“Fucking hell, what is the matter with everyone?” Tristan asked. “I was talking about a hot woman that I’m sure all of us around this table would happily bang. Why am I in the firing line?”
“Why do you make every relationship between a man and a woman about sex, Tristan?” I asked. “It’s like you never grew up past fifteen.”
Tristan looked as if I’d slapped him. I instantly felt bad.
“Sorry,” I said. “I got draft divorce papers by email this morning.”
The obligatory I’m sorrys followed and I nodded as if their condolences helped. It was just good to be with people who knew me.
“What has she asked for?” Dexter asked. “Can you say yes to it to get it over with?”
“Nothing,” I replied. “She wants nothing—not her daughter, not her husband, and not any of his money.” That’s what I’d assumed when she’d first gone. That she’d been a gold-digger all along. I’d been stupid enough to be in love and hadn’t bothered to ask for a postnuptial agreement to protect what I’d inherited from my father. But when she didn’t ask for anything during the legal separation, I’d started to wonder why she’d left. I’d never come up with an answer.
It was like Bethany and I had been some huge mistake she’d rather just pretend never happened.
Erasing me from her past was one thing, but her daughter? Her own flesh and blood? Penelope was abominable.
“You know what I think?” Joshua said, his voice brightening. “It’s about bloody time. It’s not like you’d take her back anyway, is it?”
“Of course not.” That ship had sailed the moment she’d walked out without discussion or explanation. And anyway, she wasn’t about to come back. She hadn’t been in contact other than through her solicitor since she left. Each special occasion after she’d abandoned her daughter, I braced myself for a phone call, a letter, even a surprise appearance. But every birthday, Christmas, and milestone passed in silence. She’d disappeared. And now she was just a ghost. Not even a memory for Bethany.
“Have you met Gabriel?” Andrew asked. “He’s hardly the guy dishing out second chances to anyone who turns up on his doorstep.”
“So, it’s good,” Joshua continued. “This way, you can move on.”
“I’ve moved on already. What choice did I have?”
“You’ve put one foot in front of the other,” Joshua said. “That’s not moving on. That’s surviving.”
Joshua liked to think he gave tough love—so he called it. I called it bullshit. “Whatever, Joshua.”
“I’m saying this for your own good,” Joshua said.
“So, what in your learned opinion would constitute moving on as opposed to surviving?” I asked.
“I’m saying you need to get out and fuck another woman.”
I’d been given this talk by the guys before. Hollie had tried to set me up with a girl she’d met at a photoshoot. People didn’t understand—I wasn’t going to date. Maybe not ever but certainly not until Bethany was grown. I wouldn’t subject her to it. I clearly didn’t have good judgement when it came to choosing a woman. I’d gotten Penelope so wrong. Even when she left, it wasn’t as if I suddenly understood who she was and why things hadn’t worked out. Even three years later, she had the ability to surprise me by not asking for anything from me financially.
I didn’t like surprises. And I wouldn’t risk more. I’d had enough to last a lifetime.
“Thanks for the advice, Joshua.”
“He’s got a point,” Dexter said.
Autumn had been the only woman I’d even thought about since Penelope. I didn’t know what it was, but something about her drew me in. She was beautiful—that went without saying. She was bright and sunny and saw life how I’d like to see it—all birdsong and fresh mountain air. But there was more to her than that. Her reaction to those theatre tickets had been proof. It was as if she was trying to out-sing some dark melody forever playing in the background of her life.
“Gabriel’s a lost cause,” Tristan said. “But Autumn shouldn’t be. I don’t see why I can’t have her number.”
“You haven’t got a chance, mate,” Dexter said.
I couldn’t have put it better myself.
“How the hell would you know?” Tristan asked.
“Because when Hollie told her not to go near you, she burst out laughing and said you weren’t her type.”
Warmth settled in my gut. And I desperately wanted to know what Autumn had said when Hollie had warned her off me.
“Bullshit,” Tristan spat. “She was just covering it up well.”
Something told me Dexter wasn’t lying. Tristan wasn’t Autumn’s type.
But I was beginning to wonder whether I was.
Seven
Gabriel
All the signs were there—the whiny voice, the hands balled into fists, and the clock about to strike seven thirty. We were about to enter Planet Meltdown.
“Where is he, Daddy?”
“I don’t know, darling. What about Audrey?” I asked, holding up a faded grey donkey who had seen better days.