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But then what? I’d have a little girl who didn’t know me from Adam wanting to know what the fuck happened to the mother she loved. And for some reason, I didn’t doubt for one second that Francesca was loved by our kid. Something told me she was an excellent mum. Maybe even the best.
And who knew what kind of dad I’d be?
As much as I hated it, Jagger was right about that too.
Fuck.
“Speaking of estranged fathers, have you heard from yours lately?”
I frowned and looked up. Jagger might have been my best friend, but he wasn’t given to asking after the man he knew I hated most. “Henry Parker is not my dad.”
“Well, since yours passed, your uncle’s the next best thing, no?”
I grimaced and forked a big bite of pie to avoid answering. Jagger knew exactly how I felt about my uncle and steward of my father’s estate. Henry Parker had moved right in after his brother’s untimely death. At first, I’d been happy to let him do it. I didn’t belong there, no matter how hard my father tried in the end. And the rest of the estate’s denizens always let me know it.
“Anyway, there’s news from Kendal, my friend.”
I rolled my eyes. “How much do they want now?”
“Didn’t say. Just that he’s been trying to reach you, and you’re giving him the cold shoulder.”
“My uncle actually called? Not his secretary or that idiot who wants to be his fourth wife?”
Jagger just shook his head. “The man himself. Didn’t say what about, but I can see you know.”
I huffed and swirled my pint glass around, watching the amber liquid slip down the sides. “He’s been trying to bring me in for a while.”
At that, Jagger nearly fell out of his seat. “In? As in back to Kendal and parliament and—”
“I don’t know,” I cut him off. “And honestly, I don’t give a fuck. Just like I didn’t give a fuck four years ago. Maybe he’s getting old and wants to make up for being a complete arse when Dad died. I don’t really care anymore.”
“Yeah, but…” Jagger trailed off, like he was trying to figure things out. “He’s still family, yeah?”
I swallowed guiltily. Jagger was an orphan, raised in a series of group homes in Croydon. We’d met when he was staying with a couple living across the street from Mum and had kept in touch even after he’d been moved again.
I wouldn’t have wished my friend’s life on anyone, but I wasn’t sure having a bloodsucking uncle constantly after you was any better. My dad’s people had proven time and time again they weren’t better than the end of a cigarette butt. Whatever soul-searching Henry Parker was doing these days, I wasn’t interested. He wanted a blessing before he died? He could visit a minister. I had more important things to do.
“He calls again, you tell him to fuck off,” I said. “Just like that.”
“Errrr…” Jagger looked like that was the very last thing he wanted to do, especially to someone like Henry Parker.
“Just do it,” I said. “I’m unavailable for the next six months, at least. I’ve got a new restaurant to open. And a daughter to meet.”
