by Amy Daws
“Grandmama didn’t mean you have to play with the neighbour boy who threw mud on you. She meant that the families are old friends, so we need to be polite.”
I stride over to where Sophia is standing on the steps and grab her cute little fingers in mine. “Sophia, while I love, love, love this look you have going on here and think it is one hundred percent red carpet-worthy, I think we need to go upstairs and tone it down a little bit.”
She looks back at me in horror. “But Grandmama said!”
My eyes fly wide. “I know, baby! I know. But you can’t wear white fur to the country!” I laugh heartily and swat her on the shoulder. “The polar bears will think you belong to them.”
Sophia’s furry brows crumple. “Mum, there are no polar bears out at Grandmama’s.”
My jaw drops. “There aren’t?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. You should be embarrassed that you thought that, Mum.”
I bark out a laugh but sober immediately. “I’m humiliated.”
She clutches my cheeks in her hands. “No, but really, Mum. Don’t ever tell anyone you said that. It’s not very bright.”
This elicits a genuine smile. Through a few more giggles, I convince Sophia to let me style her like one of my clients. But being the negotiator she is, I have to promise to let her style me sometime in the near future. It’s a price I’m very willing to pay.
The Lake District is a good thirty minute drive from my house. Normally, I dread the drive. It’s like driving down death row and preparing to give away my child to some horrid criminal.
Today it’s not as hard, though. The past week with Sophia was so different than it’s been in months. Ever since the divorce, I’ve been constantly searching for fun things to do with Sophia so she will love me more than Callum. I was desperate to make memories and ease the burden and pain of having a broken family.
But last week wasn’t a constant, “What are we going to do next,” state. There was a sense of living in the moment and seeing it for its simple beauty. Watching Sophia play with her dolls on her bedroom floor was suddenly so much more emotionally rewarding than all the excursions I’ve taken her on around Manchester this past year. Even the makeover I gave her just moments ago involved more giggles than a full day at some museum. Maybe having a bit of balance in my life isn’t so bad after all.
I drive up the long gravel lane, passing through the perfectly manicured landscaping, or gardens as the British call them. Shrubs trimmed perfectly, fall flowers in bloom, orange leaves falling all around us. Honestly, it is dreamy. Margaret Coleridge’s estate is quite similar to the one where Callum resides but older. It’s also larger in the sense that it occupies two acres and is elevated so when you drive up to it, you feel a bit like you’re driving to a castle.
I’m grateful for the estate in a lot of ways because Sophia has the best experiences out here. She really embraces nature. She loves running in the woods, jumping in the puddles, and going out on the sailboat whenever Callum agrees to take her. They are the kind of memories I would have killed for as a child.
When we pull around the large fountain in the middle of the driveway, Callum and Margaret walk out, clearly watching for our arrival. Hot on their heels is the oh-so stunning, blonde, and ridiculously made-up Lady Godiva.
I’ve been noticing her presence at more and more of my drop-offs with Sophia. Callum formally introduced me to Callie and told me they are quite serious. She looks like everything Margaret Coleridge hates. Regardless, here Callie stands, clasping Callum’s hand and waving to Sophia like she’s some high school camp counsellor.
Sophia squeals from the backseat when she sees Margaret’s bloodhound, Rex, trotting up to her car door. “Stop the car, Mum! Rexy neeeeeeds meee!” she sings and shakes her Welly boots anxiously.
“I’m stopping, I’m stopping,” I say with a smile.
As soon as the vehicle stops, she unbuckles herself and opens the door, nearly falling on top of Rex in her excitement. The old hound sniffs and licks her face like it’s been years since he’s seen her instead of seven days. Sophia giggles happily and begins running toward the grass with him. He bounces alongside her, nipping at the bottom of her purple coat—a much more subdued option overtop of a practical pair of jeans and a long sleeve black shirt. Paired with her Wellies, I think Sophia is dressed perfectly for the country.
I turn my attention to Margaret, Callum, and Callie, who now stand beside me.
“You’re quite late,” Margaret states, tossing the tail of her beige cloak over her shoulder. “We thought you might have died. Would have been nice if you’d phoned.”
My face crumples. “It would have been difficult to call if I was dead.”
Callum shoots his steely blue eyes at me in silent warning. “Maybe you can start ringing me when you’re on your way so Mother doesn’t have to worry unnecessarily.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure, Cal. I’d love to call.”
“This is a court ordered agreement,” Margaret states, the wrinkles around her eyes stacking on top of each other as she narrows them at me. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you.”
“No, I’m fully aware,” I reply with a small huff and glance annoyingly at Callie, whose big doe eyes are blinking like she doesn’t speak our language. “And we were late because Sophia said you weren’t happy with her appearance last time she visited.”
Margaret tightens her shawl and keeps her expression flat. “She wears too much pink. It’s not proper.”
“She’s seven. How is pink not proper for a seven-year-old?”
“She can wear pink when she’s with you. When she comes to the country, she should be dressed more practically.”
“Well, she doesn’t understand what you mean by proper. In the future, maybe you can bring it to me if you’re not happy with something and not expect a seven-year-old to understand what proper attire is for the country. Styling is kind of what I do for a living, you know.”
Margaret’s lips thin as she drags her gaze down my body. I’m wearing a simple pair of jeans, boots, and a graphic T-shirt that says, “I’m a Mom, but a Cool Mom.” I tighten my trench coat around me so she can’t read the fine print below that says, “Now Pass the Wine.”
“She looks fine today, so dress her more like that in the future,” Callum states, smoothing a strip of his hair that breaks loose from the gel in the wind. “We’ll see you next week.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes at his dismissal. “Before I go, I wanted to talk to you about Thursday.”
Callum frowns. “This Thursday? It’s my week, Sloan.”
Licking my lips, I do my best to keep my cool. “I understand, but this Thursday is Thanksgiving. I figured since you guys don’t celebrate the holiday, maybe I can have Sophia over for dinner. Just for a couple of hours, then I’ll bring her right back.”
Callum looks at me like I’m speaking another language, but it’s Callie’s voice that replies, “But we’re British.”
I cut my eyes at her, blinking slowly. “I’m aware.”
“We don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.” She looks to Callum for help, and he simply nods his head in agreement.
I can hardly believe the exchange. Exhaling heavily, I glance over at my ex-husband. “Callum, surely you didn’t forget that I’m American.”
“No,” he scoffs. “You make that really difficult.”
“Well, I would really love to celebrate Thanksgiving with Sophia. It’s very big in America and it’s one of my favourite holidays. I’m sorry I didn’t think to include it in our custody agreement—”
Margaret cuts me off mid-sentence. “We’ll discuss it and let you know.”
My gaze turns to her. She looks like an angry headmistress who’s trying to determine what sort of corporal punishment to inflict on me. She can’t possibly be inserting herself into this decision. It’s not even a day she would see Sophia anyway.
Callum looks timidly over at his mother, clearly unsure where her mind is at as well. I
didn’t think this would be an issue. I’m not asking for a whole day. Just a couple of hours. Surely they can’t say no.
Margaret looks at Cal and gives him a subtle shake of the head. He nods back in response. Cal is so weak. So submissive. I could literally tie up Gareth with rope and he would never look a fraction as spineless as Callum Coleridge does underneath the withering stare of his mother.
My rage is dampened when Sophia pummels into my legs. “Mum, when can we get a dog at your house?”
My lips purse together as I try to ignore the fact that she doesn’t call it “our house.” I hate that she looks at my home as a place she visits and not a place that’s hers.
I squat down to eye level. “Maybe someday, Soap, but I think we have too much going on right now.”
She sighs dramatically. “We don’t have anything going on. I don’t even play football like all the other girls.”
I pin her with a warning look. “Sophia. Mommy is the boss, so be a good girl and maybe we’ll discuss it again next year.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and squeezes, her voice muffled in my shoulder as she says, “Fine…It’s probably good. Rex would be sad if I had another friend.”
“That’s a good girl,” I reply, beaming with pride. I press my lips to her hair. “I have to be going now, baby. You be good for your Grandma and Daddy.”
She pulls back to look at me, keeping her cosy arms wrapped tightly around my neck. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
Heart crushing aches. Knee-trembling pain. Burning desolation all through my body. “I’m going to miss you, too. But I’ll see you in—”
“Seven days!” she sings, smiling brightly.
Hopefully sooner, I think to myself. “Give me a kiss.”
She plops a wet one right on my lips and squeezes me one last time. As I drive away, I try really hard to remember what it was that made me agree to marry Cal. Then I get a glimpse of Sophia waving goodbye to me in the rearview mirror and it all comes back to me.
SUNDAY NIGHT DINNER AT DAD’S is madness, as usual. Tanner and Camden try to fight me for Rocky most of the evening, but I refuse them because I’ve decided my niece is my date for the night. Everyone is busy playing happy family around the table, but I’m not paying attention because I have the sweetest girl in the whole world right in front of me.
Rocky’s blue eyes are big and glossy as she faces me on my lap and runs her chubby fingers over the whiskers on my chin. The touch is a little nerve-rattling, but I focus my thoughts on her fluffy blonde hair that’s tied up into a spiky ponytail atop her head. She’s jabbering away, not making very much sense, but telling me a story that I think has something to do with an elephant, a man, and maybe her mummy. I’m not quite sure. It’s fucking adorable, though.
I can feel my dad’s eyes on me the entire time. I look over and see him watching Rocky with so much affection, it overwhelms me. The way he acts with her is so night and day different from what we experienced growing up. It’s like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Does he dote over Rocky because she’s Vi’s child? Would he be like this with my kid if I had one?
I roll my eyes at the thought. He won’t come to Manchester to watch me play a football game. He certainly wouldn’t coo over a fictitious child I will never even have.
My phone vibrates on the table, and I look around Rocky to read the text that says the cab I ordered is here. “Bye, Rock Star,” I murmur and kiss her on the cheek before handing her over to Tanner.
“Where are you going?” Tanner asks, looking up at me as I stand.
I push my chair in. “Back to Manchester.”
“You’re going back tonight?” Camden probes, walking over with a confused look on his face.
“Yep,” I reply simply and move to grab my bag. “I’ll see you guys next week.”
Dad pins me with a stare from the head of the table. “Must you go tonight?”
“Yes,” I state through clenched teeth while kissing Vi on the cheek and ignoring everyone’s concerned looks.
I’ve just opened the front door to leave when I hear my dad’s deep voice echo through the dark foyer. “Gareth, wait.”
I turn to see his large frame as he strides toward me and steps into the light streaming through the entryway. If I ever wanted an idea of what I’ll look like in twenty-odd years, I just need to look at my dad. Aside from his blue eyes and grey hair, we are identical.
His salt and pepper hair glows in the light, the shadows severe as he stands before me. “Why are you leaving tonight? It’s late.”
I shake my head at him. “Because I have things going on tomorrow.” More like I have someone coming over, so I’m actually excited to go home for once.
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something quite serious.”
“Can it wait?”
Dad frowns and ignores my request. “I want you to move back to London, Gareth.”
“What?” I ask, certain I heard him wrong.
“I want you back in London,” he says, his jaw tight, eyes serious. “I know there’s no chance you’ll play for me again, so I’ve been talking to the manager at Arsenal. The midseason transfer window opens up soon, and they’re looking to sell their current defender. You could play with Camden, Gareth.”
“For Arsenal?” His words nearly knock the wind out of me. I choke out a laugh. “You have got to be joking.”
“I don’t joke,” he replies firmly.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and ignore the honk of the taxi’s horn going off behind me. “Dad, why would I transfer to Arsenal? My home is in Manchester. I’m the bloody captain.”
He sighs heavily, his eyes wrinkling with clear anxiety. “Gareth, I know why you went off to Man U, but things are different now. The twins are married and there are grandbabies coming. I think it’s time you come home.”
“Manchester is my home!” I exclaim, shaking my head to ensure that I’m actually conscious. “What the fuck is this?”
“I want everyone back in London,” he nearly growls. “There are a lot of changes going on. Our family is growing. Rocky is getting bigger. Booker is going to be a father soon. I think that you should be here for the family. This is our chance to…do better.”
“Better than what?” I ask, gripping the strap of my bag on my shoulder so hard I can feel the fabric indenting in my skin.
“Better than the past, of course!” He exclaims and turns away from me to gesture up the stairs.
A chill runs up my spine as the memories of our mum’s final days flood back with a vengeance. This is a place in my mind that I don’t often tap into, and I can’t believe he’s going there with me now.
My tone is firm when I reply through clenched teeth, “I don’t need to do better, Dad. I was there.” I thrust my finger toward the stairs like I’m pointing to a crime scene. “You were gone, but I was there. Vi was there. We held everyone together while you disappeared into seven fucking years of mourning.”
“And you’ve never let me atone for it!” Dad nearly shouts, his voice breaking at the end. He steps closer to me and whispers, “You’ve punished me by moving away to the one place I can’t return to, and I’m tired of it.”
“Why can’t you return there?”
“Because it hurts too much!” He all but howls and his eyes glaze over. “I want a second chance with you, Gareth. Having Rocky around…Seeing your brothers settled and happy…It’s all making me realise how much I missed. You went to Manchester to get back at me, and I want that time to be over.”
Seeing his pain only stokes my own. I was a child, yet his pain mattered more than mine. That isn’t right. My fists clench at my sides when I reply, “You don’t call the shots in my life, Dad. You haven’t since the second Mum got sick and you turned your back on her.”
My words are a kick to the gut that he’s not prepared for and his face crumples with emotion. Emotion he never shows.
But I’m not done. “You want me to come back to London because of s
hit in the past that you still can’t own up to, and that is not my problem.”
“Gareth, I’m owning it! And I’m telling you, there’s a lot going on in the family and I…I can’t handle it all on my own. I need help around here!” He stumbles over his words and moves to touch me.
I inhale sharply and step back onto the front step, far away from his embrace. He doesn’t get to touch me. He doesn’t get to take anything more from me. Nothing’s changed. He just wants me to take over again like I did when I was a kid.
Not. Happening.
“I am only a train ride away. I’m in London weekly and I take phone calls from everyone daily. What more could you possibly need from me?”
Dad exhales heavily and lowers his shaking hands. “I don’t know.”
I nod knowingly. “Then just keep answering to Father and we can continue to play happy family on Sunday nights like we’ve been doing for years, all right?”
He swallows slowly, the familiar shield of armour coming down over his face. His emotions drift away as he steps back out of the light. “Very well,” he mumbles and turns to walk down the hall.
I see the disappointment my words have caused him, but it does nothing to top the lifetime of disappointment I’ve felt as a result of his actions.
He knows bloody well that me signing with Man U was all spurred on by him. When I was younger, I had very little control over my career as a football player. Dad was my manager and made all my contract decisions. The truth is, I didn’t know how good I was until I found out about my first Premiership offer from Man City Football Club. It was my twenty-first birthday, and I was at a night club with some mates when a veteran striker for Man City happened to be there. He approached me and called me a fool for not accepting a multimillion-pound contract. I asked him what bloody contract he was talking about because I certainly wasn’t making that kind of money with Bethnal. It was then he told me about the offer his team made me the year prior.
