear a dress, other days you’ll find Mabel in a sharp suit.

Just the way they roll. But that’s just clothes.

On the inside, they are one hell of a solid fruitcake.

Nutty yet one hundred per cent reliable.

” He didn’t sound convinced all of a sudden.

“How do you mean?”

He made a face like he didn’t know that himself. “Nutty fruitcake. That’s what my son always called them. Off their rocker at times, but always the person you can go to for advice. My son had a bit of a crush on them for a while, which was rather amusing. And I got some good advice today.”

“Want to share?”

He laughed. I liked when he did.

“Not really. I think I shared enough. Still musing over it all. Not sure I should take it.”

“Did they offer you a job?”

“They implied there was an offer there, but that I shouldn’t take it. I don’t doubt they would find me work if I asked, but I agree with them. It would be a step down. Not a step forward.”

“True.”

I relaxed into the seat as Stewart took a wide turn onto Whitehall, past Trafalgar Square and up towards Soho. Familiar streets. Too many people. A world away from the quiet, gated oasis we called home. I wanted to say something to that effect but swallowed my tongue.

We weren’t an us , and I was not the good guy here. I was taking advantage of his kindness in every way, expecting him to jump to my rescue at any hour of the day, and I hadn’t even thanked him properly for putting me in touch with Gun Larsen of all people.

“Stewart, I am so incredibly grateful for your company. Your help. That you’re doing all that you’re doing for me. It’s not expected or required; you need to know that. But it is massively appreciated.”

I huffed it out as he did that face again. I was starting to recognise it. Perhaps he was unsure what I meant. In any case, he was uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“I mean it. I didn’t realise how bad I’d got, and you have been…I don’t know. You’ve been amazing.”

“Same,” he said in a voice that sounded strained, like he was wanting to say something else. He gulped for air as we sat at a red light. I stared ahead. He swallowed.

“If I told you that what you just said was similar to what I was going to tell you…”

“Was that Mabel’s advice?” I was trying to make light of this, get back into some kind of normality. I had no idea when we’d lost it, when our conversations had become this stilted and grey.

“Actually…” There was a small smile. Good. “Exactly, yet not at all. But anyway. How did your meeting go?”

“I don’t know. I have no idea what I was thinking. It’s all such a disaster, and looking back, I made mistakes. I let things get on top of me, and Veronica had me served to her on a plate.”

He huffed out a strained laugh. I shook my head.

“I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.”

“I was desperate and heartbroken and in a shocking state. I didn’t think she’d actually do it—take the kids away permanently. She couldn’t even remember the kids’ birthdays in court yet still made me look incapable and irresponsible as a father.”

“And now The Gun is going to sort her out?”

“No. She’s made it very clear she won’t.

But she called me out on some very uncomfortable truths.

Things I needed to hear and perhaps finally process.

I realise now I need to accept those truths and learn to deal with them.

We’re not going to go down the route of trying to undo those.

Instead, Gun is going to start talking to people.

Seed ideas around and do some gentle ruffling of feathers, to quote her words.

Shock and awe. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. ”

“You should. Don’t let things stew, Dylan. I’m right here.”

“You’re my neighbour. You shouldn’t have to carry all my woes.”

“I’m your friend ,” he said in a voice that suddenly carried strength.

I liked it. I really did.

“Thank you.”

“Stop thanking me.”

“I need to.”

We went quiet again, at a standstill in the thick London traffic. People milled around, accompanied by the sound of car engines mixed with honking horns and screeching tyres and my heavily beating heart as I tried to process everything that had been thrown at me .

I was weak. I had been weak. My mistakes were unforgivable, yet I felt… I didn’t even know what I was feeling. The constant exhaustion, the fear…

“You should cut down on Jean’s coffee. Your hands are shaking.”

Trust him to call me out on that one. But that was Stewart.

I reached out and laid my hand on his. Then froze up in fear.

What the heck was I doing?

“Is it bad?” I asked, hoping he’d believe I’d only done it so he could gauge the caffeine tremors…or something. It had nothing to do with how terrified I was. Nothing at all. Fear. Didn’t know her.

Lies, total lies, as he grasped my hand, gave me warmth and something solid to hold on to in a world where my footing was constantly losing grip.

“You’re okay, Dylan,” he said quietly.

“I’m terrified. Terrified of what she’s doing, and in all honesty, I don’t want to destroy Veronica.

She’s a decent person, deep down. The mother of my children.

Intelligent and structured, and we used to have such a good time together.

We travelled and worked and bought that house, and our future was so bright.

Until it wasn’t. A lot of that was my fault. ”

“Don’t say that. There are two people in every relationship.”

“I was so besotted with her. Couldn’t believe she wanted to be with me, this gorgeous, successful woman who had everyone eating out of her hand. Including me. I didn’t think it was a bad thing, not at the time. Then it just became…who I was.”

He was still holding my hand, driving with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting gently on the centre console, my fingers entwined with his.

Weird. But I held on. And the words kept coming.

“She didn’t want a third child. I did. Desperately so.

When she fell pregnant, I was overjoyed.

She cried. The pregnancy wasn’t easy on her, and then Phinneas was born, and she failed to bond with him.

Couldn’t bear to hear him cry, so I slept in the nursery with him and did the night feeds and tried to take all the stress away from her, when I should have helped her.

But I loved him. I wanted him, so much. And I loved being at home with him, spending all my time with him in a sling and taking the other two to school, just being a dad.

Those years were the happiest years of my life.

And then Veronica took all of that away from me.

Overnight. One morning, I dropped them at school and went to a meeting, and when I got back, my children were gone and my life was over. ”

“It wasn’t over. You can’t give up. Remember what Constance said?”

“Means nothing in the world of family law. Veronica has sole custody. There is a no-contact order in place.”

“Why?” he asked.

The pang in my chest was back. The black hole that just wouldn’t go away.

“I was late. I’d taken the kids out in Miami, and we’d had a fabulous day. The kids’ nanny was with us, taking pictures of all of us at the beach, playing around. I had a glass of wine with our evening meal at a beach café. It was a lovely evening, and…I don’t know. It was just one glass of wine.”

“And?”

“That was it!” I shrieked. “I wasn’t irresponsible.

I had a rental car, the kids were all in car seats and strapped in, and I drove safely home.

The police met us outside the apartment complex and demanded to breathalyse me as the goddamn nanny took my kids away.

I never even got to say goodbye. Next day, the first court order went through.

Drunk driving, late drop-off, you name it.

But you see? I never got to see the readings, so I have no idea what those readings were.

I hadn’t had anything else to drink and had eaten dinner, so I don’t believe for a second I was over the limit.

Perhaps it was irresponsible. Perhaps it was wildly so.

But I was happy. I had the best day with my children, and it felt like a holiday, and… ”

I was crying. I had no idea how, but I knew why. Because there had been so many simple blunders. I’d been stupid and walked straight into every trap Veronica had set for me.

“She did it all the time. Put things in my way. I’d rent a car, she’d insist on a different model if I was taking the kids out and so would refuse visitation.

She wanted to pre-approve any place I took the children, then would randomly veto my plans and dispute whatever I said.

I danced to her demands. Every bloody time.

The nanny had to come everywhere, and she was taking photos and reporting back on my every move.

It was exhausting. And all she was doing was building a case for dismissing me.

Making me look incapable. Irresponsible. Bad.”

“Oh, Dylan. ”

He let go of my hand. I wanted to grasp it back. Hang on to it like it was the very last piece of my sanity.

He found a tissue, and then I was blowing my nose and wiping my face, and I had actually lost the very last piece of my dignity, crying like a baby and holding hands.

“Those were just mistakes. You need to stop living in the past. Just like I need to stop mourning something I will never recover. We both need to grow up and move on. And start over.”

“I know,” I whimpered. “But it got worse. It got much, much worse.”

“Then man up, Dylan.” The words were perhaps harsh, but I needed to hear them. His hand was back in mine. “We’ll do it together. You’ll do this, and I’ll start to figure out where I go from here.”

“And where is that?” I snorted out, one-handedly blowing my nose.

“Where I’m going from here?” He was smiling.

Stewart Schiller was a handsome man. A warm, caring individual.

He also made me feel good about myself, especially when I was in a state like this, crying and blubbering and losing my marbles.

Correction: I had lost them. All of them.

Marbles, dignity, sanity, the works. Whatever I’d held on to, Gun Larsen had stripped me of this morning, dressing me down like a schoolchild, throwing it all in my face as I’d slowly crumbled, a broken man all over again.

“I don’t know,” Stewart said, jerking me out of my pity party. “But I’m about to try something new, and I hope you’ll perhaps join me on that journey.”

“Sounds like you’re joining a cult,” I quipped before I could stop myself. Broken or not, I still couldn’t behave around him.

“A cult.” He laughed.

“I hope not. I can only deal with so much today.” Honesty. Total honesty.

“No, I’m going to figure out who I am and what makes me happy,” he stated calmly. “I’m starting to realise that perhaps I have lived my entire life for other people, and I still haven’t allowed myself to do what I want. Isn’t that strange? That I’m just now realising that?”

“Not strange at all,” I breathed out.

And relaxed.

What was this magic he kept gifting me? Peace.

Understanding. Saying things that I could have said myself.

What I wanted? I knew exactly what I wanted.

I wanted to live in my house with my children and laugh and be loved and deal with the ups and downs of everyday life.

I wanted to be normal. To be a father. To love.

And I wanted to hold on to the hand in mine.

I had no idea what that meant.

“We’re here,” he said, turning off the ignition.

I’d drifted off, not even realising we’d come through the gates and that he’d managed to park his large car in the insanely small space outside his house, turning the steering wheel back to straight with one finger. Such precision.

“You coming in?” I asked feebly. I wanted him to. I didn’t want to sit and stew in all of this. Not again.

“Do you want me to? Have you not got a meeting?”

“I need help moving the table so I can spread out some architectural drawings.” I didn’t believe myself, the way I whined it out in a squeaky voice.

“Sounds like an excuse for me to make you a nice cup of tea. Decaf. Perhaps a sandwich?”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Weak .

Needy.

Terrified.

“Don’t worry. We’ll do whatever needs doing,” he said calmly.

Happiness. A small shimmer of it, like a ray of sunshine that just broke through the clouds above.

I wondered if that was what it felt like. A small start.