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20
CERYS
“The poor guycomes all the way here to see you and you leave him with your daughter, why?” asks Phoebe.
“He came to see Ella, not me,” I reply, unscrewing the lid from the longed-for wine bottle. Until everyone leaves, I don’t want to talk to Liam. I hope he realises how much the gossip mongers will love this and wonder why the hell he doesn’t care about press attention. Liam recently walked away on his wedding day—people will follow him.
I knock back a glass of wine. The three mums remain rooted in the lounge—only their kids remain now, so they have no excuse to be here. No excuse apart from the man under their scrutiny.
“Isn’t it nice of Uncle Liam to visit you on your birthday?” I announce loudly, taking the party bags to the mums.
“Oh, is he your uncle?” asks Julie, a deceptively friendly woman with short blonde hair who I know is the centre of gossip in the group.
Ella doesn’t respond; engrossed with Liam who sits on the floor next to Ella, politely focusing on the new books she shows him. Again, his natural ease around my daughter strikes me as odd for someone who barely interacts with kids.
“Anyway! It’s getting late and I need to tidy up.” I announce, handing out the bags to nearby children with brick-like subtlety.
Once I hurry them out of the door, I turn my attention back to the kitchen where Phoebe stands with her glass of wine. She watches me as I shovel half-eaten food from the kitchen counter into a bag.
“Ella’s not Liam’s, is she?” she whispers.
“No! Jesus, Phoebe. I’ve never had sex with the man. We’re friends.”
Phoebe sips her wine, but looks doubtfully over the top of her wine glass. “Then why are you behaving oddly?”
“I’m worried people will think the same as you. Did you see the expression on Julie’s face?”
“The three witches? They’ll have the news all over Facebook tonight. I hope they didn’t take pictures.”
“Crap, I never thought about that.”
“Liam couldn’t take his eyes off you, Cerys,” she says quietly. “When everyone was busy and you were with Ella, I saw how he looked at you.”
“What do you mean?” I pause in my tidying.
“I mean, this man came to see you, not your daughter.”
“I doubt that,” I mumble.
“I know, none of my business.” She drains her glass. “I guess from your cagey behaviour you have something to talk to him about. I’ll leave you in peace.”
Phoebe walks out of the kitchen and claps her hands, calling her son, Jordan. The brown haired boy sits on the sofa devouring the contents of his party bag. Grasping the plastic bag in his hand, he waves at the distracted Ella and leaves with his mum. Not before Phoebe blows me a kiss and indicates Liam with her head.
This leaves me, Liam, Ella, and a lot of unanswered questions.
I retreat to the kitchen as the front door closes and pour another glass of wine, ignoring the remaining mess of party aftermath. Sentences run through my head as I plan what I’ll say when he inevitably walks into the room. I’m dazed that he came here but also can’t leave the frustration that he never contacted me. I need to close Liam out; he can’t do this to us again.
The noise of the TV travels through to the kitchen, and a few moments later, Liam walks into the confined space.
The man who re-entered my life at Christmas holds a presence I’m sure affects other girls as well as me. Especially if he looks at them with the misplaced affection I see in Liam’s eyes. I’m unused to men with so many tattoos, especially across biceps like his. I don’t hold his gaze but stare at his long fingers, the ones that touched and caressed me so gently. If I look at his arms, I can avoid looking at his face and the mouth I remember on mine.
Liam steps closer.
Crap.
I turn to gather half-empty paper plates and throw them in a white bag.
“How are you, Cerys?” His Welsh accent holds an edge of American, the amusing drawl he used around Ella at Christmas to make her laugh.
