Conditional Love (27 page)

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD

The dozy receptionist had given me the wrong number. I’d dialled my half-brother. I glanced at my list of questions but they were no help. I hadn’t factored in this conversational twist. Now what?

Put the phone down. Put the phone down. Sophie! HANG UP NOW!

‘Er. I’m Sophie Stone.’

There was a harsh laugh down the phone. Oh God, I should have put the phone down while I had the chance.

‘Is that so?’

Hold on a minute! What was he getting all high-horsey about?
Is that so
? All snippy and snarky. I was the one who had been wronged here. I decided to get what I needed and end the call as quickly as possible. Speaking to my father was today’s goal, I must not get sidetracked in semi-sibling squabbles.

‘Yes, and I was hoping to speak to Terry. Do you have his number please?’

‘He’s my father. Of course I have his number.’

I took a deep breath. ‘Then can I have it, please?’ Keep calm, Sophie. Do not rise to the bait.

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, you may not.’

I didn’t believe it! The snivelling spoilt brat was jealous. Yup. He was jealous and worried because all of a sudden, he had a rival for Daddy’s attention.

‘And what will Terry,’ I coughed, ‘what will Dad think about that when he finds out that you prevented me from talking to him?’

Brodie huffed down the phone. ‘You stay away from him. Don’t you think you’ve done enough? You and your crazy aunt?’

Technically, Great Aunt Jane was as much his as mine, I wanted to point out, but decided to let that one go.

‘He flies halfway around the world, against doctors’ orders, to honour the old lady’s last request and what does he get for his trouble?’ Brodie paused momentarily. Long enough for me to register the doctor part.

‘He was pushed around, shouted at, accused of all sorts of lies –’

‘What do you mean, against doctors’ orders?’ I recalled the bags under the eyes, the unhealthy skin tone. I had put that down to jetlag.

‘Jeez. Didn’t you talk about anything but yourself when you met him?’ I could imagine him shaking his head in disgust at the other end to the phone.

‘He had heart surgery earlier this year. Officially he wasn’t supposed to fly until September, but your solicitor kept pushing him for an appointment.’

And I pushed him in the chest and sent him flying within thirty seconds of meeting him. I closed my eyes in horror. I was a terrible person. No wonder he didn’t want to pass on Terry’s number.

‘I brought forward my arrival date at uni, so that I could travel with him. To keep him safe.’ He stressed this last part.

‘It was perfectly acceptable for Mr Whelan to pin down the appointment. The flights were paid for from Jane’s estate after all.’ No harm in pointing out that Terry hadn’t had to put his hand in his own pocket.

‘Uh uh,’ Brodie argued. ‘He wouldn’t take payment for the flights. He wanted all the money to go to you.’

I rolled my eyes. Terry was quite the philanthropist according to Brodie! He was doing a great job of reinventing our father as some sort of martyr.

‘It’s a bit late to start worrying about my financial welfare now. My mum never received a penny towards my upkeep from the moment I was born. I take it you didn’t go without?’

I cringed instantly. This had rapidly degenerated into a mud-slinging, tit for tat argument. It was time to end the call, but Brodie wasn’t ready to call it quits yet. He gave a low whistle.

‘I haven’t had the misfortune to meet either you or your mother. But from what I’ve heard, you’re every bit as manipulative and vindictive as she is.’

I sucked my breath in. This boy made very free and easy with the insults. Whatever my father had told him about our meeting, I clearly hadn’t come out of it too well.

‘For the life of me, I cannot understand why he insisted on meeting you. But he did. Because for all his faults, he is a kind and loving father. But you rejected him out of hand without even hearing him out.’

He did have faults then. I was beginning to think I’d been sired by Ghandhi.

‘Dad has me to love him. He doesn’t need you. Please leave us alone.’

This was my cue to apologise and much as it stuck in my throat, I knew I needed to do it if this phone call was going to achieve something other than bruising my ego. I took a deep breath.

‘Brodie.’ It felt odd saying my brother’s name. I said it again. ‘Brodie. I was hurt and confused when Terry came to see me. I realise now that I may have jumped to conclusions. I really need to speak to him. I’d like to apologise and hear what he has to say. Truly.’

There was a long silence on the line.

‘He’s at home recovering right now. I can’t risk you setting his recuperation back again.’

‘But this time I won’t –’

‘He’ll be back for Christmas. It’ll be the first year without Mom, so we thought we’d spend it here.’

My heart plummeted. I felt sorry for my little brother for the first time. Christmas was going to be really tough for them this year.

‘I’m sorry for your loss, I really am. Look, I won’t ask to speak to him now. It can wait. But please, would you tell Terry that I would very much like to see him at Christmas?’

Brodie sighed. ‘OK. But if you step out of line again –’

‘I won’t. I promise,’ I added hastily. ‘Goodbye Brodie.’

‘Bye Sophie.’

I collapsed on my bed in an emotional heap. How surreal was that? My first contact with my brother. I got the impression that he wasn’t very enamoured with his big sister. Well, ditto. Apart from the pang of pity at the end of our conversation, I hadn’t been overly-impressed with him either.

And I still didn’t have Terry’s phone number. I did a quick count up and huffed impatiently. Eight weeks until Christmas. Two whole months until I could hear my father’s side of the story.

thirty

Marc lay back, closed his eyes and tucked a hand behind his head. I nestled into him happily, wrapping an arm around his torso. He squeezed me tightly in response and I looped one leg across his. My ministering angel.

I’d phoned in to the office sick this morning with a bad headache and then spent all day in in bed with the curtains drawn. At four o’clock Marc arrived, announcing that he had come to visit the patient. I’d quickly opened the curtains and put on a clean t-shirt. Marc had tutted at me seductively, closed the curtains and peeled off the t-shirt. Didn’t I know that the best cure for a headache was distraction?

It had worked. My headache had completely gone; in fact I was feeling positively light-headed.

‘I could cook for us all tonight,’ I said, kissing the side of his face lightly, enjoying the sensation of his stubble against my lips.

‘Why?’ Marc opened one eye suspiciously.

‘Because.’ I hesitated. Spike was coming round later and I thought this would be a chance for us all to bond. I had a rose-tinted image of us all sitting down to a civilised dinner, where at least the food, if nothing else, would provide some common ground, and I did so want Marc to get on with my friends. I couldn’t admit that though, or he’d have been out of the flat like a shot.

‘I want to be able to cook you delicious dinners when we’re in the new house. I need the practice.’

‘True. Will Emma be there?’

‘Yes, and Jess and Spike.’

Marc grunted and closed his eye. I leaned up on one elbow and stroked his hair. He looked like a sulky little boy.

Please stay and please promise me you’ll be nice.

He rolled over and looked at me intently.

‘Have you mentioned anything to that architect yet about developing the land? You should definitely put more than one house on it. It’s a no-brainer. Just think of the extra dosh!’ He traced a finger down my stomach and I felt my insides go all gooey.

‘I’ll do it tomorrow,’ I promised. I’d agree to anything if it meant he would make an effort with my friends. Besides, a visit to Nick was well overdue. I had amends to make in both senses of the word.

‘I suppose I have worked up a bit of an appetite.’ He winked at me. ‘I can stay for a while before I go to the gym. Nothing too heavy though,’ he said, swinging his legs off the bed and pulling on his trackie bottoms. ‘I’ll grab a shower first.’

Yay! Operation Bonding was on. I threw on my dressing gown and went to search the kitchen for inspiration. I was in luck: six eggs, a packet of smoked bacon and a kilo of dried spaghetti. According to the Jamie Oliver website, with only a few minor substitutions, I had the makings of an easy Spaghetti Carbonara. I filled the biggest pan we had with water and set it to boil.

Marc was still whistling in the shower and I was contemplating how to bruise garlic, when Emma arrived home lugging a heavy box.

She set it down on the kitchen table and wafted away the steam until we could see each other clearly.

‘What do you think of these?’ said Emma, carefully removing three shiny objects packed in bubble wrap from the box.

It was a set of teardrop-shaped jugs, small, medium and large, with the point of the teardrop forming the spout. The smallest was the size of an elongated tennis ball. They were made of highly polished silver, but what made them so exquisite was their copper lining.

I gasped in delight. ‘Absolutely stunning! You made these?’

Emma grinned. ‘Yeah. You like?’

‘I love!’ I said, picking up the smallest and turning it round in my hands.

‘Cheers, mate. It’s my entry for the National Silverware Awards.’ She smiled coyly and started wrapping them back up.

I was chuffed to bits that she had taken my advice. ‘Your parents are going to be so proud of you for doing this,’ I said.

She shrugged. ‘I probably won’t get anywhere, but it’s worth a try,’ she said modestly.

We both turned to the front door as we heard Jess’s key rattling in the lock.

‘Don’t tell Jess,’ Emma hissed. ‘She’ll only warn me not to get my hopes up and I don’t need her style of encouragement.’

Emma whistled as Jess backed into the hallway carrying a large pumpkin under each arm and wearing black boots and a very short dress. It took a few seconds to find the right words.

‘Isn’t that dress a bit short for school?’ I asked.

‘It’s a top,’ giggled Jess. ‘I lost my leggings in PE.’

‘I thought it was the kids who lost their clothes, not the teachers,’ said Emma, lifting the box off the table and carrying it to her room.

‘What’s that stench?’ asked Marc, opening the bathroom door and adding another cloud of steam to the atmosphere.

‘The garlic!’ I yelped, whirling round to find slivers of charcoal welded to the bottom of the frying pan.

Ten minutes later, I stared into the pan disconsolately. I had produced a vat of glutinous, beige porridge, flecked with lumps of scrambled egg and chips of blackened bacon. I’d had to throw the garlic away, it had been so acrid.

‘Dinner’s ready!’ I called feebly. There was no sign of Spike yet and the food was already congealing into a solid mass.

Marc and Emma slunk into the kitchen like two death row inmates facing their final meal, both of them batting away the steam to locate the table.

‘It’s hot in here,’ said Emma, peeling her t-shirt away from her skin. ‘I’m sweating like a pig at the butcher’s.’

‘Remind me again why you’re single,’ Jess quipped from the doorway. ‘Didn’t I say, babes? Spike and I are taking Mum and Dad out for a meal tonight. So… er…’ She shrugged apologetically.

Bummer. That meant even larger portions. I kept my back to the others as I tried removing the spaghetti from the pan with two spoons. My whole head was hot and I was beginning to wish I’d stuck to three-tin surprise.

‘Dinner with the parents, eh?’ said Marc, scraping his chair on the floor as he sat down. ‘He’s got his feet well under the table, hasn’t he?’

‘Yeah, imagine that!’ said Emma, struggling to find room for her legs amidst Marc’s splayed limbs.

I abandoned the spoons and sliced through the stodge with a knife.

‘What is it anyway?’ asked Marc. ‘It better not be too heavy on the carbs.’

I closed my laptop with my elbow. ‘Scrambled egg and bacon Italiano.’

‘Ooh fusion food!’ said Jess. Oh bless her for trying to say something positive.

‘Confusion, more like!’ muttered Marc. Emma tittered.

‘Ta-da!’ I plopped industrial-sized portions in front of them. ‘And there’s plenty left if you want seconds. Are you sure I can’t tempt you, Jess? Jess?’

She had gone.

‘Bloody hell. It looks like cat sick!’ declared Emma, turning her nose up.

‘Sorry, Princess, I’m not eating that.’ Marc pushed his chair back with a shudder and kissed me roughly on the cheek. ‘I’m off to the gym.’

Emma helped me scrape the bowls into the bin and I opened a bag of Doritos and jar of salsa.

So the meal wasn’t entirely a success. But at least they had all agreed on something for a change, even if it was only how awful my cooking was. That, I decided, was definitely a step in the right direction.

thirty-one

It was barely light and very icy when I had left home. I had had to scrape the frost off the car before setting off. I made a mental note to buy de-icer and thicker gloves as my credit card had snapped in two and my fingers were numb.

Nick’s car was on his drive. Good, that was the first of my concerns dealt with. My visit was a spur of the moment thing and I didn’t have an appointment. I drove past his house looking for a space to park. It was only eight o’ clock and the road was lined with cars. I squeezed the little mini in between a skip and a transit van, collected my folder of drawings and locked the car.

Not bad, I thought, looking back at the car to check out my parking skills as I crossed the road. Slightly diagonal, but then it was a tight space.

It was a month since I’d been here last. A month since I’d seen Nick, unless I counted his appearance in my dream as a fairground horse. All I’d had from him since then was an email reminding me that he was waiting for comments on the design for my house. I had a feeling that after I had made a stroppy and dramatic exit from his office, he was in no rush to continue our business relationship.