How Good It Was, page 22
Willow looked at the clock. Luke should be wrapping up his early-afternoon session in the next few minutes. She’d offered to go with him, to wait at a nearby coffee shop while he had his appointment, but he’d been pretty clear.
He needed to do this step alone, and he’d wanted the time on the tram home to process his thoughts.
Instead, she’d focused on what she could control. The bathroom shone. She’d found a whole heap of content on Shamaze by content creators whose entire platform was house cleaning. The bedding in the bedroom was changed. And she’d found a whole new appreciation for taking care of what was hers. In Malibu, they’d had a housekeeper, but there was a simple satisfaction in making the apartment look nice for when he got home.
She’d tried to call her mom. Again. Five times since she’d gotten back from Mallorca. Luke’s powerful honesty had reminded her that she needed to be honest with her family. And that included talking to her mom about what was going on. It would fester forever if she didn’t know how much her mom knew, or didn’t ask her to take her side.
As she put the ingredients she’d bought for dinner into the fridge, her phone rang, and she glanced at it hoping it was her, but it wasn’t.
“Hi, Sasha. What’s up?”
“I wish I was the bearer of better news, but I received a torrent of legal suits against you from your father. He’s contesting the freeze placed on all your funds and his until this is resolved. He’s suing you for breach of contract. Apparently, in the depths of your legal contract with him, it says you need to give him twelve months’ notice. He wants paying for last month and this, plus emotional damages and a whole bunch of other bullshit.”
Willow placed a hand on her bump and rubbed it in circles. “I expected him to be angry. But I honestly thought he’d negotiate. I didn’t expect him to go on the attack.”
“They’ve asked to see everything you have. I think it’s a reach on their part while they try to figure out how much you actually know. I’ve just reiterated our line all along. That they need to assume that anything in the office of the house we are contesting is yours, is known.”
“I don’t want to negotiate or share a single thing we don’t need to, at this point. Let’s just proceed with legal action. There’s precedent for cases like this, right?”
“There is. Parents have been siphoning child actors’ money since the start of film. But in your case, we have to untangle a few things. Your dad’s egregious management contract that you signed before you were old enough to know what you were signing is separate to his responsibilities as a parent to look after your income. Could you look through all those records you have? Specifically email. I know you’ve already sent me everything you thought was relevant. But send me everything. Double-check the emails between your dad and the accountant to look for language about how best to siphon and filter money. I want to make sure we nail all of those who are complicit.”
Willow sighed. “How long does something like this go on for?”
“I don’t want to mislead you here, it could be a couple of years.”
Willow thought about the baby. Did she want to be dealing with this with a newborn? But there was much money at risk. “What if we decided an amount of money I’d be willing to settle for? See if he’ll take it?”
“I mean, is it possible to have some kind of without prejudice meeting whereby we flesh him out, sure. But your dad’s lawyers have made it clear that he feels there is no case to answer to. And the tone is exceptionally vigorous given the stage we are at with the suit. My gut tells me, if we offer something less than our original starting amount, they’ll smell blood in the water.”
She sighed and wandered to the small coffee table and lit a couple of the candles she’d put on there. “Fair point. I was just thinking of the baby, when it comes in November and being in the middle of all this.”
“How are you feeling, by the way? How are things with you and Luke?”
Thoughts of Luke made her smile. The way he’d taken her that morning. “I’m feeling great. It’s a boy. Everything is healthy. And Luke and I are headed down an unexpected path.”
“You didn’t need the contract?”
“No, I did. But having it gave us time to get to know one another. And that’s been . . . more than I hoped for.”
“Listen, I know you are a client. But I find it hard to not want to tell you to be careful with your heart, because too many people have taken advantage of it.”
“I know. You’re right. But this isn’t what you think. The more I learn about Luke, the more I see who he is.”
“And who is he?”
“Someone who just needs to be loved.”
“Maybe it’s the lawyer in me, but that sounds a bit motherhood and apple pie.”
Willow shrugged. “Maybe.” Keys rattled in the lock. “Luke just got home. Did you need anything else?”
“Just another look through all those emails. Perhaps even pop them all into the folder I set up so we can scrutinise them too.”
“Will do.”
“Take care of yourself, Willow.”
She placed her phone down on the coffee table just as Luke came through the door. He looked drawn and windswept. “Hey,” she said, walking over to him.
“Come here,” he said, tugging her to him and sliding his arms around her fully until their bodies were flush. His hands spanned her back as his mouth sought the side of her neck. “I missed you both,” he muttered against her skin before pressing kisses along her shoulder.
But instead of them turning sexual, he dropped his forehead to her shoulder and breathed.
She stroked his back, catching sight of their reflection in the window. His large frame wrapped around her. Their breathing synchronised. Slow breaths in, long exhales.
Finally, he stood and cupped her cheeks.
“How was it?” she asked.
“I feel like I lost a layer of skin, and there’s nothing left holding me together.”
“You don’t need to tell me anything, but I’m here for you if you do.”
His blue eyes focused on hers as if seeking answers she wasn’t sure she held. “I’m glad you’re here. And that I didn’t have to come home to an empty house.” Leaning forward, he brushed his lips against hers. Softly, then deeper.
Was it possible to lose yourself in a kiss?
Yes. It was.
She kept her eyes closed for a couple of seconds after his lips left hers before opening them. “I love the way you kiss me.”
“I love the way you let me. Sit with me,” Luke said, leading her to the sofa. He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “I never realised how depressing this place was before until just now. With the sun shining outside, and the plants in here, and the different spaces, and the cushions and everything. When I said I was glad to come home to you, I meant it. But I also missed the peace I’m finding here now.”
“We did a good job.”
“You’re the ideas woman,” he said, tapping the end of her nose. “I’m just the hired help.”
“You are pretty impressive with a roller, I’ll give you that. And very efficient with paint usage.”
Luke looked out of the window. “Neil said something today, and I’ve thought about it all the way home on the tram.”
“Do you want to share it?”
He looked back to her and rubbed his thumb across her lower lip. “I love how fucking soft your lips get when I kiss you. Makes me want to kiss them all over again.”
Willow smiled. “Neil said that?”
Luke’s shoulders relaxed. “I hope not.”
“Good. But you can kiss them any time you want.”
“Lucky me. But I think that has been part of my problem. Using sex and booze and drugs as a way to numb the way I was really feeling about things, instead of facing the things. And you’re the only person I’ve wanted to face those things with.”
Running her fingers softly through his hair, she smiled. “I feel like the universe created this weird little cosmos where our worlds collided at the perfect time. I don’t know that I believe in fate, but I do feel like things happen for a reason.”
Luke placed his hand on her stomach, a habit he’d gotten into. “So do I. Neil said I need to reset the view I have of Dad and that I need to forgive myself.”
“Do you agree with him?”
Luke chewed on his lower lip for a moment before answering. “He talked about how I’ve been trying to live up to an impossible bar because I’ve basically elevated Dad to sainthood . . . or something like that. Like I’ve created this impossible image of what a dad should be. When I look back at what I did, looking after Izabel from fifteen, when he died, and from seventeen when mum left, I think I did a shit job. And that’ll never be good enough. But actually, I need to think about Dad’s imperfections to remember him fully.”
“Do you remember them?”
“I’ve been wracking my brain on the way home. When I think about it now, he always had a scotch glass in his hand. And I wonder if I’m distorting things in my head. There was one fight Mum and Dad had, and I remember Mum saying she wanted to go out to work, but Dad saying she couldn’t and that she had to stay home with us and that he provided enough for us. And back then, I thought he was such a hero for looking after us all, but maybe he was controlling, at times. I don’t know.”
“And what about forgiving yourself?”
Luke sighed and traced his hand over her hip to her thighs, his palm warm through her yoga pants. “I’m not sure I’m there yet. But he talked about reframing the difference between still being a child myself and being an adult now. And that I need to thank young Luke for all he did instead of berating that part of me for not being good enough.”
Her heart cracked at the uncertainty in his voice. “Do you know what my big accomplishment when I turned seventeen was? Learning how to play Rise of the Tomb Raider because I’d heard a guy I wanted to notice me played it. I spent the entire summer trying to get good so I could talk to him about it in the fall term. But when I tried to impress him with my knowledge, he told me he was playing The Witcher and wasn’t playing Tomb Raider anymore.”
Luke laughed. “Were you any good?”
“Not really. Better than the casual player, but never going to break any records. But what I’m saying is, that is what normal seventeen-year-olds do. You stepped in to fill the void of a dead parent and the ghost of a parent left behind. That teen is a hero, Luke. Even if you made packaged meals, and looked up homework answers on Google, and let Iz stay up two hours later than appropriate, or got late points for not making registration. Neil is right. That child deserves your love and appreciation.”
He threaded his fingers through hers. “Thanks, Will. It . . . feels like a lot to process. Neil said something similar to you. He said his kids are about the age I was, and they moan and complain about everything. Helping out around the house. Doing homework, that kind of shit. And as an adult, I can totally see that. I feel like I can see other people as kids. Like I can visualise you playing video games. I can see Matt and the band as young kids. But for some reason, I can’t see myself as a kid.”
“Because you weren’t allowed to be one. Because you felt like an adult too soon. Do you have any old photographs?”
Luke shook his head. “Mum took them all with her when she left. Let’s go get them. Let’s go down to Brighton.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. I need to talk to her. And she should meet you.”
“You want me to meet your mum. Right now?”
“No, tomorrow. We’ll drive down this afternoon. Stay in a hotel. Then, go see her in the morning.”
“I’m in. But you need to let me do one thing before we go.”
Luke lifted from the sofa with a grunt, her still in his arms. “Fine. Let’s go pack.”
16
“I’m not going to lie,” Luke said, as he parked the Jaguar F-Type in front of his mum’s. “Hiring this instead of taking the van was a genius idea.” He kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”
“Call it a late birthday present.” Willow grinned as she undid her seatbelt. “You deserve some fun, Luke.”
She’d bounced on her toes with excitement when she’d told him what she’d done, and he realised he’d felt special. Which was such a stupid word for a grown-arsed man. But it was true. Willow had done something utterly unexpected, for him, because she’d wanted to ease his burden. It had felt foreign to accept the thoughtful gift. So had feeling . . . treasured.
They’d roared down the motorway listening to classic rock songs, with the windows wide open. He’d sung, she’d tried, and they’d laughed, taking his mind off what they were about to do.
Taking her on every surface in the hotel the night before had also helped.
Now, the loud engine sounded out of place on the small cul-de-sac. Luke killed it, and the sound of cawing seagulls took over.
“Stay where you are,” Luke said, before getting out of the car. He walked around to her door and opened it, before helping her out.
“Thank you,” she said.
“I want to ruin that lipstick of yours,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to her cheek instead.
“You can ruin it when we get back to the hotel.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” She pecked his lips, then ran her thumb over them to remove her gloss.
“Tease.”
“Luke,” his mum cried, and he looked over at the front door of her home. Her dark bob swung as she beamed at him. The smile seemed out of place, his lasting memories of her were of her being sad.
“Mum,” he said. Instead of being happy to see her, he felt the awful grip of panic in his throat. Maybe that was what happened when you decided to confront an absent parent.
“I was so pleased to get your text.” She reached out to hug him, and he stepped awkwardly into her embrace. Even in her boots with a heel, she still only came to his chest. “It’s good to see you.”
Awkwardly, Luke patted her back.
“Come in. Come in. Kevin is… well, your step-dad’s at work.”
Relief flooded him that it was just his mum in the house. “Mum, this is Willow. My girlfriend.”
He was grateful that Willow’s bump wasn’t immediately noticeable.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Bryson.”
“Oh, it’s Mrs. Garrett now. But please, call me Shelley.”
Hearing her use a different name to him, to their father, stung. Anger began to bubble in his chest.
Shelley led them into the house, a cosy bungalow, and gestured to the sofa. “Take a seat and I’ll make a brew. I just made myself one, so the water’s hot.”
“Oh, not for me,” Willow said. “Thank you.”
“Something else? Water? Juice?” Shelley hovered, slightly anxious.
“No, thank you.” Willow sat on the sofa. “We just had breakfast at the hotel, and I’m full.”
“Hotel? You could have stayed here.”
Luke sat down next to Willow. Close to her, so he could feel the warmth of her. “We’re fine, Mum. Won’t be here long.”
Shelley sank into the beige chair opposite them. Had she always seemed so small? “What made you come all the way down here?” she asked.
“Do you have the old photo albums? The ones you made of us all?”
“They’re in the spare bedroom somewhere. I’d have to go look. Did you want something specific?”
“I did. I wanted to see the ones just before Dad died. Like, when we went on that holiday to Benidorm.”
His mum studied him for a moment, as if trying to understand what he was going to do or say next. “Okay.”
Willow reached for his hand and squeezed. “You doing okay?” she whispered.
“Well enough.”
Footsteps on the stairs silenced them, but Willow kept her hand in his until his mum offered him a blue photo album. “I know it’s old-school to still print them out, even by however many years ago it was standards. But I just liked doing it. Not so much now, because Kevin thinks it’s a waste of money with everything digital.”
Luke took it and flipped the album open on a page from their holiday. A month before their dad died.
“That’s my dad.” Who looked healthy and happy in his vest top and board shorts. His mum was smiling, her arm on Izabel’s shoulder. How had he forgotten Izabel had worn braces when her appointments had always been such a pain in his arse? And then himself.
Willow touched the sheet covering the images. “You were so young, Luke,” she gasped. “Look at you. A proper baby face with dimples.”
“I’d just turned eighteen, Will. Not that young. I didn’t even want to be there because I wanted to go away with Matt, but Dad had insisted we celebrate my eighteenth with a holiday instead of a party.”
“I know. But just look. Think about what that teen went through so soon after this trip.”
“Is that why you needed to see them?” his mum asked. Her voice shook with emotion. “Is it because of what happened . . . after?”
“I’m trying to piece things together. What was Dad like?”
Shelley looked confused. “You knew him, Luke.”
“I know, but what was he like, with you, when I wasn’t around?”
She tapped the arm of the chair. “He was a good man. Capable. Self-possessed. Could drink too much sometimes when we were out together. Made him boisterous and loud, usually funny, but sometimes could tip him into stupid.” She smiled softly, staring off into space as she thought. “He loved being physical. Running, play fighting with you, playing footie at the weekend with his mates when he didn’t have a shift. For the most part, he was a good family man.”
“What do you mean, for the most part?”
Shelley snapped back to the moment. “Oh, nothing. He was a good man.”
Luke leaned forward. “I’m serious, Mum. I need to know his flaws too.”
“He was only ever there for the fun stuff. He never took you to your appointments, or made sure your homework got done, or helped out with housework. He believed in gender roles. I was responsible for laundry and cleaning and doing the food shop. And, you know, I was okay with it. Because he kept a roof over our head, and was great when it came to hanging out with you for fun or coming to your games.”
