Abigail saw Sheila McNamara coming and rather than face the older woman, she turned tail and hid in the kitchen. She’d spent most of the bank holiday gazing at the text message from Liam and debating whether to reply. She still hadn’t, and now it was getting rude. Her chef looked at her up and down as she entered his space. “What is it now? Didn’t I put enough tarragon on the focaccia?”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’m just...”
One of her waitresses popped her head around the door. “Mrs. McNamara is looking for you?”
Jesus be a fence. Abigail raised a smile and left the kitchen to face Sheila. She didn’t feel comfortable around the woman after sucking face with her messed-up and far too sexually attractive son. “Hi, Sheila. Oh, and you’ve brought Leila with you.” The girl had her gaze firmly on her trainers. “Afternoon, Leila.”
She raised her eyes and sent her a half-hearted wave. “Hi.”
“Liam’s at work, but he insisted I bring Leila here today to do what she should have done a few days ago. The moment you caught her playing
A Clockwork Orange
.”
With a sigh, Abigail pointed in the direction of her office. “Let’s go here. No point in making it public.”
Sheila took a seat at the counter. “I’ll make myself comfortable here. Any chance of a cup of tea?”
Abigail nodded her waitress in Sheila’s direction before edging Leila into the office. She looked pretty, wearing a long flowing skirt and a cropped lace top layered with a vest top beneath. No more skin on display than necessary. Liam had to have shopped with her, there was no way Sheila would have approved of that outfit and had she her own money, Abigail was sure the skirt would be halfway up her butt.
Leila was silent, looking around the organised space with a critical eye. Just as Abigail opened her mouth to tell her to apologise and move on some time this century, she pointed to the picture behind Abigail’s head. “Who’s that?”
She turned and looked where Leila was pointing. It was the last photograph of Abigail and her own dear father. Before he passed away. “That’s my dad. Lester.”
“Oh. He looks nice.”
“He was nice. He was an amazing man.”
“Was?”
Abigail nodded, feeling an unexpected lump in her throat. Never ended. At random times it would strike her and she’d miss him terribly. “He died about ten years ago. We were playing tennis here. He just beat me. Again. Crafty old beggar.”
Turning back from the photograph, she saw Leila’s gaze was back on her trainers. “I didn’t know.”
“Why would you? You were too busy throwing eggs at my business.”
Her chin wobbled.
Oh fuck
, Abigail thought.
She’s blocking my exit, how would I get out of here?
“I just feel angry. All the time.”
“Why?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Why you’d care.”
Abigail sighed. “Sit down, Leila. Look, your dad told me you had some therapy after your mum died. The therapist would have explained to you the stages of grief, right? You’re stuck. On anger. From what your nan told my mum, you were fine. Up until a few months ago. You have your nan, your mum’s parents and your dad. Everyone around you is trying to look out for you. You went to Sunday school at my old church with your nan most Sundays. So you know right from wrong. It makes what you did even worse.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking with tears. Her hands were twisted in her lap. Taking a tissue from the rose-printed box on her desk, Abigail handed it over. Leila started shredding it between her blue-tipped fingers.
“Is it school? I mean, it’s the summer holidays.” She shook her head again. “Well, is it your friends? Who were the other little bas...troublemakers who egged the café?” Leila sent her a look through red-rimmed eyes. All right, fine. “You should say. Why should you be punished and they get away with it?”
“Abigail, come on. You don’t want me to get into more trouble just to be ‘honest.’ Do you?”
“Then what is it? What’s making you act out like this when your whole family is trying to help you? Don’t you understand that your dad is pulling all his lovely hair out over you?”
“I don’t know if he is,” she muttered, biting hard on her bottom lip, looking away.
Abigail blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”
“If he is my dad.”
Why were the McNamaras telling her all their deep, dark secrets? Was it her face? Did she just have one of those faces that encouraged people to spill their shit? “Why on earth would you think that?”
“I was with Nana and Grandpa Ellis in June for the weekend. And I went downstairs for some water because Nana always uses that stupid Yardley room spray that makes my throat dry. And I heard them. Talking about it. That my dad knew and he was avoiding it because he knew it was true. I’m not his. And he’s not mine.” Her eyes met Abigail’s and she burst into tears. Abigail circled the desk and put her arms around the sobbing girl. Now it made sense. The rage, the disappointment, the hurt, the desperate need for someone to see her pain. She’d said Leila was acting out for attention. Now she had it.
“Have you told your dad this?”
“No!” she cried. “Course not! First he’d go down to Nana and Grandpa Ellis and kill them. And he wouldn’t do anything else. Because it proves my mum was a cheat. And he looks at me and he knows. He just thinks I’m like her.”
No way Abigail was equipped to deal with this. She really should call Liam and Sheila for them to deal with it.
All right, think practically. As if Leila was one of your friends.
“Tell him. Talk to him. He’s loved you for every second of your life since the minute your mum found out she was pregnant, I know. No, no, no. I know. He will always love you. So go home and talk to him and you can come up with a plan together. Because that way, rather than it being you versus him, it’s you two versus the world. And that’s how it should be.”
Leila held her tighter, her sobs increasing once more. All Abigail could do was hold her until the crying subsided. “Better?” Abigail asked, grabbing the box and waving it under the girl’s dripping nose.
She nodded. “Thank you. I really am sorry about your shop.”
“Apology accepted.”
“You didn’t have to be nice to me.”
Abigail shrugged. “You caught me on a good day.”
She disagreed. “You’re always nice.”
Was she? “Thank you. Come on, let me give you back to your granny. Before she thinks I’ve basted you for roasting.”
“Can I have one of those chocolate cakes, please?” she asked before Abigail opened the door. “They’re the best thing you sell.”
“Come back when you’re eighteen and tell me that,” Abigail retorted, putting a hand to the girl’s back and pushing her out of the office.
At the front, Abigail boxed up a slice of chocolate cake. “Two pounds ninety-five pence, please.”
Leila blinked. “I thought we were friends now.”
Cheeky mare! They’d called a truce for all of two minutes and she wanted freebies? “Yeah. And friends don’t expect their friends to work for free. Nothing good in this world is ever truly free.”
Reluctantly, Leila handed over three pound coins. “Suppose you should keep the five pee for a tip.”
“Madam is generous today,” Abigail murmured, dropping the coin into the tips jar. Leila gazed at her with those large green eyes of hers. Ah. That there was all Liam. The searching gaze.
“You wouldn’t mind if I came back?” Leila asked.
“Not now you’re a paying customer,” she agreed. “Any time.”
Sheila got up from the table she’d commandeered. “Well. Nice to see you two have made up. I’ll tell Liam that today was a success.”
“Bye, Sheila,” Abigail said dryly. Leila sent her a more enthusiastic but shy wave on her exit. Messed-up kid. Her friends were right, it honestly wasn’t worth it. Maybe. Christ, she really wished Liam hadn’t kissed her. At least then she could have dismissed him altogether.
Abigail hadn’t replied to his call or text message. His disappointment was only slightly curbed by the marked improvement in Leila’s behaviour. She was suddenly back to her normal self. Polite and helpful. He asked her if everything was all right and she made a face. “You’re still here, so I guess it is.”
The cryptic nature of what she said was somehow dispelled by his mother informing him that she had apologised properly to Abigail and the two had decided to be friends. Progress? Or a waiting game for Leila to change tactics and cause havoc down the line? Christ, he shouldn’t be so suspicious of his own child. She wasn’t her mother’s daughter. He hoped.
His phone rang just as the doorbell rang. Picking up the mobile and heading for the door at the same time, he answered. “Hello?”
“Liam?”
“Letter for Mr. McNamara.”
“Abigail,” he said into the phone, “hold on a moment.”
“Um...sure.”
He signed for the letter and closed the door. “Abigail? Still there?”
She breathed out slowly. “I’ve been turning this over in my head and I should have called you the second I found out but... I wanted to leave you to it.”
Walking back to the kitchen, he glanced at the letter, to see if there was a return address or anything written on it. “Leave me to what? I don’t understand.”
“When Leila came to the café a few days ago... She told me...”
“What did she say to you?” he prompted, his voice gentle. Abigail was silent. “Whatever it was,” he said with encouragement, “she trusted you to tell you.”
Abigail exhaled. “She knows, Liam.”
The breath caught in his throat. “What?”
“She knows there’s a chance she might not be yours. She heard her grandparents talking. That’s why she’s been a nightmare. She’s scared.”
He rested his hands on the kitchen counter, waiting until he felt connected to his body once more.
“Liam?”
“I’m... I don’t know. Thank you for telling me.”
“What will you do?”
His heart was breaking for what his poor baby girl knew, and it spoke volumes that she’d divulged her secret to Abigail. “I’m going to talk to her.”
“You’re not going to...”
“Kill the Ellis’s?” he said ruefully. “Prison’s not my thing. I don’t want a boyfriend called Nails and I certainly don’t want Leila suffering any more than she has done.” His former in-laws were lucky he had a conscience. Another man would be wiping their blood from his knife about now. What the fuck was wrong with them? Hadn’t their daughter done enough without them causing his child more mental trauma? What did they think would happen to Leila if he wasn’t her biological father? Some idiot who’d been shafting Sarah once every thirteen years would sweep in and take over? Over his burnt carcass.
“Well,” Abigail said eventually. “I don’t know about the boyfriend bit, but... I’m glad.”
Christ. What could he say? “Thank you, Abigail. I can’t say enough.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you go.”
She ended the call and Liam braced himself with a deep breath. He needed a minute. Something that would bring him to normality for just a moment. The couriered letter caught his eye and he tore it open. It did not provide the normalcy he needed. It extended his anger. All the way to hoping Sarah’s soul was roasting in hell.
Dear Mr. McNamara,
I’m sorry to approach you this way, but this has been causing problems for me, my health. I haven’t been able to sleep or eat since Sarah’s parents told me. We’ve been talking a lot recently and there’s something we need to sort out. I think you know what I mean.
I’ve looked into DNA testing centres and this one is court approved and has a quick turnaround. Whatever needs to be paid for, I’ll cover it. I just need to know. If there’s even the slightest chance that Leila’s my daughter, we all should know.
Regards,
Mark Wooldridge
Liam crumpled the letter in his fist. The fucking audacity of Sarah’s lover. It hadn’t been enough that he’d shown up at the funeral and tried to introduce himself to Leila. Now he was asking about DNA tests like Jeremy fucking Kyle? Sod this.
“Leila!” he called, shoving the letter into the nearest drawer. “Leila!” She trundled down the stairs and came to a skidding halt in front of him.
“Yes, Dad?”
Green eyes focused on him. Sarah had hazel eyes. So did Sarah’s mother. He supposed it could be hereditary and not something for him to claim as proof of his own paternity. “Let’s sit in the living room.”
She froze. “Why? I haven’t done anything!”
He sighed. “There speaks a guilty conscience.”
“What?”
He edged her to their living room and sat her down on the sofa. “If you state you didn’t do anything, that’s normally guilt talking.”
“Dad.” She frowned at him, pouting in disgust.
He’d have to just say it straight. Eventually, she’d appreciate his bluntness. “For some reason, I don’t know what, but your mother told me and your grandparents that there’s a chance you’re not my daughter, by blood.”
Leila’s mouth trembled. “Tell me it’s not true.”
He had to pause before he was able to speak. “I can’t. Baby, please don’t cry. Listen.” He wrapped his arms around his sobbing daughter. She seemed utterly inconsolable and he couldn’t blame her. “You’re my child. No one is taking you from me. Ever.”
“But what if someone comes looking for me? And then they say I have to live with them because you’re not my real dad?”
“Look at me. Who taught you to ride a bike?”
“You did, but...”
“Who bought you your first bra?”
She wrinkled her nose. “You did. I’m still not comfortable about that.”
“It was either me or wait for your granny to accept you weren’t fitting into those stupid crop tops. Who took you to your first day at school? To Hamleys? To Chessington? Who by the skin of your teeth allowed you to see your favourite band? And picked you up with McDonalds? I know you sleep dead centre of the bed and when you’re sick the only thing that makes you feel better is warmed apple juice with a touch of honey and cinnamon. You’re exceptional at every subject but I know your heart is with drama, funnily enough. If I wasn’t your real dad, I wouldn’t have a clue about that. I’ve been trying too hard not to let this upset me, or affect me, and it has. Because you’ve seen it and it’s hurt you too. But I promise, no one is going to take you away from me. Whatever some test says, I’m your dad. All right?”
She nodded and buried her face in his neck. “Thank you,” she whispered. For a long time, they held each other until the lump in his own throat faded and Leila’s tears dried on his skin.
Eventually she sat up and looked at him expectantly. “I think we should do the test.”
“We’ll do it,” he agreed. For her own peace of mind she should know either way. “But it won’t make a difference to me and you. You’re a McNamara. Fucking resilient.”
“Dad!” she breathed in shock.
He shrugged. “True. You’ve got that from me and I’d love anyone to tell me differently.”
“I know I’ve been so awful, but please don’t send me away.”
“Not happening.”
“Not to Norway either?”
“No. I’m sorry I ever mentioned it.”
Her face relaxed immediately. Then suspicion took over. “Did Abigail say anything to you?”
“About what?” he said, face poker straight.
She started to speak and then shook her head. “Never mind. Do I get to eat something? I’m kinda hungry.”
Fuck, that letter was still in the kitchen. “Stay here, I’ll bring something to you. All right. Daddy loves you.”
“Love you too,” she whispered, with another squeezing hug around his middle. He got up and made his way to the kitchen, leaving Leila seated alone. After removing the letter from the drawer, he noticed a DNA testing kit was attached to it.
Thanks, Mark
, he thought distastefully. He called Leila back into the kitchen and with resigned looks at each other, he carefully swabbed the inside of her cheek before placing it in the necessary bag before completing his own.
“How long does it take?”
“Three to four working days,” he answered, reading the pamphlet that was inside the kit. “It’s a legal one. Less stupid questions about it.”
She bit on her fingernail. “Right. Who’s going to ask stupid questions?”
“Your grandparents?”
“Oh, please don’t be angry with them!” she burst out. “They didn’t know I was listening.”
“I know,” he agreed, lightly patting her cheek. “It means we only need to do it the once. Tomorrow I’ll have it couriered to the lab and we’ll know this time next week.”
“That’s ages away.”
He winced. “We’ll do lots of stuff to distract ourselves.”
Leila perked up. “Does that mean we can watch
Twilight
?”
Liam felt the blood draining from his face. “Sure.”
She grinned. “You’re such a fibber. Can we at least order
Iron Man 3
?”
Who needed a fucking DNA test? “Set it up, I’ll bring in the food.”