by Lizzy Grey
Sighing, he pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. “I need to talk to you about Barbara.”
“Do you mind? I’m eating.”
“Becca, Barbara’s a counsellor.”
She put the sandwich down on the plate, her jaw dropping. “A counsellor? Pull the other one.”
“It’s true. I’ve been having a few problems.”
She stared at him. His gravity was unsettling her. “With sex?”
He nodded. “Yes. Amongst other things. I usually get time off work and go and see her but I’d been telling her about the apartment and she said she wanted to see it. I’m not sleeping with her, Becca, I promise. I’m not sleeping with anyone.”
What about the prostitute? “What’s happened to you?”
“I can’t tell you,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Why not?” she asked, wondering if she had any right to feel hurt by his reply.
He shrugged. “Because I’m still trying to deal with it myself.”
“Are you ill?” she continued. “Can you tell me that?”
“No, I’m not ill, I promise. But I could be after tomorrow,” he added, giving her a little smile.
“Why?”
“My parents are coming to visit,” he explained.
She bit back a groan. “Oh, bloody hell, Stephen.”
“I know, I know,” he replied, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture. “But I want to get this over and done with – my parents meeting you again – and Tommy.”
“All right.” She sighed. “Now, can I please finish my sandwich?”
“Yes. Thanks, Becca.”
“Stephen, are you sure you’re all right?”
He met her eyes, holding her gaze for an uncomfortably long time. “Yes,” he replied softly. “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
She fought to control a blush and picked up her sandwich. “So what are we going to feed your parents?”
“I thought about a buffet of sorts?” he suggested. “Cold meats? Salad and stuff.”
“All right.” She nodded. “But we’ll need to go shopping.”
The three of them went grocery shopping and Stephen put Tommy to bed while she unpacked it all. It was half an hour before he came back into the living area.
“What took so long?” she asked, reaching for the remote control and turning the volume down a little on the television, as he retrieved a bottle of lager from the fridge.
He smiled, crossing the room, and sitting on the sofa opposite her. “He wanted me to read him a story.”
“So what did he get?”
“Thomas the Tank Engine.” He opened the can of lager and took a long sip. “It’s gripping stuff.”
“Soon he’ll be into Harry Potter and all that.”
“As long as he enjoys reading, I don’t care.”
“Thanks, Stephen. Well, I’m tired,” she announced, getting up from the sofa. “I’m going to bed, too.”
“Oh, okay.” He sounded a little surprised and she could feel him watch her leave the room.
Half an hour later, there was a knock at her bedroom door. Putting her book down, she saw the door slowly open.
“Are you all right?” Stephen asked. “You’ve been…I don’t know…”
She shrugged. “Even more weird than usual today?”
“Preoccupied, was the word I was struggling for,” he said, closing the door, and sitting down on the bed. “You hardly said a word in the supermarket.”
“Yeah.”
“Is it about being here?” he added, his eyes dropping to her cleavage, before quickly raising them to her face.
“No.” She pulled the hem of her strappy pyjama top up as far as it would go. “When I’m here in the apartment I can relax. I feel safe and I know Tommy’s safe here, too.”
“Good,” he replied softly. “So what is it?”
“Just that I’m stupid.”
He drew back from her in astonishment. “No, you’re not. You’re anything but stupid.”
“Yes, I am. I had sex with a stranger in his apartment, today. Just how stupid is that?”
Stephen’s eyes widened and for a moment she could see hurt, jealousy and anger in them before they were hidden and replaced by bewilderment. “For God’s sake, Becca, why?”
“Because I’m stupid.”
“You are not bloody stupid,” he roared, and she quickly held a finger to his lips, jerking a thumb towards the next bedroom where Tommy was sleeping. “Shit. Sorry. Just tell me why?”
“Because I thought that you and Barbara…and now you won’t tell me what’s really the matter with you.”
“Becca, I told you I was fine. You can trust me.”
“No, I can’t,” she insisted. “I mean, problems with sex…that’s the last thing I’d have associated with you.”
He began to examine his hands. “Things happen.”
“Like what?” she pleaded. “Tell me, please.”
“There have been a lot of women since you,” he admitted, his eyes resting on her breasts again. “But that’s all they have been – women – and sex. You’ve always been far more than that. Always.”
“Yeah. What about Jackie, then? Eh?”
He raised his head. “I’ve told you that she was the biggest mistake of my life. I was the stupid one. I promise you that there will be no one else. I mean it, Becca.”
“You can’t.”
“Yes, I can,” he replied. “I’ve changed. Can you promise me the same? That there’ll be no-one else?”
“No.” Because he didn’t trust her, she found herself having to be brutally honest with him, and she saw his face drop. “I can’t promise that.”
“Then, please tell me that you’ll at least try.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered.
“Thank you.” He glanced at her book. “What are you reading?”
Picking up the book, she showed him the cover. “A crime novel. But I wasn’t reading, I was just staring at the words. Stephen,” she added in a little voice. “I’ve never done anything like that before. I scared myself. What’s worse is that he thinks I’m going to go back for more.”
“Want me to have a word with him?” he offered.
“No.” It was something she needed to sort out herself. “Thanks. The sex was good, though.”
“But..?”
He wasn’t you. “Nothing. I’ll tell him I won’t be seeing him again,” she told him and saw the relief in his face.
“I’m relieved. I won’t lie about it.”
“I know,” she mumbled. “It was a bloody stupid thing to do.”
“Maybe, but you aren’t stupid. Usually.”
She smiled. “What time will your parents be here?”
“About two o’clock, depending on the traffic. Saturdays are always hectic.”
“Okay.”
“Night, Becca.” He lifted her hand and gave it a curiously old-fashioned kiss before getting up and leaving the bedroom. She stared at the door long after he had gone.
Chapter Five
Despite his protests, Tommy was dressed in his best clothes in the morning.
“My mum and dad are a bit old-fashioned,” Stephen explained to him. “Once they’re gone you can wear what you like, all right?”
“Okay.”
The intercom buzzed at a quarter past two. Stephen gave them an encouraging wink and went to let his parents in, making welcoming noises in the hall while taking their coats.
“They’re in here,” he then added, pushing open the door.
Mrs Connor came in first wearing a pale green woollen suit and her dyed brown hair was permed to within an inch of its life. She gave Becca a quick glance without meeting her eyes before turning her attention to Tommy, who squirmed.
“Mum, Dad, you remember Becca? And this is Tommy.”
Mrs Connor stood her ground without speaking but her tall and thin husband, wearing a black suit with a burgundy-coloured tie, came forward with a smile. “He
llo again, Becca.”
“Mr Connor.”
“Michael.” He corrected her with a friendly grin before crouching down. “Hello, there, Tommy. I’m your Grandad.”
Tommy looked up at her for approval and she nodded.
“Hello,” he said.
“Mary?” Michael Connor turned to his wife. “Say hello to Tommy.”
“Hello.”
“Hello.” Tommy gave Mrs Connor a wary glance before turning away from her. “I need the bathroom, Mummy.”
“All right, off you go.”
Once the hall door closed after him, she stepped forward. “Be angry with me,” she told Mrs Connor. “Not Tommy.”
“Six years, Concepta, and not one word.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“It was my fault,” Stephen intervened.
“No it wasn’t,” his mother snapped. “Anyway, how do you know the boy is yours, Stephen? Have you done a DNA test?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Mum.”
“You haven’t, then?” Mrs Connor demanded. “You know what her family are like.”
That was quite enough. “I’m not standing here listening to this.” She started for the hall door but Stephen grabbed her arm. “Stay, Becca? Please?”
“No way.”
“Becca, please? We need to sort this out.”
Shaking off his hand, she turned to Mrs Connor. “Tommy is Stephen’s son. I thought you’d only have to look at him to know that. I left Stephen six years ago because he slept with my sister-in-law. Believe it or not, he isn’t as pure as the driven snow. And, believe it or not, I haven’t seen or spoken to any of my bloody awful family in all those six years.”
The hall door opened and Tommy came back in. “I’m hungry,” he declared.
“Yes, I think we should eat,” Stephen suggested.
“Yes,” his father added firmly and nodded towards the buffet laid out on the table. “That spread looks delicious.”
“Becca, Tommy and I all helped.”
“Just take a plate and help yourself,” she told Stephen’s father. “Tommy, what would you like to eat?”
There was a strained silence as Tommy pointed to the food he wanted. She cut the meal up for him and sat him down at the table. Michael Connor ushered his wife over to the table and, reluctantly, she began to help herself.
“Tommy started at St James’ last week,” Stephen announced to nobody in particular. “You like it there now, don’t you, Tommy?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your favourite subject?” Michael Connor asked.
“I like reading.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. Your dad liked reading, too.”
Mrs Connor harrumphed and her husband gave her a hard look.
“You don’t like me, do you?” Tommy asked her directly, and she stared at him in consternation. It was the first time Becca had seen her all but lost for words.
“Well, I…”
“Your granny didn’t know she was a granny until the other day,” Michael Connor told Tommy gently. “It was a bit of a shock. Give her a bit of time to get used to the idea, yes?”
“All right.”
“Good lad. Stephen, I’m just popping outside for a smoke.”
“Here, Dad.” Stephen opened a kitchen cupboard, took out an ashtray, and passed it to him.
Putting her plate down, she followed Stephen’s father out onto the roof terrace and closed the door.
“Please don’t hate me for what I did, Mr Connor.”
“Michael,” he replied, correcting her again. He turned his back to the wind, lit a cigarette and took a long draw from it. “And I don’t hate you, Becca. Even though you broke Stephen’s heart. He never admitted it, but you did, and he’s not been the same since. And I know he broke yours – you’d never have done what you did otherwise.”
“Tommy is Stephen’s son.”
“I know he is.” Michael Connor smiled. “Sure, you’d only need to look at him for a moment to know.”
Can you make your wife look at him, then, please? “Thank you. I’d love for him to get to know you and your wife – to have a grandad and granny.”
“Your mother hasn’t met him?”
“No.” She hugged herself. It was freezing but she had to have this conversation. “And she won’t. I know it sounds harsh but I don’t want him to have anything to do with my family. They are too dangerous. Did Stephen tell you about my flat and what happened there?”
His father nodded. “He did. We had a good chat out in the garden.” In the garden? Did your wife refuse to listen to Stephen? “And I agree,” Michael Connor continued. “And I can’t wait to start being Tommy’s grandad.”
“Thank you.” She gave him a relieved smile. “Tommy will love having a grandad.”
“You’ve still got all that beautiful hair that Stephen loved so much.”
“Yes.” She reached for her plait. “It’s too long, too heavy, and it turns to straw in Summer, but I’ve still got it.”
“Stephen still loves you, Becca. I’m not going to interfere, only to say this; if you’re not still in love with him, please tell him, but please allow him to be a father to Tommy.” She nodded and Michael Connor smiled before drawing on the cigarette again then stubbing the rest of it out in the ashtray. “Let’s go inside,” he said, opening the door for her. “It’s freezing out here.”
When Tommy finished his meal, he asked if he could show Grandad his bedroom. The two went out to the hall and she and Stephen eyed each other wearily, knowing Mrs Connor had been waiting for the opportunity to pounce.
“Stephen, I want you to do a DNA test,” Mrs Connor began as soon as the door closed.
“No,” Stephen replied. “Tommy is my son and that is final.”
Mrs Connor turned to her and she braced herself. “Got him wrapped around your little finger, haven’t you, Concepta? How, exactly, did you persuade him to allow you to come and live here in the lap of luxury?”
She opened her mouth but Stephen answered first.
“If you really must know, Mum, I had to practically drag her here. She didn’t want to come but her family made it impossible for her to stay where she was.”
“Oh?” his mother enquired.
“They burgled and ransacked the flat and painted graffiti on the walls,” Stephen explained.
“You have a charming family, Concepta.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, banging her plate down on the dining table. “I know I have. Why do you think I’ve had nothing to do with them for years?”
“So you are only sharing this apartment?” Mrs Connor asked. “You’re not living together?”
“We are not living together,” she confirmed.
“Well, that’s something at least.”
“But I would like to,” Stephen added, and both women stared at him.
“You’re a fool, Stephen,” his mother spat out.
“Mum, I’m not. The happiest time of my life was when Becca and I were living together in the old apartment. I think we can be happy again here with our son.”
His mother sighed before placing her plate on the breakfast bar. The food on it was all but untouched. “I would have thought that all these years in the police would have made you less gullible, not more.”
“Mum, I’m not going to row with you over this.” Stephen was firm.
“Fine. I’ll leave you to it, then.”
“Oh, Mum?” he protested as Mrs Connor walked to the door and went out to the hall, calling for her husband. “Mum, for goodness sake.”
“Michael? Fetch our coats. We’re going.”
“Ah, Mary.” She heard Mr Connor’s exasperated voice in the hall. “You promised me that you’d try.”
“I have tried.” Mrs Connor was as stubborn as her son. “It didn’t work.”
“Well, try harder. Look at him, Mary. This is our grandson.”
There was no reply and Mr Connor appeared at
the hall door holding Tommy by the hand. “I’m sorry, son,” he said quietly.
“So am I,” Stephen replied, taking Tommy’s hand.
“I’ll try and talk her round.”
“Good luck with that.” Stephen gave voice to her thoughts, adding a little smile.
Michael Connor returned a smile and ruffled Tommy’s hair. “Well, I’m going to love being a grandad. How do you like having a grandad so far, eh, Tommy?” Tommy grinned at him. “Good. Well, I’ll see you all soon. Thanks for the lovely lunch.”
“No problem, Dad.”
“I’ll see you soon, Becca.”
She nodded, watching as Stephen saw his parents out.
“Can I put my jeans on now, Mummy?” Tommy asked and she glanced down at his eager face.
“Yes, off you go.”
She went to the dining table and began to clear the food away, hearing Stephen close the front door and come back into the living area.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately.
She shrugged, reaching for a plate of cold meats. They’d bought far too much and she was going to have to put most of it in the freezer otherwise they would be eating it each dinnertime for a week. “You can’t blame her for being suspicious.”
“She was completely out of order, Becca. All that crap about a DNA test.”
“Stephen, she’s your mum,” she told him, amazed at just how reasonable she sounded. “It wouldn’t be natural if she wasn’t worried about you.”
“Well, I’m bloody angry.”
“I know,” she replied as they brought the plates and dishes to the kitchen and put them on the worktop. “So, while you’re angry, I’ll tell you that I think we should do a DNA test and silence your mother once and for all.”
“No.”
“Yes,” she insisted. “Tommy will never have anything to do with my family and I really want him to be part of yours. I know your mum will never like me, but if it takes a DNA test for her to accept Tommy as her grandson, then, it takes a DNA test.”
Stephen pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a moment. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll ring my doctor on Monday morning and make an appointment.”
“Thank you. Here.” Picking up his mother’s plate of food, she passed it to him. “Finish this, you didn’t eat much.”
