Page 58
Two years, three months ago
One year, nine months until Hattie’s engagement party
Finn jangled a set of house keys as they stepped out of Brighton train station, the air warm and bright around them. He didn’t even realize he was doing it until Mel clasped a hand around his to make him stop.
“Sorry,” he said, letting the keys fall back into his jeans pocket. “It’s just—don’t ask him about the past, okay?”
“No problem. I’ll steer clear of Harry, my childhood pet spider.”
He raked a hand through his hair, dodging a woman with a twin pram who was somehow also trying to juggle ice cream. “I mean it, Mel.”
Mel linked her arm through his, and the feel of her against his side settled him a little. “Finn, give me some credit. I’m not going to start asking him why he cheated on his wife, if that’s what you’re worried about. I do have some tact.”
“Right. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just I barely even see my dad and…” He trailed off, not quite sure what he was trying to say. They turned right at the bottom of the road, toward the line of flats where his dad lived. You could see the pebbly shore from here, along with a glimpse of the pier, which would no doubt be packed on a day like today.
“Finn,” Mel said firmly. “I’m not going to judge you on your dad’s actions. I know you. Nothing your dad does or says is going to change that.”
He stopped walking, looking down at her.
“What?” she asked, reaching up to pat her hair a little self-consciously.
He shook his head. “It’s just…” But he couldn’t explain what it meant that she just got it. So instead he slipped his arms around her, leaning in to kiss her. The taste of her both settled him and worked him up, the way it always did.
“I love you,” he said as he pulled away.
She grinned up at him, her black hair gleaming a little in the sun. “I love you too. Now stop distracting me and let’s go meet your maker.”
He linked his fingers through hers as they walked up to the entrance of the flats. “Is that the right way to use that phrase?”
“Not really sure. Feels appropriate, though.”
He glanced down at her as he pressed the buzzer to number 7. “Did you really have a pet spider called Harry?”
She nodded somberly. “My first love. He lived under my bookcase and I tried to feed him cheese. I was so upset when he died.”
“Right. Not an actual pet, then, just a random spider you found and tried to win over with unsuitable dairy products.”
“Well, it was the closest thing to a pet I was allowed, sooo…”
His dad’s voice came through the intercom. “Come on up!” The door buzzed, and Finn held it open for Mel.
“Would you want a pet?” They’d not quite built up to talking about kids yet, but pets…He reckoned they might be able to handle it.
“Of course. One day. But it feels a bit unfair to have a pet in a London flat, doesn’t it? Especially when I’m out a lot.”
Right. Because she was set up to live in London for the foreseeable—whereas he was still moving around. “Depends on the pet, I suppose,” he mused.
“True. I bet I could fit ten Harrys under my bookcase, easy.”
“And I’m sure Priya would love that.”
Mel snorted out a laugh as Finn’s dad opened the door to number 7. His face was a little sun-weathered, as if he’d spent too long on the Brighton beaches, and his hair was thinner than Finn remembered it being last time. He still had the same smile, though—Finn’s smile, so he was told—and he still looked in great shape.
He clapped Finn on the back, then beamed at Mel. “The famous Melanie!”
She did a sort of curtsy, which made his dad laugh, and Finn rolled his eyes at her. She only grinned at him. He knew she was nervous—but she was hiding it well. For his sake, he knew.
His dad ushered them into his flat, which was the same as Finn remembered from when he’d last visited, over a year ago. His dad had lived here for a couple of years—rented, not owned—and the place still screamed bachelor pad. A sleek, modern kitchen gave way to a minimalist living room, with an entertainment center as the focal point. There was one sofa and a glass coffee table with a book on gardening landscapes sitting there—slightly pointless given the lack of garden. There was, however, a balcony, where two metal chairs sat looking out at the pebbly pitch, Brighton pier visible in all its glory.
