‘Will you keep me captive?’ My voice hits a volume I didn’t know I had. ‘Will you force me into a life I don’t want? Because if that’s the choice, I’d rather throw myself to the bloody pigs.’
When I finally shut my mouth, all that’s left is my panting breath to break the silence.
Then Dad stands.
And despite my sudden found fire, I shrink as he towers over me.
He rounds the desk, and I wait for my reckoning.
It doesn’t come. Dad reaches down and scoops my hands into his. The warmth of his fingers soothes my speeding heart.
A smile breaks across his face.
‘Well done, Maggie.’
Well fuck-a-duck, that’s one for the storybooks.
‘…What?’
‘It’s about bloody time you came out and told me what you really feel. For you to stop apologising for who you are. Or aren’t. How many times did you keep trying to take contracts? Do you know you never once told me you didn’t want this?’
My throat tightens.
‘I was so afraid of disappointing you. I still am.’
‘Maggie, you could never disappoint me.’
Tears spill over before I can stop them, wetting my cheeks as Dad pulls me into a tight hug.
‘Does this mean I can stay in London?’
He chuckles. ‘Why are you asking me? It’s not up to me. My recent diagnosis has taught me that life is short. Far too short to live someone else’s version of it. And I’m rather proud you’ve finally grown some balls, kid.’
Wiping my eyes, I laugh. ‘You mean it?’
‘Eliza will take over, she’ll be thrilled.’
‘And what about you?’
‘I don’t intend on retiring any time soon, but I’ll get Eliza to start taking on more. I’ll be taking rather a lot of long breaks abroad with my wife once the chemo’s through. There’s more to life than being the number one at business.’
‘Don’t let Eliza hear that, she’ll want to remain number one.’
At long last, I feel like I can breathe.
38
MAGGIE
The low winter sun filters in through my windows. The glorious slice of gold only lasts for the briefest of time in the city, with the way the buildings across the street blot it out for most of the day.
The two weeks since I visited my father have been the most serene I’ve ever had. Even with the odd surges of guilt that bite when I think of Eddie’s family wondering where he is. He was a rip-roaring cunt waffle, but he was their cunt waffle.
I’m on the sofa, doom-scrolling stupid videos and drinking copious amounts of tea. It’s pure bloody bliss.
I’ve been trying to break my terrible habit of listening to Roman through the walls like a little creep. My success rate is limited.
Other than the occasional awkward hallway clash, I haven’t seen him. He’s not in this morning. I watched him from the kitchenette window as he donned his leather jacket and straddled his motorbike. The sight of him in his helmet did some rather ungodly things to my insides, and I made a short visit to my favourite pillow soon after. Not that it manages to scratch the itch quite the same these days.
