Her chin came up. ‘Believe me, I did not plan it. I did not plan any of it.’
‘What makes you think he’s mine?’
‘You’re the only person I slept with at the time. The last person I slept with actually.’
‘Do you expect me to believe that simply because you say so?’
‘Well, yes. But it doesn’t matter. I have photos,’ she said, twisting slightly to rummage around in her bag before extracting her phone and fiddling with it for a moment. ‘Here.’ She walked over to him and held out the device. ‘Take a look. Swipe left. There are lots.’
For a moment Finn stared at the phone as if it were a live grenade. His heart hammered against his ribs. He went hot, then cold. He wanted to look. He didn’t want to look. He didn’t know what he wanted, but it didn’t seem to matter because, with a hand that wasn’t entirely steady, he was reaching for the phone anyway and lowering his gaze, and one glance at the screen was enough to detonate what remained of an already shattered life. Because the baby in the photo, with his shock of thick, dark hair, laughing blue eyes, and rosy, chubby cheeks was the spitting image of him at a similar age.
The blow of recognition winded him so hard he couldn’t breathe. The floor tipped beneath his feet and his knees nearly gave way. But somehow he remained upright and somehow he managed to blindly swipe through the pictures that followed, the overwhelming sense of familiarity intensifying with every passing second.
The truth of the child’s parentage was undeniable.
Which meant that he was a father.
A violent rush of emotion rocked though him then, tangling up with the issues surrounding his own parentage and his feelings about Jim and Alice, which he couldn’t even begin to unravel. And quite suddenly, out of the hot, bubbling chaos roared a protective instinct he didn’t know he had and a clamouring primitive need to claim what was his above all else.
He could forget for now that Georgie had kept the existence of this child from him. He could ignore the myriad questions bombarding his head, adding to the confusion and turmoil. There’d be time for explanations and answers and analysis later. Right now he wanted—no, needed—to see his son.
‘Where is he?’ he said, handing her phone back and knowing the images on it would remain imprinted on his memory for ever.
‘With a friend.’
‘Take me to him.’
She stared at him for a moment, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘Now?’
‘I’ve missed all six months of my son’s life,’ he said, his jaw tightening and his tone chilly as he thought briefly of how much she’d denied him even if he didn’t yet understand it. ‘I don’t intend to miss a moment longer. So yes, Georgie. Now.’
* * *
In an ideal world, Georgie would have chosen to introduce Finn to his son on neutral territory, such as a park or a café, or, really, anywhere other than the dingy bedsit she now called home. However, she hadn’t thought it wise to suggest they wait until morning. Once he’d recovered from the shock, Finn’s stunned disbelief had very obviously turned to simmering anger, and why would she want to provoke that?
Sitting in the passenger seat of the top-of-the-range car that he was driving through the dark streets of the city and feeling the tension still radiating off him in great waves, Georgie could understand his animosity and resentment. From his point of view, she’d deliberately kept her pregnancy and his son from him. She’d denied him key moments in Josh’s life. He didn’t know that she hadn’t even realised she’d been pregnant until she’d given birth. He didn’t know that, subsequently caught in the terrifying grip of post-partum psychosis, she hadn’t had the capacity to track him down. Nor did he know that as soon as she’d recovered enough to be able to make a choice about what to do next, she’d gone about rectifying that.
Nevertheless, despite Finn’s stony silence and tightly leashed displeasure, she was glad she’d managed to find him, and unbelievably relieved that he appeared to want to be involved. His reaction to her blurted revelation could have gone either way. They barely knew each other. When they’d originally met it had been all about the sex. Neither had been looking for an in-depth character analysis of the other and, while she had felt an odd sense of connection, conversation had been sparse. So, upon hearing about Josh, Finn could easily have simply handed her phone back, told her he wasn’t interested and thrown her out. But he hadn’t, and for that she was inordinately grateful.
She was also more than a little nervous, she had to admit as she laced her fingers tightly in her lap while her stomach began to churn. At the moment he looked to be too busy absorbing the shock of fatherhood to question why it had taken her so long to contact him, but there’d come a point when he’d ask. And when he did, what would she say? He didn’t seem the sort to be satisfied with a vague ‘it’s been a busy time’ kind of explanation, yet she’d never told anyone the full extent of what she’d been through, not even Carla.
So should she tell him? As Josh’s father, he deserved to know the whole unvarnished story, and as part of her recovery it had been recommended she share it. But if she did, what would he think? What would he do? There were so many possible outcomes to this thing she’d set in motion, she thought, her stomach knotting as she stared out into the damp night. Some she could only hope for, some she dreaded, some remained unknown.
But one thing was certain.
While she couldn’t avoid telling Finn the truth for ever, she could at least put it off until he actually asked. Maybe even beyond that. She didn’t have to share it all now. And so, until the moment of reckoning came, until she had no option but to confess all and hope for the best, she was saying nothing.
* * *
If Finn had been asked to describe the route he’d just driven or name the neighbourhood in which he now found himself he’d have drawn a blank. The moment he’d registered the fact that he was on his way to meet his son, everything had become a blur, a great maelstrom of emotions and thoughts that he could barely absorb, let alone process. He’d had to shut down in order to be able to concentrate on driving and that was how he’d remained during the entire half-hour journey.
Now, however, as he stood in a room that was smaller than his en-suite bathroom yet apparently incorporated a bedroom, kitchen and living area, his brain was waking up and his senses were returning. He could hear the sink tap dripping rhythmically. The musty smell of damp invaded his nostrils. Behind him, the door opened and then closed behind the friend he distantly recalled being introduced to as Carla Blake, who’d been minding Josh while Georgie pitched up on his doorstep and exploded a world already off kilter.
Yet his focus was all on the cot in the corner and the child lying within it.
As he slowly walked towards it, his pulse pounded and his mouth went dry. He gripped the top rail, his knuckles white, and looked down. At the sight of the baby, lying on his back with his chubby arms out and his tiny hands curled into loose fists, his breath caught and his chest clenched.
‘Do you want to pick him up?’ he hear