Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116999 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 585(@200wpm)___ 468(@250wpm)___ 390(@300wpm)
The adults do a better job. I don’t see a single person eyeball us as we walk deeper into the function room, but I feel it. I tell myself it must be psychological, despite the prickles on the back of my neck whenever I turn away from someone…until I lock eyes with Audrey - Rebecca’s mother. Her nostrils flare, pulling her top lip into a snarl, while her stare cuts into me like a dagger.
Instinctively, I drop Laurence’s hand.
“What’s up?” he asks, his tone faltering as if he’s done something wrong. He must follow the direction of my gaze. “Oh. Rebecca.”
“No,” I say, because in fairness to Becca, she hasn’t looked at me yet. Becca’s arms are folded across her chest and her head is bowed. She looks tense and flustered while her mother’s lips yap at a thousand miles per hour with what I can only imagine is vitriol towards me. “Her mum.”
“Do you want to step out for a minute?”
Seeing the resentment deepen the lines around Audrey’s mouth, knowing how much I’ve disappointed the woman I love like a mother, I do indeed want to step out. I want to step out and stay out so that I never have to see her look at me like that again. Maybe then my stomach will stop curdling with shame and guilt.
However, there’s someone in this room whose feelings matter more than Audrey’s. Or mine. “No,” I say. “I want to wish my son a happy birthday.”
Laurence claps my back in the same way a friend would. I feel bad about that, wish I could offer him more, but I can’t. With Audrey’s eyes on me, I just…can’t.
I see Ben at the other side of the dancefloor, sitting at one of the tables that line the walls of the large room. He’s laughing and drinking, his face coming in and out of focus in tune with the disco lights. He stands when Laurence and I approach, placing his pint of lager on the table.
“Hey, Dad,” he says, opening his arms. With Laurence by my side, I think part of me had been expecting my boy to be too embarrassed to hug me in front of his friends. I should’ve known better. Remembered Becca and I had raised him better.
“Happy birthday,” I say, holding him a little too tight to my chest for a moment before letting him go. “You having a good time?”
“Yeah. We’re gonna go to a club later when things wrap up here.”
My stomach fills with cement. I look at his mates, who are looking at Laurence. Jordan’s still seventeen, I’m sure. Don’t be that dad. Let him go. Enjoy his freedom. “Jordan’s not old enough. They’re not eighteen yet.”
Ben rolls his eyes. “They are in, like, two weeks. Don’t be such a weapon, Dad. Come on.”
God, I don’t know how I’m supposed to handle both of my children being adults. Somehow, it feels worse the second time around. Lucy has always seemed that tiny bit more…responsible. I don’t like it. Don’t like envisioning Ben roaming the streets in the small hours, crawling bars and clubs, even though he’s legally entitled to. He could drink far too much. Get in an accident. Get mugged. Stabbed.
If I could, I’d lock him away in his bedroom and ground him for the rest of his life. It would be unjust and he’d hate me, but he’d be safe.
“I’ll be careful, Dad. Don’t worry,” Ben says, as if he can read my mind.
In my heart, I know he will, because I know him.
Before I can say that, though, Ben turns to face Laurence. “Thanks for coming. Nice to see you again.”
My heart melts.
Laurence shakes my son’s hand. “You, too. Happy birthday, pal.”
“Cheers,” Ben says before turning to address his friends. “Guys, this is my dad’s…” he trails off, gaze flitting between me and Laurence. “Boyfriend? Do old people say boyfriend? Partner?”
Laurence chuckles, while my jaw has locked open. I don’t know if I’m stunned by my son’s casualness, by how easily he’s accepted this and how willing he is to introduce Laurence to his friends…or because he thinks I’m old.
“Either work,” Laurence answers for me.
Ben’s friends grin awkwardly at the impeccably dressed famous man standing in the local cricket club. Except Jordan, who confidently says, “My mum proper loves you. Will you take a picture with her?” They cock their head towards the bar. “She’s the one dressed like a curtain trying to look like she’s not been staring at you since the second you walked in.”
Tracking Jordan’s gaze, I spot their mum, dressed in a flowery skirt and matching top with floaty sleeves, peeking out from behind the long hair covering one half of her face. As soon as our eyes meet, her head spins in the other direction.
“Absolutely,” Laurence says, and I assume he means at some point during the evening. Only he pats my shoulder and walks off towards the bar. Head high, swagger on, meet-and-greet persona engaged.