ignited a fuse that blasted them back to the surface.
Something like Candi’s appearance.
Hitting him with all the impact of an army tank, it had detonated his fragile confidence. Not only because of Bernice’s insulting lack of faith in him, but because he didn’t have a bloody clue how to handle it.
A cornucopia of questions whizzing about his head, he’d concluded – as he lay awake at 3.37 am that morning – that the only way to obtain any answers was to talk to Candi. Precisely why he’d decided to call her. Today. In fact, he should do it right now. Before a bazillion reasons not to trounced his resolution.
Veering the jeep onto the grass verge, he activated the handbrake and fished out his mobile. Normally, when calling from the car, he instigated the snazzy, hands-free system. For this call, though, it didn’t seem appropriate. The notion of Candi’s voice ricocheting around his personal space made him quake. It seemed far too … invasive – as if the sound might somehow seep into the cream-leather seats or velour mats, leaving an indelible stain. In fact, come to think of it, he’d rather not speak to her in the car at all. Opening the door, he slid out and took a few steps along the verge, his finger hovering over “Chlorine Supplier”. All at once, though, a surfeit of nerves whacked into him. He had no idea what to say. Maybe he should firm up his strategy first. Give it more thought. Not blurt out something he might –
At a chorus of mooing from the neighbouring field, Rich dropped the phone. Blimey. He was a wreck. And the group of cows staring accusingly at him did nothing to help his nerves. Maybe he’d be better off in the car, after all.
Resuming his place inside, Rich turned his back to his bovine audience and his attention to the phone. If he didn’t make this call in the next thirty seconds, he probably never would. He sucked in a deep breath. And on the exhale, pressed the call button.
Rich arranged to meet Candi that afternoon.
The conversation to set up the meeting had been, understandably, somewhat stilted. The moment she answered the phone, his mind had flashed blank. As if that one solitary word, ‘Hello’, confirmed her existence; made him realise that, in some ludicrously head-in-sand way, he’d been hoping her appearance had been nothing more than an apparition; that she didn’t really exist at all.
She was already at the venue she’d suggested – a quaint café in Harrogate – when Rich arrived. Sitting at a small table tucked away at the back, she had what looked like a strawberry milkshake in front of her. The café was busy, seemingly overtaken by a busload of pensioners. Due to the bustle of activity, she didn’t see him at first, allowing him another few seconds to appraise her. Her lank, mousy hair was scraped back in a high ponytail, and her yellow hoodie sapped her face of all colour.
Did she bear any resemblance at all to him? He didn’t think so. Or maybe her –
All at once, she turned and caught his eye. Her mouth stretched into a nervous smile.
Rich’s stomach flipped. He attempted a smile of his own, but by the strange look a passing waitress shot him, suspected he looked like he might be in dire need of the loo.
Candi’s smile widened as he approached the table. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi.’ Rich slipped into the chair opposite. ‘How, er, are you?’
She grimaced. ‘A bit nervous, to be honest. You?’
‘Ever so slightly terrified.’
She nodded. ‘Well, I guess it isn’t every day you discover you have a kid you didn’t know about.’
Rich gave a snort of ironic laughter. ‘No, thank God.’ Then, realising how bad that sounded, immediately added, ‘Not that it wasn’t … I mean, it isn’t … I mean, you aren’t …’
This time her smile was sympathetic. ‘It’s okay. I can imagine it came as a bit of a shock.’
The arrival of the waitress at that point spared Rich having to explain that there was no “bit” about
Something like Candi’s appearance.
Hitting him with all the impact of an army tank, it had detonated his fragile confidence. Not only because of Bernice’s insulting lack of faith in him, but because he didn’t have a bloody clue how to handle it.
A cornucopia of questions whizzing about his head, he’d concluded – as he lay awake at 3.37 am that morning – that the only way to obtain any answers was to talk to Candi. Precisely why he’d decided to call her. Today. In fact, he should do it right now. Before a bazillion reasons not to trounced his resolution.
Veering the jeep onto the grass verge, he activated the handbrake and fished out his mobile. Normally, when calling from the car, he instigated the snazzy, hands-free system. For this call, though, it didn’t seem appropriate. The notion of Candi’s voice ricocheting around his personal space made him quake. It seemed far too … invasive – as if the sound might somehow seep into the cream-leather seats or velour mats, leaving an indelible stain. In fact, come to think of it, he’d rather not speak to her in the car at all. Opening the door, he slid out and took a few steps along the verge, his finger hovering over “Chlorine Supplier”. All at once, though, a surfeit of nerves whacked into him. He had no idea what to say. Maybe he should firm up his strategy first. Give it more thought. Not blurt out something he might –
At a chorus of mooing from the neighbouring field, Rich dropped the phone. Blimey. He was a wreck. And the group of cows staring accusingly at him did nothing to help his nerves. Maybe he’d be better off in the car, after all.
Resuming his place inside, Rich turned his back to his bovine audience and his attention to the phone. If he didn’t make this call in the next thirty seconds, he probably never would. He sucked in a deep breath. And on the exhale, pressed the call button.
Rich arranged to meet Candi that afternoon.
The conversation to set up the meeting had been, understandably, somewhat stilted. The moment she answered the phone, his mind had flashed blank. As if that one solitary word, ‘Hello’, confirmed her existence; made him realise that, in some ludicrously head-in-sand way, he’d been hoping her appearance had been nothing more than an apparition; that she didn’t really exist at all.
She was already at the venue she’d suggested – a quaint café in Harrogate – when Rich arrived. Sitting at a small table tucked away at the back, she had what looked like a strawberry milkshake in front of her. The café was busy, seemingly overtaken by a busload of pensioners. Due to the bustle of activity, she didn’t see him at first, allowing him another few seconds to appraise her. Her lank, mousy hair was scraped back in a high ponytail, and her yellow hoodie sapped her face of all colour.
Did she bear any resemblance at all to him? He didn’t think so. Or maybe her –
All at once, she turned and caught his eye. Her mouth stretched into a nervous smile.
Rich’s stomach flipped. He attempted a smile of his own, but by the strange look a passing waitress shot him, suspected he looked like he might be in dire need of the loo.
Candi’s smile widened as he approached the table. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi.’ Rich slipped into the chair opposite. ‘How, er, are you?’
She grimaced. ‘A bit nervous, to be honest. You?’
‘Ever so slightly terrified.’
She nodded. ‘Well, I guess it isn’t every day you discover you have a kid you didn’t know about.’
Rich gave a snort of ironic laughter. ‘No, thank God.’ Then, realising how bad that sounded, immediately added, ‘Not that it wasn’t … I mean, it isn’t … I mean, you aren’t …’
This time her smile was sympathetic. ‘It’s okay. I can imagine it came as a bit of a shock.’
The arrival of the waitress at that point spared Rich having to explain that there was no “bit” about
Similar Books
