by Lucy King
He barely recognised the on-edge, wary version standing in front of him. Her dark hair was scraped back from a face that was ghostly pale. Her eyes were dull and her cheeks hollow. Her clothes were hanging off her. Above the neckline of her white T-shirt, her collarbones stuck out, and her jeans hung loose on her hips despite her belt being tightly buckled. It was as if someone had switched off her light, and once he’d got over his shock he’d found himself wondering what had happened to her.
Now, with the bombshell she’d just dropped, he couldn’t think at all. His mind had gone blank. His pulse was thundering and a cold sweat had broken out all over his skin. His vision was blurred. The room seemed to be spinning.
‘What?’ he said roughly, his voice sounding as if it came from far, far away while the disorientation intensified.
‘You, well, we, have a son,’ she said. ‘Josh. He’s six months old.’
A son.
Josh.
Six months old.
The words flew through the air, bulldozing a path through the chaos and hitting his brain like bullets, where they pulverised the fog and cleared the way for indisputable logic and instinctive denial.
A baby?
His baby?
It was impossible.
Or at the very least improbable.
‘We can’t,’ he said thickly, grappling for some kind of hold on this.
‘We can. We do.’
‘You said you were on the pill.’
‘I was.’
‘So what happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said with a slight frown. ‘I might have been sick. Or on antibiotics. I don’t remember.’
Disbelief barrelled through him. ‘You don’t remember?’
‘No.’
How could she be so cool, so calm? Could she possibly have done it deliberately? At the thought his blood chilled and his gut churned. ‘How convenient.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘What do you think?’
Her chin came up. ‘Believe me, I did not plan it. I did not plan any of it.’
‘What makes you think he’s mine?’
‘You’re the only person I slept with at the time. The last person I slept with actually.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that simply because you say so?’
‘Well, yes. But it doesn’t matter. I have photos,’ she said, twisting slightly to rummage around in her bag before extracting her phone and fiddling with it for a moment. ‘Here.’ She walked over to him and held out the device. ‘Take a look. Swipe left. There are lots.’
For a moment Finn stared at the phone as if it were a live grenade. His heart hammered against his ribs. He went hot, then cold. He wanted to look. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it didn’t seem to matter because, with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady, he was reaching for the phone anyway and lowering his gaze, and one glance at the screen was enough to detonate what remained of an already shattered life. Because the baby in the photo, with his shock of thick, dark hair, laughing blue eyes, and rosy, chubby cheeks was the spitting image of him at a similar age.
The blow of recognition winded him so hard he couldn’t breathe. The floor tipped beneath his feet and his knees nearly gave way. But somehow he remained upright and somehow he managed to blindly swipe through the pictures that followed, the overwhelming sense of familiarity intensifying with every passing second.
The truth of the child’s parentage was undeniable.
Which meant that he was a father.
A violent rush of emotion rocked though him then, tangling up with the issues surrounding his own parentage and his feelings about Jim and Alice, which he couldn’t even begin to unravel. And quite suddenly, out of the hot, bubbling chaos roared a protective instinct he didn’t know he had and a clamouring primitive need to claim what was his above all else.
He could forget for now that Georgie had kept the existence of this child from him. He could ignore the myriad questions bombarding his head, adding to the confusion and turmoil. There’d be time for explanations and answers and analysis later. Right now he wanted—no, needed—to see his son.
‘Where is he?’ he said, handing her phone back and knowing the images on it would remain imprinted on his memory for ever.
‘With a friend.’
‘Take me to him.’
She stared at him for a moment, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘Now?’
‘I’ve missed all six months of my son’s life,’ he said, his jaw tightening and his tone chilly as he thought briefly of how much she’d denied him even if he didn’t yet understand it. ‘I don’t intend to miss a moment longer. So yes, Georgie. Now.’
In an ideal world, Georgie would have chosen to introduce Finn to his son on neutral territory, such as a park or a café, or, really, anywhere other than the dingy bedsit she now called home. However, she hadn’t thought it wise to suggest they wait until morning. Once he’d recovered from the shock, Finn’s stunned disbelief had very obviously turned to simmering anger, and why would she want to provoke that?
Sitting in the passenger seat of the top-of-the-range car that he was driving through the dark streets of the city and feeling the tension still radiating off him in great waves, Georgie could understand his animosity and resentment. From his point of view, she’d deliberately kept her pregnancy and his son from him. She’d denied him key moments in Josh’s life. He didn’t know that she hadn’t even realised she’d been pregnant until she’d given birth. He didn’t know that, subsequently caught in the terrifying grip of post-partum psychosis, she hadn’t had the capacity to track him down. Nor did he know that as soon as she’d recovered enough to be able to make a choice about what to do next, she’d gone about rectifying that.
Nevertheless, despite Finn’s stony silence and tightly leashed displeasure, she was glad she’d managed to find him, and unbelievably relieved that he appeared to want to be involved. His reaction to her blurted revelation could have gone either way. They barely knew each other. When they’d originally met it had been all about the sex. Neither had been looking for an in-depth character analysis of the other and, while she had felt an odd sense of connection, conversation had been sparse. So, upon hearing about Josh, Finn could easily have simply handed her phone back, told her he wasn’t interested and thrown her out. But he hadn’t, and for that she was inordinately grateful.
She was also more than a little nervous, she had to admit as she laced her fingers tightly in her lap while her stomach began to churn. At the moment he looked to be too busy absorbing the shock of fatherhood to question why it had taken her so long to contact him, but there’d come a point when he’d ask. And when he did, what would she say? He didn’t seem the sort to be satisfied with a vague ‘it’s been a busy time’ kind of explanation, yet she’d never told anyone the full extent of what she’d been through, not even Carla.
So should she tell him? As Josh’s father, he deserved to know the whole unvarnished story, and as part of her recovery it had been recommended she share it. But if she did, what would he think? What would he do? There were so many possible outcomes to this thing she’d set in motion, she thought, her stomach knotting as she stared out into the damp night. Some she could only hope for, some she dreaded, some remained unknown.
But one thing was certain.
While she couldn’t avoid telling Finn the truth for ever, she could at least put it off until he actually asked. Maybe even beyond that. She didn’t have to share it all now. And so, until the moment of reckoning came, until she had no option but to confess all and hope for the best, she was saying nothing.
If Finn had been asked to describe the route he’d just driven or name the neighbourhood in which he now found himself he’d have drawn a blank. The moment he’d registered the fact that he was on his way to meet his son, everything had be
come a blur, a great maelstrom of emotions and thoughts that he could barely absorb, let alone process. He’d had to shut down in order to be able to concentrate on driving and that was how he’d remained during the entire half-hour journey.
Now, however, as he stood in a room that was smaller than his en-suite bathroom yet apparently incorporated a bedroom, kitchen and living area, his brain was waking up and his senses were returning. He could hear the sink tap dripping rhythmically. The musty smell of damp invaded his nostrils. Behind him, the door opened and then closed behind the friend he distantly recalled being introduced to as Carla Blake, who’d been minding Josh while Georgie pitched up on his doorstep and exploded a world already off kilter.
Yet his focus was all on the cot in the corner and the child lying within it.
As he slowly walked towards it, his pulse pounded and his mouth went dry. He gripped the top rail, his knuckles white, and looked down. At the sight of the baby, lying on his back with his chubby arms out and his tiny hands curled into loose fists, his breath caught and his chest clenched.
‘Do you want to pick him up?’ he heard Georgie say quietly in the gloomy darkness that was illuminated by one bare lightbulb.
No. Yes. More than anything. ‘I don’t want to disturb him,’ he said gruffly, mesmerised by the gentle rise and fall of the blanket that covered the little body.
‘You won’t. He takes a while to settle but once he’s out, he’s out. Just make sure you support his head.’
He reached down and lifted the bundle of warm baby and bedclothes to him, his throat tight. Josh snuffled and then settled against his chest, and he felt the warmth of his son’s body seep into every inch of him, filling him with an emotion he didn’t recognise and couldn’t begin to describe.
He was so tiny, so vulnerable. And only six months old. The same age as Finn had been when he’d been adopted. Who could give up something so precious? And why would someone want to? Had he been too difficult? Too demanding? Had his biological mother needed help in the same way it seemed Georgie did, if her descent from glorious, kick-ass girl-about-town to nervous, ghostly wreck was anything to go by? Had his own mother not had it?
Yet more unanswerable questions.
But this wasn’t about him right now. This was about the baby he was holding. Already, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for this child, he thought with a burning conviction he could hardly comprehend. Nothing. Never mind that he had no experience of babies. Never mind that he hadn’t ever wanted responsibility of this kind before. He had it now and, whatever the circumstances, he would never abandon Josh. He would never give up responsibility for him. His son would never have cause to wonder who he was or where he came from. His son, his flesh and blood and, as far as he knew the only relative he had left in the world, would have everything that was in his power to give. And be. Because Finn may or may not have been good enough for either his biological or adoptive parents, but he’d do his damnedest to be the best for his son.
Here was his chance to right past wrongs. To try and move on from the still raw sense of betrayal and rejection he felt. To plan and to build and to focus on something greater. He was no longer alone. He now had a purpose beyond work and an escape from the chaos. And as he bent to settle the baby back in the cot, missing his sweet smell and soft weight already, he realised that, for the first time in months, the way forward was crystal clear. On this, at least, he knew exactly what to do.
Pushing aside messy, incomprehensible emotion and replacing it with easier to understand practicality, Finn straightened and turned to face Georgie, who was leaning against the one kitchen unit that the bedsit contained, looking oddly flushed and on edge.
‘Here’s what’s going to happen,’ he said, watching as her chin came up and her eyes narrowed slightly at his tone.
‘Oh, yes?’
‘Josh is coming home with me.’
She blinked. ‘What?’
‘This place isn’t fit for habitation.’
‘I know.’
‘It’s a health hazard.’
‘I know.’
‘He’s not staying here.’
‘Well, he’s going nowhere without me,’ she countered, and for the briefest of moments Finn toyed with the idea of telling her that he could easily take Josh without her. That he had the power and resources to remove her from the picture altogether, especially in view of her straitened circumstances, and could do so with a click of his fingers.
But he knew what it was like to grow up without a maternal figure and the gaping hole that had left in his life. The man he’d considered his father had done his best, but Finn had no doubt that much of the trouble he’d got into as a teenager had been an outlet for the delayed rage and injustice he’d felt at his mother’s loss.
And then there was the situation he was currently in. He’d been denied the truth about his parentage and as a result now seethed with resentment and frustration. He wouldn’t wish the torment he’d experienced as a boy and was now experiencing all over again on anyone, least of all his own child. Therefore, while Georgie was an added complication, she was a necessary one.
‘Alright,’ he said. ‘You come too. Get what you need for tonight and I’ll have the rest of your things moved to my place in the morning.’
‘For how long?’
‘Until we figure out what happens next.’
‘We?’
At the question in her voice, Finn inwardly tensed. He’d never been part of a ‘we’ before. He’d never had to be, never wanted to be, had no clue how to be. But so much of his life had become uncharted territory recently, what was one patch more? ‘We,’ he confirmed with a brief nod before stalking over to the cupboard and reaching up to pull down a bag that had been stashed on top of it. ‘Start packing. You have five minutes.’
Since her bedsit was minuscule and the possessions she had with her meagre, Georgie took only four minutes, and one of those she spent arguing with herself.
The old her would have protested loudly at being ordered around in such an autocratic fashion. She’d have demanded to know who Finn thought he was and what century he was living in before telling him where to go and shoving him out the door. But, while part of her wished she had the energy to conjure up that version of herself, the other part of her, the current Georgie, the one that was exhausted and desperate, whose judgement was skewed and who couldn’t trust herself, was too grateful to put up any kind of a fight. To have someone else make the decisions and take responsibility was such a relief. Finn’s authority and decisiveness imbued her with the confidence that if something should happen to her, her son would be safe. After months of not being able to make choices, she’d finally made the right one. She and Josh badly needed rescuing, and Finn being the one to do it was absolutely fine with her.
Besides, he clearly wasn’t planning to leave without them and the last thing she wanted was a stand-off leading to more time spent in this place. The flat was small enough without Finn in it. With him in it, it felt even more claustrophobic. There was just so much of him too close. His size and proximity and sheer presence made her aware of him and the narrow bed in a way she hadn’t expected and definitely wasn’t comfortable with. When he’d lifted Josh out of the cot, and held his son’s tiny body against his big, broad chest, her stomach had clenched and her entire body had flushed.
Now, as she moved around the space, around him, gathering the things she and Josh needed, she could feel his cool, assessing eyes on her, and his scrutiny caused her skin to prickle and a strange heat to seep through her. Not that it mattered how Finn made her feel. Even if he had been interested in her in the way he once had been, which clearly and thankfully he was not, she was far too fragile for that sort of thing these days, so it was just as well her libido had gone AWOL. And, besides, she had other, far more important things to focus on now.
Zipping up the bag, Georgie handed it
to Finn and went to pick up their son. From above there came an ominous thud followed by a loud crash that made her jump. And as she locked the front door of the bedsit and followed Finn down the dimly lit stairs she thought that whatever his reaction when he eventually learned the truth, however precarious her position in all this, the future had to better than the past.
What a night.
A couple of hours ago all Finn had had to worry about was the frustrating lack of results the investigation into his adoption had generated. Now he had a son being tucked up in one of his spare rooms by an unexpected house guest, and he was pacing up and down in front of the wall-to-wall windows of his sitting room wondering what more the universe could possibly hurl at him. Battered didn’t come close to describing how he felt about everything that had happened this evening. He’d been on the receiving end of one punch to the gut after another, and, quite frankly, how he was still standing he had no idea.
And that wasn’t all he couldn’t fathom. There was also the conundrum that was Georgie. What had happened to her? he wondered as he strode to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large Scotch. When they’d originally met she’d been vivacious and sassy and intoxicating, out celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday with friends. She’d told him she worked as a lawyer specialising in defamation, that she’d just been promoted and had her eye on a partnership. She’d been living in Kensal Rise, and he specifically recalled her telling him, out there on the street in between hot, drugging kisses, that if they wanted privacy the flat she shared with three others was not the place to go.
Clearly she’d fallen on hard times, but how, and why? She’d had a baby, yes, but that wouldn’t have felled the Georgie he’d met fifteen months ago. That girl would have taken a baby in her stride and carried on conquering the world.
And, on the subject of timings, why was he only finding out about his son now? Why had she taken so long to contact him? Why the secrecy? He couldn’t stand secrets. Ignorance put a man at a disadvantage. It robbed him of control and rendered him powerless and weak, and he should know because he was living it.
