Page 40 of Silver Lining (London Love #6)

One Year Later

“ Y ou’re not my dad,” Constance spat out, staring at me in defiance. “And you can’t make those kinds of decisions.”

She sounded far too grown up, but she was absolutely right. She was almost seventeen and had to take responsibility for her actions.

“I’ m not,” I agreed sternly. “I’m also not Brandon, which you keep reminding me, and I am not your mum. But I am your father’s partner, and I do care for you greatly.”

“Funny way of showing it.” She huffed, rolling her eyes.

“You need to hoover. And bring up your laundry. Simple rules, Constance.”

“And you need to stop nagging!” She turned around, and I quite expected her to slam the door in my face. She did, then came right back, flinging the door open with another crash. We’d have to get the walls repainted at this rate, and I’d only just finished the hallway.

Painting. I was apparently born to be a decorator, despite being totally useless at doing the edging properly.

It wasn’t that bad. You barely noticed the spillage in the hallway. Anyway.

The joys of owning property. Not that I owned anything, but I fluttered from living next door to mostly living here these days. Some of my clothes were upstairs in the main bedroom, some were in the basement next door.

Just the way I liked it.

“Anyway, Stew, you need to get over yourself. ”

Very Constance. I should probably tell her off, but then this was the way she and I functioned.

With stern words and an awful lot of respect.

It went both ways, and where I had struggled with Reuben, he now seemed like he’d been the easiest teen alive compared to the young woman in front of me, who was still a child yet in so many ways more mature than me.

Hard truths. Also ones that made me smile.

“I know,” I admitted.

“Mum is fuming and is insisting on this agency travel nanny. Phinney will go crazy if he has to go on a plane with a stranger. You know this.”

“I do.”

“Dad can’t travel to the States. It’s one week. One week, Stewart, and we have to spend it with Mum, and I need to not have all this stress.”

Tell me about it. The custody agreement between Dylan and Veronica was rock solid, I had to believe that, but this was the first trip for the kids to spend a week with their mum in New Orleans.

I wasn’t a fan of the idea. Nor was I in any kind of agreement with the mere thought of chaperoning the kids across the Atlantic…

despite everyone’s insistence that it was the ideal solution .

They couldn’t travel on their own. Dylan had a withdrawn visa. He couldn’t even apply for a tourist one without risking getting detained at the border. Not that I understood most of it, but the risks were too great. Even bigger were the irrational risks that currently had Dylan fretting.

It had been a year. A whole year, and I had no idea where the time had gone, because I still needed to find a job.

I had more of a job than most people. I took care of the school runs and did after-school activities and cooked and cleaned…and quietly managed two full households. Dylan kept calling me the office cleaner, but yeah.

He worked. I worked. I just didn’t get paid much. But then, I lived frugally and paid rent and helped out and…

My savings weren’t going to last me forever. Maybe I would have to start drawing my pension next year. I could pick up more driving jobs, but then the ones I did were more than enough. Perhaps a small afternoon job at the local preschool would have been the ideal solution…

“You can still accept the job,” Constance said. “It’s just a week. And I’d feel better if you came.”

“You want me dead or alive?” I countered. “It’s a plane.”

“You’re ridiculous. ”

“I—”

“You can. Stew, you’re a fully grown man. You go on trains. You drive cars.”

“Cars don’t fly.”

“Pigs don’t either.” She rolled her eyes.

God help me.

“I would traumatise you all, having to endure me having a panic attack of some sort. I’m having one right now just thinking about it.”

“Then Dad will make you an appointment with his therapist. He says he’s very good.”

“No. I’m fine.” I was. Perhaps. Maybe not. Bah. So much going on.

“But you love me.” She batted her eyelashes the way she did. And yes. God help me. I loved her, and I loved Marmie, and I had a very special soft spot for the little boy who was currently drawing on the floor.

“Nugget, on the paper, my darling.”

“No!” he shouted, holding up a crayon.

“Yes,” I said calmly. “Daddy will be back any minute, and then we’re going in the car. So be good, and then we’ll go to the park later with Jasmine. Then we have Spanish playgroup later. That will be fun, won’t it?”

“Jasmine!” He grinned. “I want to go see Jasmine now!”

“We’ll see Jasmine in a bit. Shall we sit at the table? Constance, do you want a cup of tea? Bring your laundry up, and I’ll pop the kettle on.”

“Tea.” She grunted. “You can’t just change the subject, and bribes with cups of tea don’t work with me.”

“I have biscuits.” I winked.

“You always have biscuits. Still doesn’t mean you’ll get away with having irrational plane phobias.”

“I don’t have irrational phobias.” I did. I was also a liar.

“Look. Dad is paranoid about Mum kidnapping us. Like, there’s a custody agreement. And I need to sit my exams the week after, so it’s, like, a no-brainer. Even Mum wouldn’t pull that.”

“Trust,” I said. “It’s a delicate thing.”

“I know.” She rolled her eyes again. I didn’t trust Veronica.

Neither did Dylan. But I did trust Gun Larsen, and she still called, now and then.

Her driver had retired, and she liked me.

So on occasion, I took her where she needed to go, and in return, we’d continued our lopsided friendship.

Good conversations. Laughter. And also a stern talking-to with regards to the law.

There was a solid custody agreement in place now, and we just had to keep our heads on straight and our nerves in check.

The law was on our side. Didn’t make any of it any easier.

“But mental health is a thing, Stewart. Look at Nugget here. He’s talking now. Sleeping at night. Marmie goes to school and has been out of those nappies for a while. We don’t want to step backwards, do we?”

Threats. She was her mother’s daughter all right.

“Don’t threaten me, Constance.”

“Says the man who’s besties with Gun Larsen.”

See? We had good conversations in this house too.

“Says the girl who sold a piece of art to Gun Larsen.”

“It was a very good piece of art.”

“I agree on that one.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere. You’re flying out with us, staying in a hotel, and taking us home.”

“On my own.”

“On your own? No. With us. To New Orleans. It’s a nice town. Very cultural. Dull as anything, but you like dull. ”

“I like…dull?”

“You can visit museums. The graveyard tour is really popular.”

“Constance.” I sighed.

“Not kidding!” She laughed. “It’s really good. I did it twice. Did you know that they can’t bury bodies in New Orleans—”

“Constance!” God. Enough.

“You’re going on a plane. Nugget, we’ll hold Stewart’s hand, won’t we?”

“I don’t like planes.” Good. Phinney was on my side.

“But we’re going to see Mommy! It will be fun!”

“No, I want to go see Jasmine!”

“We’re going to see Jasmine.” I sighed. “Constance, I don’t know.”

“You do. You know it makes sense. You love Dad. You want Dad to be happy, don’t you?”

“Jean could do it.”

“Jean said no. Because you should do it. If anything happens, you’re there, and Mommy’s scared of you. ”

Now I had to laugh, because that was definitely not true.

“I talk to her every night, you know this. She’s okay, deep down.

She still works too much, and that’s what makes her tick.

She knows we’re okay here, and anyway. She’s back with Brandon, and she’s too busy keeping him on a tight leash to plot any kind of stupid kidnapping plots. Also, I’d kill her.”

“Constance.” I said that. A lot.

“Speaking of which, I read up on this course, a fear of flying one. You do a session with a bunch of hot pilots, and then you go on a plane for, like, one hour, and then you’re cured of your stupid phobia. Easy.”

“It doesn’t work like that. And it would probably kill me.” Overdramatic much?

“You can get some Valium.”

Now I was truly laughing. “And look after you lot whilst I’m off my head?”

“You’re off your head most of the time.”

“Well, that part is true.”

“Anyway, Gray agreed to let me interview him for my essay.” Changing the subject like the pro she was .

“That’s nice.”

“I’m calling it Modern Icons: An Idiot’s Guide to Today’s Dumbed-Down Talents.”

“Oh, he’ll like that. Being called dumb.”

“He’s an idiot. I don’t care, but there we have it.”

“Should be interesting.”

“I’ve promised to let him read it before I hand it in.”

“God help us all.”

“You have no confidence in me. It will be brilliant. Sarcastic, of course.”

“Of course. It’s a Constance Scotland piece, after all.”

“ The Constance Scotland, thank you very much. Of course it is.” She huffed. “And two sugars. Don’t try to fob me off with one.” She winked and once again disappeared down the stairs, leaving me standing there stirring the tea with a huge black cloud over my head.

Flying. No. Not for me. But then?

She was getting to me, and she did make sense. If I was with the children, we’d all sleep better at night. A week away, and …

No.

Maybe.

And here she was again, dumping an armful of clothing at my feet.

“The washing machine is on your right. Big white thing with buttons on the front. The one saying START is really useful.”

“I taught you well. You’re almost fluent in sarcasm, Stewart.”

“I am indeed. The Constance.”

Gah. Getting manipulated by a child. Well. What was new?

“I’m, like, famous now. The Dieter posts about me.” She rolled her eyes, full of inflated ego, then laughed as I blew out hot air. These kids. My family. What had I become?

“I like tea.” Here was Phinney, taking a big gulp out of my cup. Oh gosh. And spilling it.