Page 23

T he house was dark and quiet, and where I’d felt so hopeful and alive earlier, my mind was slipping back into that familiar, dark, deep hole.

I couldn’t even explain it. I sat on my bed, rocking gently back and forth. Perhaps I had finally lost my mind, imagined it all, when life had truly kicked me in the face.

Stewart didn’t need me. He now had his family back, and I was, once again, alone .

Discarded.

Useless.

I tried to hug myself, digging my fingernails deep into the skin of my arms. This…

this was not good. I was suddenly back in a state of mind where I didn’t feel safe, where anything could go wrong if I didn’t control my impulses.

The inner voices would tell me to do things.

To hurt. Try to convince me that pain was good.

It wasn’t, and this wasn’t right.

This was me being absolutely ridiculous. I should really go pull the curtains open and let in some air instead of hiding.

I could hear children outside. I’d bet he was sitting on his patio, watching them play, maybe even with a cup of tea in his hand. I didn’t dare look outside, hiding here like the fool I was.

I was clutching my phone, and I didn’t quite know why, but I held on. Kept opening up the screen, hoping there would be something, anything to distract me.

I looked at my daughter’s number on WhatsApp, opened her profile photo and smiled at her gorgeous face. I’d taken that photograph a few years back. I wondered why she still kept it and didn’t change it for a newer shot .

She was older now. Wiser. Different. Still my Constance.

I tried to stroke her face through the screen as I somehow connected an incoming call.

Damn. Unknown number.

I tried to hang up but couldn’t. A voice was clearly calling my name through the static, and I sat here—useless, ridiculous.

“Hello?” I croaked out, trying to swallow.

“Dylan.”

Veronica. Oh, what the fuck now? For fuck’s sake.

“Hi,” I managed to get out. At least she wasn’t on video call, because I didn’t think I would be able to handle that.

“Put your camera on,” she demanded.

I did as I was told. I always had. And there she was, looking frazzled.

“I didn’t appreciate the phone call from my legal team yesterday. It’s taken me all day to compose myself enough to make this phone call without shouting.”

For the record, she was shouting .

“What are you playing at, Dylan? I thought we’d sorted this once and for all. You agreed. You signed the papers.”

Probably. At the time, I would have signed anything put in front of me.

“Yes. I no doubt did, Veronica,” I said, surprised by how stern I sounded when I was still in last night’s shirt.

I probably smelled. Of him.

“So what do you want now? Because I don’t want to do this again.

Just let it lie, Dylan. And where did you suddenly get the funds to contract Gun Larsen of all people?

I simply won’t stand for this, Dylan. If you’ve sold the house, you need to declare any change in income for your child support to be recalculated. You’re building up quite a debt.”

Like I didn’t know. I should hang up and, like the sensible lawyer I was, refer her to my representative and shut my mouth. But that wasn’t who I was, and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.

“I haven’t sold the house. How can I? It’s my home. I bought you out, remember?”

I wanted to roll my eyes because that’s what I usually did. Veronica and I no longer played nice .

“How are you, Veronica?” I countered instead, throwing her off her no doubt incoming rant.

Silence.

“Truly. How are you? Are you coping? I know it’s a lot for you to deal with.”

I hoped I didn’t sound anything but sincere because that was my intention. We were both human, and at one point, we’d loved each other, found safety and peace from sharing space, staring at the stars through the skylight in our bedroom.

The skylight was still there, and I hadn’t looked through it in years.

“I… I…” she started, clearly trying to find the right words. “I’m coping. Of course I am.”

“The kids must be growing up.”

I was fishing. Just give me anything. Tell me how they are.

“Constance is being a pain, refusing to do anything I tell her to. Marmaduke is being referred to a paediatric specialist for his waterworks, and Phinneas is good.”

Okay .

“He’s still wetting the bed?” I asked quietly. Not good. It had been years.

“It was a big change for him. He’s not coping well.”

An admission. I was grateful.

“We need to be honest with each other, Veronica. I need to know what’s going on. I may not see them, but they are still my children. And if there is anything you need, you know I will always step up.”

She snorted.

“What do you want, Dylan?” She sounded as tired as she looked, fiddling with a piece of paper in the background. “I have work to do, and this isn’t a social call.”

“Then what do you want, Veronica? You haven’t called me in over a year.”

She rolled her eyes. I did too.

Awkward. These phone calls always had been. Because they always were when your wife left you without a word, took your children away and remarried a couple of months later.

“How’s Brandon? ”

She huffed. “I asked a question, Dylan. What is it that you are after this time?”

“I have no right to anything,” I said sternly. “You know that. But I want answers, because I never got them.”

Straight out of Gun Larsen’s handbook, toeing the line she’d said we’d go for. Answers. I had no idea what I wanted answers to.

“If you’re going to play dirty, I will play dirty back.”

Threats. Always. I was so over this, which was probably why I hadn’t fought harder. I couldn’t win. I never would.

“I’m just human, Veronica. And I love my children.

There are so many things I want that I know you won’t give me, and I have to make my peace with that.

But give me answers. Tell me how my children are.

And when you’re ready, explain to me why you did what you did.

Because one day, you will have to explain exactly that to your children, and that won’t be an easy conversation to have. ”

Threats. I could play that game too. Not that I got to her, because she hung up on me, leaving me sitting there with a lead balloon growing in my stomach.

I felt sick. Nauseous .

And here the phone went again. Constance.

“Hey,” I said softly. Might as well. I had nowhere else to go.

Her face was on the screen. She was covering her mouth with her hand.

“Dad, what did you say to Mommy? She’s only been home for an hour, and she’s already throwing stuff at the walls in the office. I know she rang you. She said she would. Did you say yes?”

“Yes to what?” I asked, confused.

“To us coming over to stay with you? That’s why she rang, wasn’t it?”

“Darling,” I said softly, “you know that’s not an option. There’s a court order, and you’ll be going back to school in a few weeks.”

“Bullshit, Dad.”

Trust my daughter to call me out.

“Did you have a good trip back? I loved that you came to see me,” I almost whispered, hoping Veronica wasn’t listening in .

“I have you down as Jodie in my phone, just in case Mommy snoops. Jodie was this girl I met in the UK. I don’t actually have her number, but you can ring me anytime. You know that.”

“You don’t mind?” I had to ask, my heart beating a little faster.

“Of course I don’t. How’s Jean? And what was his name…Stewart?”

“Jean is fine. Stewart is…fine.”

“Marmie says thank you for the teddy. He hides it under his drawers so Mommy doesn’t find it.”

“Oh, Constance.”

I hated that my children had to lie. Hide. Fake things. Damn you, Veronica.

“It’s all good. How’s work?”

“Fine.” Calm. Just talk to her. Her smiling face.

“So it’s no problem then to take some time off. Pilar will fly over with us, and you can pick us up. Then we’ll stay with you for a bit. I don’t want to move again.”

“You’re moving? ”

“Lease on this place is up, and Mommy has this big case in Mexico. She can’t take us with her, so we were supposed to stay with Brandon in New Orleans, but Pilar has resigned and Mommy is going mental.”

“Okay?”

“Marmie would have to change schools again. He’s not happy.”

“I can understand that. How’s Phinneas?”

“Ask me in Spanish and I’ll ask him. He’s a nutter. He’s so bloody clingy with Pilar and won’t even let me cuddle him at the moment.”

“I see.” My heart felt like it was being stabbed, one tiny dagger at a time.

“So that’s what I suggested,” Constance continued calmly. “I told Mommy that it’s easy. We come stay with you, then she doesn’t have to rent another place and pay for nannies and all that. We’ll be looked after. We can go back to school, and she can concentrate on that case.”

“Constance,” I said softly.

“Don’t give me any excuses. We want to come home.”

“I want this. God, believe me. Yes. Absolutely. I would take you back tomorrow. Just come. Constance, there’s nothing I want more than for this to happen. But your mommy will never allow it.”

I was breathing far too fast. Struggling. And now I had another incoming call.

“I think your mother is ringing me again,” I panted out.

“Ring me straight back,” my daughter demanded.

I disconnected and picked up the other call.

“Dylan.”

“Veronica.”

I didn’t know how much more of this I could take. Hope was a dangerous thing. A fine balance.

“I just had a call from Hendrix in New York. Queries over the custody order. I don’t appreciate this. I don’t have time for this. Whatever you’re trying to do here, I will bring you down.”

“Veronica, calm down,” I demanded with a voice I barely recognised. I didn’t talk like this. Not to her.

“Make it stop, Dylan,” she said, and then she hung up again.

I rang Constance back as someone knocked on the patio doors .

I couldn’t do this. Not now. I lay down and tugged the duvet over myself, hiding from the world like the coward I was.

“She yelled at me,” I started, and my daughter rolled her eyes, just like her mother.

“Are you a man or a mouse?”

I smiled. “I used to say that to you all the time.”

“You’re a mouse, Dad. You need to start barking. It’s the perfect solution.”

I knew. I also fully believed Veronica. I would never win.

“I want to come home, Dad,” she said. “Make it happen. Please.”

She hung up on me. Just like her mother.

And my bloody phone wouldn’t stop ringing. Stewart. Of course.

I rejected the call, too frail to deal with it.

Another clusterfuck I couldn’t undo. I’d…slept with him. Allowed myself to go with my emotions and was now tangled up in this utter, chaotic… Fuck .

Now he was knocking on the glass doors again, and I just wanted to disappear. Peace. Quiet. Not have him call my name.

And here went the phone.

“Go away,” I answered, trying desperately not to burst into tears. Too much. It was all too much.

“Not going anywhere,” Gun Larsen said, taking a deep draw from her cigarette. At least she wasn’t on video, so she couldn’t see my dishevelled face.

“It’s the weekend,” I hiccupped out.

“Yes, and we’re doing well. I made some particular phone calls last night. Seeded some doubts and had a little fun. All in a day’s work, Dylan. It amuses me. You know this.”

“I just spoke to Veronica,” I gritted out. I wasn’t having fun. I told her that too.

“Oh, shush,” she said like she was my mother and I was a child.

I felt like one.

“How is that man of yours?” She was smiling. Another deep drag of that cigarette.

“What man?” I shrieked. Why could I never talk normally?

“Your Stewart. I spoke to Mabel. Dragged some truths out of their pretty mouth. Such a little monster, that one. Anyway. Yes. I approve. He’s a gentleman and will look after you. Treat you right. Just trust in the process, Dylan. Let this take its course.”

“Let exactly what take its course? There will be no course here, Gun. My daughter thinks she’s coming to visit, with a view to starting school here. My son can’t stop wetting the bed. My ex-wife is threatening me. I have no idea what I am doing here, and it’s all becoming a little too much.”

“Which is exactly where I want you, Dylan.”

Why was she so calm? Weird woman, she was.

I drew a breath, but she shushed me.

“I want you like this. Pushed in a corner so hard that you have nowhere to turn. See? I’m getting you there, aren’t I?”

“If you mean you’re stressing me out and putting me in an impossible situation, then yes.”

She laughed softly. “Good. ”

“Then what?” I countered. I was shouting. I wasn’t proud of that fact.

“You’re talking back. I like it. Pushing. Good job.”

I wasn’t a child. I wanted to remind her of that. I didn’t, though, because she quietened me with words I had no clapback for.

“Dylan, when these things happened in the past, you crumbled. I want to prove to you that you’re stronger than that. Are you sitting there with a razor blade in your hand?”

“Of course not!” I spat out.

“Don’t take that tone with me. I know who you are, Dylan Scotland. I know what you’re capable of. I also know that you beat me by two scores on that summer course in Oxford—the only course where I didn’t get a first. I’m not sure I’m ready to forgive you for that.”

“The history of family law,” I said with a weird smile on my face.

“Then you fucked off and took planning law. I never got to take you down off that stupid little throne. I have the memory of an elephant. ”

“Well, you can take me down now,” I said flatly. “I think you already have.”

“Nonsense,” she said, drawing in air through her nose.

I could almost picture her in front of me.

“Because now I have Veronica up against the wall. Balls in my grip. And you’re whining because you’re coping awfully well with all this?

Not trying to throw yourself off any balconies? All your veins intact? Eh?”

“Sober as a judge,” I agreed.

She was a piece of work. But then this was Gun Larsen. And apparently, I was playing her game.

“See?” she said smugly. “And that, Mr Scotland? That is how you turn this around.”