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So definitely more like an interview, then.
My finger hovers above the keyboard, wondering how to reply. What do you say to the man who possibly walked out on your pregnant mother, and who now seems to think a nice cup of coffee will make it all better?
Maybe I should call him? Maybe that would be easier than some back-and-forth on WhatsApp, where I won’t be able to hear his voice, or figure out if he’s telling the truth? And it would definitely be easier than an awkward coffee date; especiallyconsidering that The Wildcat is the only place that serves decent coffee around here, and that’s the verylastplace I want to go.
(Okay, it’s not. Emerald View is the very last place I want to go. Wherever Jett and Violet are is the very last place I want to go. But I’m going to have to go there, anyway. Just as soon as I figure out what to do about Lochlan Bell and his message.)
I’ve almost decided to make the call when the phone suddenly bursts into life in my hand, Mum’s name flashing up on the display.
“Lexie,” she says tearfully as soon as I answer. “Lexie, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be angry with me. If I’d thought for a second that something like this might happen, I would never in a million years have… But I didn’t know you were going to be famous! Bewithsomeone famous, rather.You’renot really famous, are you? Well, not other than for that ‘bawbag’ thing, which, honestly, Lexie, was really crude. I couldn’t believe it when I saw the video. I thought I raised you better than—”
“Mum,” I interrupt, having to raise my voice to cut through her stream-of-consciousness. “Slow down. What are you sorry about? Other than everything you just said about me being crude, obviously?”
“Lexie, darling,” she says breathily, which is a sure sign she’s done something that’s going to upset me. I’m only ever “darling” when she knows she’s in the wrong. The rest of the time I’m just plain Lexie; unlessI’min the wrong, in which case I’m addressed by my full name, Alexandra.
This morning I’m Lexiedarling.
This can’t be good.
“It’s this man who says he’s your father,” she says, confirming my suspicions. “He called me.”
“Lochlan Bell?” I struggle into a sitting position, wishing she’d at least waited until I was sufficiently caffeinated before hittingme with this. “He calledyou? But why? And how did he even get your number?”
“That’s just it,” says Mum, in a panicked tone. “It’s not Lochlan Bell, Lexie. It’s Alan Reynolds. He’s… well, he’s an old ex of mine. That’s how he got my number. And the thing is, there’s a chancehecould be your father.”
***
“The strangest thing about it is that his name’sAlan.”
I’m Facetiming Summer from the bathroom, while I put my makeup on. I picked up a couple of things in the shop on my way home yesterday, forgoing the wine and chocolate I’d gone in for in favor of cheap mascara from a brand I’ve never heard of, and a lipstick that comes out suspiciously purple.
“I just can’t imagine Mum with a guy calledAlan,” I go on, wiping my lips on a tissue. They remain purple.Excellent.
“But youcanimagine her with a Lochlan?”
Summer is being remarkably calm about all of this. Okay, she did scream a lot when I told her there was not one, but two potential fathers on the scene. But she’s only said, “Oh my God, Oh myGod,” about 5 times, and she hasn’t asked about Jett at all, which I guess is something.
“I’d prefer not to think of her with anyone,” I tell her now, closing my makeup bag. “I feel like this is an experience most daughters don’t have to have, you know? Okay, not everyone knows their dad; I get that. But I’ve gone from having no dad to having two, and it’s just… at least one of them has to be wrong.”
Orlying.
Because that’s always a possibility, too.
“I guess there’s only one way to find out,” says Summer lightly. “You’re going to have to get them both to do DNA tests. It’s the only way, Lexie. I’d try to do it soon, if I were you. Before…”
“Before anyone else comes out of the woodwork claiming to be a former lover of Samantha Steele, and potential father of her child?” I ask wryly. “It’s like the weirdest Whodunnit in the world.”
“On the plus side,” says Summer thoughtfully, “You have an excellent plot for a soap opera now. Maybe you could try selling the network rights? Hey, I wonder who would play you?”
The conversation is getting dangerously close to Jett and his world now (Plus, it seems pretty obvious I’d have to play myself, because who else could possibly do it?), so I tell her I’ll call her later, and quickly sign off.
I told Mum I’d come round and talk to her about this Alan of hers. But I also have to figure out what to say to Lochlan; a task which suddenly seems ten times more complicated now that he’s no longer the only possible dad on the block. Oh, and I have to go to work. And give McTavish back his car and his phone. And make sure Violet doesn’t see me.
Once again, I find myself wishing Jett was here, to tell me which of these things to do first. Or just to put his arms around me and tell me he’s here for me.
I think this is the worst thing of all about our breakup; the fact that I have to do all of this alone now. I remember the last time Jett was here; Mum was in hospital, Scarlett was writing shit about me in her paper, there were tons of photographers camped outside my door every day… and yet, somehow, crazy and surreal as all of that was, it still seemed so much easier thanthis. Because Jett was with me. Jett, holding my hand in the car on the way to the hospital. Jett, pushing through a crowd of fans to come to my rescue when one of them elbowed me in the face. Just… Jett, really.
Everything about him made everything about me seem better, somehow. And now there’s just me, trying to go it alone, and messing up every step of the way.
