An awkward silence descends upon the table. I push a piece of potato around my plate and wait for the inevitable Pete comment.
‘Lucas would have loved to live near his father, Alice.’
Irritation bubbles inside of me. I drop my fork, sending it clattering across my plate and look across at Dad. ‘How many times do I have to tell you, Dad? Pete and I are not getting back together.’
Dad looks taken aback. He takes out his handkerchief and dabs his sweaty brow. ‘I’m sorry, Alice. I found what happened with your wedding quite shocking and I want you and Lucas to have some stability. To me, Pete is…’
‘Dad, please stop bringing up Pete at every opportunity,’ I snap. ‘If you must know I feel guilty about not loving Pete. Every night when I say goodnight to Lucas I silently apologise to him for not loving his father. I don’t love Pete and I never…’ I pause. ‘I never have loved him.’
Dad lets out a heavy sigh and pushes his plate away. ‘Is this about Noah Coombes? Because if it is, I am going to be very cross.’
‘Listen to yourself,’ I say in a loud voice. ‘I am thirty-six years old and you’re still trying to tell me who I should and shouldn’t love. Dad, I can make my own decisions.’
Dad lets out a wail of frustration. ‘He is not welcome in this house, Alice.’
‘Why do you dislike him so much? You never told me why you and Noah’s father fell out.’
‘That family have driven a wedge through us, Alice.’ Dad rises from his chair. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
I follow him into the living room. ‘What did Dave Coombes do?’
‘Leave me alone, Alice,’ Dad says, before marching over to the mantelpiece. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Returning to the table I clear away, wash up and put everything away. When I enter the living room Dad is watching an oldAntiques Roadshow. He looks up at me. ‘I think you moving out is a good idea, Alice.’
‘Yes, I agree.’
He nods. ‘We all need some space to think and collect our thoughts.’
I go upstairs and lie on the camp bed. Agitation at Dad is nibbling away at me. I stare up at the ceiling. This feels like I am fifteen again, lying on my bed after arguing with Dad over Noah. I don’t want to move out and my relationship with Dad to deteriorate as Noah and I are getting close again.
Taking out my phone I decide to distract myself with Facebook by reading about other people having fun.
Rose has tagged me into a post on Facebook. The caption reads, ‘Happy days.’ It’s a photo from years ago of Mum, Rose, Frankie, and me outside their house. Frankie’s wonky fringe makes me smile. He’d asked me to cut it in the bathroom as he believed it was too long. To this day I still don’t know why he asked nine-year-old me to grab the kitchen scissors and hack away. Rose screamed when she saw it. As it was the summer holidays and Frankie liked his lopsided fringe, she left it a few weeks before marching him down to the barbers.
My eyes linger on Mum and Rose. Their heads are pressed together, Rose is laughing into the camera, and both are clutching glasses of wine. They were the best of friends. An idea pops into my head. Rose is probably the only person in the world who knows what happened between Dad and Dave Coombes. If I am to sort this mess out with Noah and Dad, I need to know what happened.
I message Frankie to ask him how things are, how Rose is coping with her treatment and to say that I need to speak to Rose.
Later, I send another text to Pete asking him to call me. After what Noah told me in the café, I am now certain Pete is connected to that email Noah received and to my missing letters. Pete has been ignoring my texts and voicemails. Earlier I took Bean for an extra-long dog walk to Pete’s house. His Golf wasn’t parked in his drive and all his windows were shut.
He doesn’t reply to my text.
CHAPTERTWENTY-NINE
It’s Tuesday and I am back at work after my day off. Dad and I have barely spoken, and Pete still hasn’t replied to my texts. A teenage girl with poker straight, chestnut brown hair and amazing winged eyeliner taps me on the arm as I hurry past clutching empty coffee cups. ‘Do you have free wifi here?’
‘Yes,’ I say, pointing to the password printed on the back of the menu.
Grinning she taps it into her phone and then turns back to me. ‘I am a YouTuber. Do you mind if I film in here?’
Her boyfriend grins. ‘You’re seriously going to vlog our date, then?’
She nods. ‘I told my followers last night I was coming here, and I was inundated with people getting excited about us two having a coffee date in a romance-themed café.’
‘Isn’t that a bit odd?’ her boyfriend asks. ‘You’re filming our date?’
‘I think it’s going to be fun. You must improve your topics of date conversation though, as last week’s discussion on what you ate in your break at work will not go down well; nor will your other topic about which flavour Pot Noodle you prefer.’
