it. He ordered a café latte and sat back in his chair. ‘Well …’ he began. Well, what? He had no idea what to say next.
‘Awkward?’ she suggested with a shy smile.
Rich noticed how it lit up her face, making her appear, if not exactly pretty, then certainly a deal more animated.
‘It took me ages to pluck up the courage to contact you,’ she admitted, her gaze shifting to her drink as she fiddled with the two straws ensconced therein. ‘I didn’t know the best way to do it. If I should send you a letter, or phone, or … Anyway, after much deliberation, I decided it was probably best just to bite the bullet and do it in person.’
Rich nodded. ‘You were right. I think if you had sent me a letter, I probably would’ve thought it was a wind-up.’
‘I’m really glad you called me,’ she confessed, her gaze still on the straws. ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.’
Rich gawped as, for the first time, it occurred to him that he hadn’t given a moment’s thought as to how she must be feeling about all this. He needed to find out more.
‘So how long have you known I was your …?’ What? Dad? Father? Donator of sperm?
‘Just after my A-levels last year,’ she replied, sparing him the trouble of further indecision. ‘We moved house so Mum had to empty all the drawers in the bureau she normally keeps locked. I knew my birth certificate was in there so I managed to have a rummage. Of course, I’d asked her loads of times before, but she just fobbed me off.’
Great, fumed Rich. Not only had Bernice ousted him from playing any part in their daughter’s life, but she’d withheld his very existence. Indignation surged through him. For all he wasn’t over the moon about the discovery, surely he had the right to know he’d fathered a child? Wasn’t there some law about that? Because if there wasn’t, there damned well should be.
‘Does your mum know you’ve contacted me?’ he asked, attempting to banish any hint of venom from his tone.
Behind her spectacles, Candi’s eyes grew wide. ‘God, no. She’d go ballistic.’
Rich caught his bottom lip between his teeth. Recalling many of the tantrums Bernice had thrown in the short time he’d known her, he could well imagine that being the case. ‘How, er, is she?’ he heard himself asking. Crap! Where had that come from? He couldn’t give a toss about Bernice’s state of health.
Candi shrugged. ‘She’s okay, I suppose. Has her moments. She can be a bit …’ – she resumed her straw fiddling – ‘… a bit difficult at times.’
Hmm. Rich suspected there may be a deal more to that than she let on, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore that particular avenue just yet.
‘Did you go out with her for long?’
His heart plummeted. Shit. Of course she’d want to know about his relationship with her mother. He should’ve seen that coming. But he’d been so wrapped up in how all this affected him, it hadn’t once occurred to him the kid must have a gazillion questions of her own. Although none he could probably satisfactorily answer. He suspected her conception had resulted from a clumsy, drunken fumble behind Beverley Fitzgerald’s garage after a house party. As tactless as he could sometimes be, though, even he didn’t think she’d want to hear that. Well, at least if Bernice hadn’t said anything about him, he could inject a dash of poetic licence.
‘We went out for a couple of months,’ he replied. ‘We were young. I don’t think either of us really saw any future in it.’
‘What was Mum like back then?’
The waitress appeared at the table with Rich’s coffee. He smiled his thanks, grateful for the few seconds extra thinking time the intervention allowed him. Bernice had been a selfish cow. In fact, if his memory served him correctly, the reason they’d split was because she’d been absolutely plastered but wanted to go on to an all-night rave. Rich had put his foot down, which
‘Awkward?’ she suggested with a shy smile.
Rich noticed how it lit up her face, making her appear, if not exactly pretty, then certainly a deal more animated.
‘It took me ages to pluck up the courage to contact you,’ she admitted, her gaze shifting to her drink as she fiddled with the two straws ensconced therein. ‘I didn’t know the best way to do it. If I should send you a letter, or phone, or … Anyway, after much deliberation, I decided it was probably best just to bite the bullet and do it in person.’
Rich nodded. ‘You were right. I think if you had sent me a letter, I probably would’ve thought it was a wind-up.’
‘I’m really glad you called me,’ she confessed, her gaze still on the straws. ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.’
Rich gawped as, for the first time, it occurred to him that he hadn’t given a moment’s thought as to how she must be feeling about all this. He needed to find out more.
‘So how long have you known I was your …?’ What? Dad? Father? Donator of sperm?
‘Just after my A-levels last year,’ she replied, sparing him the trouble of further indecision. ‘We moved house so Mum had to empty all the drawers in the bureau she normally keeps locked. I knew my birth certificate was in there so I managed to have a rummage. Of course, I’d asked her loads of times before, but she just fobbed me off.’
Great, fumed Rich. Not only had Bernice ousted him from playing any part in their daughter’s life, but she’d withheld his very existence. Indignation surged through him. For all he wasn’t over the moon about the discovery, surely he had the right to know he’d fathered a child? Wasn’t there some law about that? Because if there wasn’t, there damned well should be.
‘Does your mum know you’ve contacted me?’ he asked, attempting to banish any hint of venom from his tone.
Behind her spectacles, Candi’s eyes grew wide. ‘God, no. She’d go ballistic.’
Rich caught his bottom lip between his teeth. Recalling many of the tantrums Bernice had thrown in the short time he’d known her, he could well imagine that being the case. ‘How, er, is she?’ he heard himself asking. Crap! Where had that come from? He couldn’t give a toss about Bernice’s state of health.
Candi shrugged. ‘She’s okay, I suppose. Has her moments. She can be a bit …’ – she resumed her straw fiddling – ‘… a bit difficult at times.’
Hmm. Rich suspected there may be a deal more to that than she let on, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore that particular avenue just yet.
‘Did you go out with her for long?’
His heart plummeted. Shit. Of course she’d want to know about his relationship with her mother. He should’ve seen that coming. But he’d been so wrapped up in how all this affected him, it hadn’t once occurred to him the kid must have a gazillion questions of her own. Although none he could probably satisfactorily answer. He suspected her conception had resulted from a clumsy, drunken fumble behind Beverley Fitzgerald’s garage after a house party. As tactless as he could sometimes be, though, even he didn’t think she’d want to hear that. Well, at least if Bernice hadn’t said anything about him, he could inject a dash of poetic licence.
‘We went out for a couple of months,’ he replied. ‘We were young. I don’t think either of us really saw any future in it.’
‘What was Mum like back then?’
The waitress appeared at the table with Rich’s coffee. He smiled his thanks, grateful for the few seconds extra thinking time the intervention allowed him. Bernice had been a selfish cow. In fact, if his memory served him correctly, the reason they’d split was because she’d been absolutely plastered but wanted to go on to an all-night rave. Rich had put his foot down, which
Similar Books
