Page 131 of The Sunrise Sisterhood

‘Clare?’ Adam studied his daughter’s face while she grabbed bits of him: his lips, his ear, tufts of hair.

‘I’m so sorry.’ It felt as if the blood had drained from her body. One tiny gust of wind and she’d collapse.

‘I’m her dad?’ Adam spoke the words slowly, almost under his breath. ‘He said I’m her dad?’

She nodded. Her heart was thrashing against her ribs; this was a disaster. ‘It’s true.’

He stared at her, uncomprehendingly. ‘Ivy is mine? I’m a father? And all this time you let me believe it was someone else?’

‘I was going to tell you.’ She swallowed. ‘Tonight in fact. That’s why Skye is babysitting, so we can talk properly.’

‘I can’t take this in. I tried to ask you about him when we were at the beach, I gave you loads of opportunities to tell me.’ He shook his head, the look of confusion on his face made her feel nauseous. ‘And yet you said nothing.’

‘I know, I know.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘I wanted to, but I needed to know what sort of a person I would be letting into her life. I thought we should all get to know each other first.’

Adam gave a huff of disgust. ‘So you could just spring it on me like a big surprise. Is this some sort of weird power game to you?’

‘No!’ she cried. ‘Not at all.’

He held Ivy close, inhaling her baby smell as if imprinting it into his memory. ‘It feels like it to me. And I’m not here to be played, Clare. This was a shitty thing to do. Really shitty.’

He brushed his lips to Ivy’s cheek and handed her back to Clare, waiting until she’d got a grip around the little girl’s body with her good arm. And then he turned to go.

‘Is that it?’ Clare said, feeling the tears running down her face. ‘You’re walking away from us?’

He whirled round and Clare was shocked to see that his eyes were moist too. ‘Do not put this on me. This is your doing, Clare, yours.’

Clare watched him walk away until he’d disappeared from view, sobbing silently so as not to alarm her daughter. She couldn’t very well argue with that, could she. Because it was true. It was her doing. All of it.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Liz

The house was quiet. Liz was alone. Jesse had left and the girls had gone out with Ivy for a walk. It had been weeks since Clemency House had had just her in it.

She flopped down on her bed, relishing the softness of her mattress, exhausted from the tensions of the day. What was that line from A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream? Something about what a tangled web we weave, when something-something to deceive? Whatever the words were, she was in agreement with Shakespeare. Secrets, lies, disappointments, discoveries. Who knew so much could happen during one executive business lunch? At least the lobster was a triumph.

She could swing for Mike, she really could. She finally saw him for what he really was, a selfish, self-centred lothario who’d put his own vanity before love for his children and grandchild. And to think she’d wasted all those years lusting after him. What a tosser. Harriet was welcome to him.

And the money he’d asked her to pay back. Even that had been part of a bigger deception. He hadn’t wanted a paper trail for the New York tickets, otherwise the expense would have shown up in the financial statement he’d no doubt have to produce for the divorce proceedings. She was annoyed with him about many things, but in the end, him requesting the repayment of the loan had worked in her favour. Skye, Clare and Ivy being here had filled the house with happiness again.

Right now, she couldn’t imagine Mike ever having that sort of relationship with his two girls.

She’d never had sisters, but she understood what sisterhood meant. She’d stood by and watched as Mike had loved and left first Jen, then Frankie and now Nilla. She’d picked up the fragments of Jen’s broken heart, gathered Clare into her arms and done her utmost to heal them.

‘I always loved you more, Jen,’ she said aloud. ‘He was right on your wedding day when he said he wasn’t good enough for you. You deserved better than him. I still miss you so much. I wish … I wish …’

Wishing Jen was still here wasn’t going to help; the words choked her throat and tears began to leak from her eyes. Grief enveloped her, tightening its grip around her chest as it had done time and again since Jen had died. She felt the return of the urge to drink which she’d been fighting so hard against for the last few weeks. Marta had said that her driver was to escape from comparing herself to others. And this was Liz’s: her love for Jen. When Jen had lost her life in that car crash, a void had opened up in Liz’s and she’d used alcohol to fill it. The world accepted grief for family members, for spouses, but nobody had recognised the depths of Liz’s grief for Jen. She might have been ‘just a friend’, but to Liz she was the most important person in her world.

She was reaching for a tissue to dry her eyes when her phone rang.

She glanced at the caller ID: it was Viv. She contemplated ignoring the call, but remembered the bookings that had been cancelled today and wondered if she knew anything about it.

‘What did you expect?’ Viv snapped when Liz asked her.

‘I don’t know what you mean?’ she replied, stunned.

Viv gave a steely laugh. ‘Pinching Patrick Delmarge from me like that. So underhand. And after all I’ve done for you.’