Cleo finished her beer. ‘That doesn’t help.’
‘No, I don’t suppose it does.’ Teresa returned her smile as the waiter asked if they’d enjoyed their meal and took away their empty plates.
‘I need to get back and check how tonight went for Kaisha,’ said Cleo after they’d settled the bill, half each at Cleo’s insistence.
They hovered outside the restaurant, Teresa ready to set off in one direction and meet her friends for drinks, Cleo ready to return to the Little Knitting Box.
‘Did you know Aaron spoke to your dad?’ Teresa buttoned up her coat against the night air.
Cleo wound her scarf around her neck and pulled on the matching hat as light spots of rain began to fall from the sky. ‘I heard.’
‘I think he misses you.’
‘He wrote to me.’ Cleo looked down at the toe of her boot, tapped her foot in the nearby puddle before she looked up again. ‘He thinks he made a mistake.’
‘Most men who cheat end up being sorry when they realise what they’ve lost,’ Teresa said matter-of-factly. She pulled on a pair of black, glittery gloves, something a teenager might wear and it made Cleo smile.
‘He only cheated because I made it impossible for him to be with me.’
‘Piffle!’
Cleo giggled. ‘I haven’t heard that word in a long time.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The Americans I’ve met like to say bullshit a lot.’
Teresa laughed, light relief in the moment. ‘Don’t be taken in by hisI’m-sorrysunless you’re sure. And don’t blame yourself for any of it. If you need to talk, even just to whinge about him and what an ass – that’s the American term, right? – he’s being, I’m all ears.’ The wine tonight must’ve given her stepmother a newfound confidence in their strained relationship.
Dylan asking her about kids had brought the reasons behind her failed relationship with Aaron to the fore, and it felt good to talk. Without thinking, she said, ‘Would you have time to grab another drink before you meet your friend? Kaisha should be fine at the store. I’m sure she would’ve called me if there were any problems.’
Teresa smiled. ‘Cleo, I’d love to.’
19
22 REDCLIFFE PLACE, STAMFORD, CONNECTICUT
In his teens and early twenties, Dylan had no interest in babies, in kids, in everything a family life entailed. He’d sailed through college, partying, studying, playing football, and his weekends passed in a blur with parties, sports and of course, girls. He was still in the same mindset when he landed his job as a lawyer, but from the moment that pregnancy test came back positive, his whole sense of self had changed. As crazy as it had sounded, he’d changed in those few seconds: work no longer became a source of funding for the best apartment or beer, it became a means to look after his family; keeping fit became less about having muscles and a taut physique and more about longevity and being around for his kids for years to come.
Dylan had gone from a carefree guy who didn’t think much beyond the next few weeks to a man with two kids who were his world. And he’d thought himself a good judge of character. He had vetted parents before they were allowed to be in charge of his kids on a play date, he kept teachers on their toes and made sure his kids were getting the best education, he berated Prue for not taking enough interest in Ruby and Jacob when she’d first moved out. So how had he managed to fall for Cleo when he barely knew her at all?
The beautiful, soft-hearted Cleo who’d captured him when she first looked up at him with blue eyes, her sexy, blonde hair falling about her shoulders in waves he could tumble into, had shocked him with her confession. It wasn’t a problem that she didn’t want kids, every person had the right to make their own choice, but what had made him uncomfortable was that he felt sure she was hiding something. When they’d first met she’d seemed open, someone who talked about everything and let you know where you stood, someone who didn’t want to mess around and play games with their feelings. But her confession had been delivered with such finality, she’d not looked him in the eye, and it had unsettled him. History was in danger of repeating itself. He’d not known Prue when they first met and with her, he’d leapt in both feet first, and to his detriment. And now, rationality told him Cleo, the sweet, innocent woman in charge of the Little Knitting Box in the West Village, was someone he barely knew. And if she didn’t like kids, how could he put that onto Ruby and Jacob? It wouldn’t be fair.
Dylan opened the front door the second Prue pulled into the driveway at his home.
‘Jacob!’ He held open both arms as his son ran into them. His daughter was close behind.
‘Cedric enjoyed the ride,’ Ruby explained when Jacob broke away and ran inside the house and she had a chance to hug her dad.
Cedric was the bear she’d created at the Build-A-Bear workshop the other day. Dylan felt a pang of sadness, because Cedric would always remind him now of seeing Cleo for a coffee as Ruby went to the party, of how he’d already imagined Cleo with Ruby perhaps having one of her famous tea parties with the bear as he’d done that evening when they’d returned home. All the while he’d tried to indulge Ruby, enjoy the moment, but his mind had firmly been on Cleo.
‘Thanks for taking them today, Prue.’ He watched his ex-wife walk up towards the front door.
‘We had a lovely time. We went to the park, had a picnic and ice creams. I think they’re pretty tired.’
‘Well, thanks. I managed to score a job doing a website for another primary school so I’ve been busy. They’d like it up and running in the New Year and I’m almost there.’
‘That’s good. Oh, and I’ll be there for the nativity plays at the church tomorrow,’ she confirmed.
The family had never been overly religious but the kids loved taking part in the annual celebration before Christmas. Held at the church down the road, Ruby was performing in the morning and Jacob in the afternoon.
‘You can come for lunch between performances,’ Dylan suggested to Prue. ‘Just soup or sandwiches.’
