Page 79 of Just for the Season

‘Ruby, no,’ I say. ‘Your mum and I are divorced. She left when Sam was a baby. That’s eleven years. I haven’t had a serious partner in eleven years.’

That is not exactly true in a sexual sense; I have been on the odd date, but I have now realised that telling the full truth in such a bald way was not the right thing. And I’m using partner here in the sense of actual partner. I haven’t had any relationships since Astrid left; I’ve just been on the occasional date from time to time. Very occasional actually – dating is hard when you’re a single father.

‘But now you do have a partner. Do you love her more than us?’ Ruby’s eyes are glistening, with what I think is a mix of hurt and anger.

‘No. Of course not. I could never love anyone more than you.’

She presses her lips tightly together and then asks, ‘Do you love her as much as us?’

I hesitate for a fraction of a second while my mind grapples with everything, and then I say, ‘No,’ even though I don’t know how true that is. I mean, it is true. I could never love anyone as much as I love my children, in the way that I do. But loving Frankie… that’s a different kind of love. Is it as big as paternal love? I don’t think it can be measured; I think it’s just different.

‘You. Hesitated.’ Ruby has her hands on her hips, glaring at me, eyes damp but hard. ‘You love her as much as us.’

I shake my head. ‘Ruby. I love you and Sam infinitely. I could not love you more than I do. I do love Frankie, yes, but it’s completely and utterly different. Romantic love is not like fatherly love. Nothing you do could ever stop me loving you. Romantic love does sometimes fade.’ Though I cannot actually imagine ever stopping loving Frankie. ‘Paternal love does not.’

‘Prove it,’ Ruby says.

‘Prove it?’

Ruby nods. ‘Yes. Tell her it’s over.’

25

FRANKIE

We open at nine thirty on Saturdays, so that Simon and I can both get a bit of a lie-in, and this morning I make it down to the café to open up on time by the skin of my teeth. I’m very bleary-eyed but happy; Marcus stayed over last night and we basically spent the night having sex rather than sleeping.

It was amazing. Again. But even more amazing than before, because we’ve started saying we love each other. Sex is a lot more than just sex when the L-word is involved. It is, in fact, making love.

The sex last night was fantastic and the loving was even better.

I float on air all morning.

Ruby arrives at twelve to start work. Weirdly, Marcus doesn’t wave at me through the window when he drops her off; he just stares straight ahead.

I’m digesting that when Ruby walks over to the counter and gives me what I can only describe as a death stare. Cold, full of hatred, and, also, weirdly kind of victorious. Like she has this tilt to her chin that says I’ve won.

She spends the whole afternoon avoiding me as much as possible and when she does have to speak to me she’s so scrupulously polite her manner borders on insolent.

There can really only be one possible explanation. She has found out that my relationship with Marcus has morphed from fake to, well, I’m not sure what, but something more, and she’s extremely unhappy about it.

I consider broaching the subject a couple of times during the afternoon, but decide I absolutely shouldn’t. Any conversations about us should be between her and Marcus. I wish that I could reiterate to her how much her father loves her but it would obviously be beyond presumptuous to interfere in their relationship.

It’s fairly hectic in the café, leaving very little time to think; it’s all just reacting, and it’s only midway through the afternoon during a little lull when it occurs to me that I’ve probably been very, very stupid and very kind of up myself in thinking that Marcus would continue seeing me when his daughter feels like this. And that victorious look she shot at me when she arrived should obviously have told me something. As should the fact that he didn’t even glance at me when he dropped her off.

Marcus is clearly going to tell me that he can’t see me any more.

I look over at Ruby, her teenage-thin arms balancing a heavy tray, a look of concentration on her face as she carries it to the kitchen. She’s wearing immaculately applied eye make-up – YouTube tutorials (or is it TikTok now) have created a generation of girls who are way more sophisticated with make-up than we were at their age – and could pass for twenty. She isn’t twenty, though, she’s fourteen, and I’m guessing she doesn’t want to think her father will have a relationship outside being parent to her and Sam.

And I’m also guessing from both their demeanours that he probably won’t be having such a relationship. Not with me, anyway.

It’s a struggle getting through the rest of the afternoon but eventually we’ve cleared everything up – still in near-silence – and Ruby leaves. I’m hugely relieved to finally be able to go upstairs to my flat to sit at my table, stare at the wall opposite and allow tears to roll down my cheeks.

I’m so stupid. So stupid.

I can’t believe I listened to Marcus’s ‘it isn’t you, it’s her, you’re really lovable’ chat. Blatantly I’m not that lovable.

Actually, no. It isn’t about me being unlovable, it’s about him putting his kids first. I should remember that.