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‘I do, Dad.’ I want to be free. ‘And I want you to speak to Nate.’
He’s quiet again and I let the silence hang between us, pressing.
‘Okay,’ he says eventually. ‘I’ll try.’
‘Don’t just try—make him come clean. You’re his father, for Christ’s sake, he never should have lied to you in the first place.’
‘No... I know.’
And there’s something in the way he says ‘I know’—guilt—that has me wanting more. I almost tell him that he should look at himself, too, to see why Nate was driven to do what he did, but I don’t dare. I hope that in talking to each other it will come out anyway, and he’ll shoulder his part in all of this.
It’s a start, and it’s as good a time as any to cut the call before he can backtrack. ‘I have to go.’
‘Evangeline, wait.’
‘What is it?’
‘Your brother gets back next week. We thought a family dinner would be nice.’
‘Will you speak to Nate before that?’ I ask, too eager to stop myself.
‘Perhaps not before, but after—when the time is right.’
I want to ask exactly when he thinks that might be, but my dad is not a man to be pressed and I’ve already done plenty of that.
‘When are you thinking of for dinner?’
‘Friday—a kind of welcome home and pre-Christmas planning session. You know how your mother loves to plan for the festivities.’
I smile. It’s instinctive. I love Christmas. I love my mother’s obsession with it. And I love my family, no matter how they rile me. And now I have my father’s assurance that he will talk to Nate I feel lighter, almost happy.
‘Sure. I’ll see you then.’
I hang up and head to the door just as someone raps on it. ‘Yes?’
Clare walks in, eyes wide.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Erm...you’re free this weekend, right?’
‘Aside from some Christmas shopping I have planned, yes. Why?’
‘Great, that’s all I need to know.’
Lucas strides in as he speaks. Lucas.
‘Thanks, Clare.’
He’s dismissing my PA and I’m on another plane, I swear to God. My eyes rake over him, my brain disengaging over the mere sight of him. He’s wearing a dark blue suit, his white shirt tie-free and distractingly open at the collar.
The door clicks shut. We’re alone and there’s so much I want to do with that—none of it conducive to work.
And didn’t I just tell Dad I’m doing this for work? For work and to fix the past.
Liar.
‘It’s good to see you.’
