I haven’t the slightest idea what you could be implying.
FATIMA
Plot twist: people are more complex than our first impressions of them…
TEDDY
Revolutionary concept.
FATIMA
I know,Ishould probably write a dissertation on it
TEDDY
You’d get funding for that research?
FATIMA
Absolutely.WhyTeddyCooperNeedstoStopBeingaStubbornArse: aLongitudinalStudy
* * *
My dad called againone day around lunchtime, meaning he was up late.Andmaybe becauseIwas still replaying whatChloehad said about her own dad– mine may have had his flaws, but he’d always loved me– this timeIactually answered.
Big mistake.Hewas clearly drunk, calling from some bar, asking ifIcould come pick him up because he didn’t want to drive.Icould hear thumping music in the background, and a voice close enough thatDadmust have been with the person speaking, saying things like “let’s have another” and “no, don’t go yet.”
“Dad,I’minWales, remember?”Isaid, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Ican’t come get you.”
“Wales?Whatare you doing inWales?”
“Working.LikeIdo every year.”
“Right, right.Ofcourse.”Therewas a long pause, filled with the background din of the bar. “Ijust …Imiss you, kiddo.Imiss you both.”
My throat closed up at this, andIswallowed hard.Whenwas the last timeI’dseen him?Christmas, probably, whenI’dbeen in town for all of three days before heading up north to work aNewYear’sevent.Ithad taken me until the end of day two to sober him up.
Sure, he missed me, butIcouldn’t say it back–Icouldn’t lie to him.Maybeit made me a bad daughter, but part of the joy of being atGwenynenwas knowing thatIcouldn’t be heldresponsiblefor him.That, when he called me like this, there was actually nothingIcould do.Itwasn’t on me the way it felt whenIwas stateside.
“I know,”Isaid, ignoring the ache in my chest. “Promiseme you’ll get a cab home.”
“Yeah, okay.I’llget a cab.”
I checked my phone obsessively, feeling sicker by the moment, until he finally texted that he was home safe nearly four hours later.Onlythen couldIfocus on anything else.
* * *
The weekend after the impromptu girls’night was a washout–Ihad to cancel a camping tripI’dbeen looking forward to– andIquickly developed a serious case of cabin fever.WillowandIwere both desperate to get out for a ramble, but the rain came down in sheets, andIcould barely even see my car out front.Ispent most ofSundaytwiddling my thumbs, trying to drum up some computer-based work to keep me busy.Butsummer was all about the outdoor work.Itwas why my seasonal worker visa allowed me to be here for the summer, after all.Sobeing trapped inside felt like hell.
I’d assumedChloewould work from home onMonday; anyone sensible would have taken one look at the weather forecast and stayed in bed.But, sure enough, at half past eight,Ispotted a familiar figure trudging up the lane toward the farm.Heryellow raincoat was clearly no match for the deluge, and she looked like she was fighting a losing battle against the elements.
I looked around forJen, thinking she might want to greetChloewith a towel or hot tea, but she wasn’t in her studio.Ilooked out and saw through the barn window that she andMaggiewere huddled together in the office, laughing at something onMaggie’scomputer screen.Theylooked so comfortable together, so unconsciously intimate, thatIcouldn’t bring myself to interrupt.
Instead,Iput the kettle on myself and found the oat milkIknewChloepreferred.Bythe time she made it to the front door, looking like a drowned cat,Iwas waiting with a steaming mug and whatIhoped was a welcoming expression.
“Come on,”Icalled out, waving her toward the house. “Getin here before you drown.”
Chloe looked surprised to see me, but also genuinely grateful for the tea.Shestumbled through the front door,drippingwater all over the floorboards.
