The last words he ever said to me.
Now you have even more reason to hate me, but know that you will never hate me as much as I hate myself.
My message to you, Will, is to live your life free of me, because I am not worthy of your pain. All very well, you must be thinking, when I have tasked you with finishing my Lisbon hotel, but my reason for doing that is not to irk you, but to appeal to your great good spirit and do one thing for me.
Please, take Quinn into your fold. Be a friend to her. She is worthy of your time and your affection. I promised her father to take care of her because he didn’t want her to be alone in the world, but now I must leave her, and she will take it hard. Quinn is good at hiding her issues behind her smile, behind her warm, generous nature, but she needs an anchor in her life, and I urge you to be that anchor, Will. I hope that in working together you will become friends. It is my dearest wish that you do.
I love you, Will. Try to remember that.
Dad
Oh, Dad...
He felt his chest heaving with a sob, tears scalding his eyes. Why hadn’t he said any of this before, to his face?
Oh, God! And Pete... Pete!
That day. Rain slanting down. And Mum was out, yes, visiting a friend in hospital. He’d been in the kitchen, raiding the fridge, when Pete had stepped in, backpack on, hands tightening the straps of his bike helmet.
He’d flashed a grin. ‘See you later, squirt!’
The last words he’d ever heard from Pete’s lips.
He drew in a deep breath, wiped his eyes then looked at the photo he kept by the phone. Pete smiling straight towards the lens. His own smile directed at Pete, as it always was.
‘See you later...’
And he had expected to see him later, never thought that... And Dad wouldn’t have thought it either, that Pete would never come hurtling back through the gates, spraying gravel the way he always did. Dad had been busy. But he was always busy, always working weekends, building the business. And for a seasoned cyclist like Pete, three miles was nothing, even in the rain. How many other dads hadn’t driven their kids that day and got lucky, got their kids back safe and sound?
He felt his heart cracking, tearing. Why had Dad kept it to himself? He should have let them in, told them, let them all talk about it. Yes, he would still have felt guilty, of course he would, but maybe a little less so for sharing, a little closer to him and Mum for sharing. Who knew? The only thing for sure was that life was precious—too precious to waste fighting and hiding from the people you loved.
His heart pulsed. And the one he loved most of all, loved with all his heart, was where? In Lisbon? In London? He slipped the letter back and got to his feet. He had to find her somehow. Tell her everything, share everything, so he could start living his life—a life he couldn’t imagine spending, that he was categorically not going to spend, without her.
She swiped her card and slipped through the opening gates. Would he be here? His car was, every sleek black inch of it, but he might well have taken a cab to the airport so that didn’t say much. Her heart twisted. If only she’d managed to catch him before he’d checked out of the Metropole but, rushing, she’d dropped the stupid champagne bottle, wetting the bedroom carpet, and she couldn’t leave it like that. She’d had to clean it up, crying the whole time because she couldn’t call him or the Metropole to leave a message, or even a cab to come pick her up and speed her there to make up for lost time. And then it was too late. But it had seemed that he might come home. So here she was.
She drew in a breath, heart pounding, and set off across the familiar gravel to the familiar blue door—imposing, immaculate. She glanced at the knocker. Ought she to knock, or use her key? She bit her lip, opting for the key, but as she pushed it into the lock the door gave sharply inwards.
‘Quinn!’
Will!
Weary-looking. Blotchy, as if he’d been crying.
He let out a short, astonished breath. ‘What are you...? How...?’ His hands mimed an exit motion. ‘I was just coming to look for you.’
‘Where?’
As if that was even important, but he was answering anyway.
‘Lisbon. London. Wherever you might be...’ He shook his head as if he thought that maybe she wasn’t real, and then his gaze was clearing, opening into hers. ‘But you’re here, thank God.’ And then his face was crumpling. ‘I’m sorry, Quinn, so, so sorry for saying what I said, for being cruel, insulting. Unfair.’ His hands lifted in a gesture of hopelessness. ‘I didn’t mean any of it. Please, tell me you know that.’
She felt her heart constricting. He was taking the blame again. Always taking the blame. Not this time though.
‘I do. Of course I do. But it’s not your fault, it’s mine. All of it. It’s why I’m here. To say sorry that I stole Anthony from you.’
‘You didn’t...’ He was shaking his head, frowning. ‘Dad was never available to me, not really. He never would have been—’
‘Yes, he would...’ She could feel her eyes prickling, a lump clogging her throat, but she had to say it, confess all. ‘I couldn’t see it before, but after our fight I could, so clearly. When I first moved in, I remember that you and your dad did talk, that things were normal, seemed normal between you. But then you went to uni, and I had him to myself...
‘I didn’t mean to do it, but I latched onto him hard, Will, trying to make him like my dad, because I missed my dad so much, the way we talked, the things we used to do... I missed—still miss—the way Dad was with me, that closeness we had. And Anthony was so good to me—of course he was—but the truth is, he wasn’t like Dad, not at all. And I keep imagining how we must have looked to you, walking arm in arm, sitting together watching movies, but it wasn’t what it seemed. I was always the one linking my arm through his, not the other way round. And I always picked the movies we watched, made the popcorn, trying to do movie night, but he’d often pick up a book halfway through, or fall asleep.’
Will twisted his mouth to one side. ‘He always was an old curmudgeon.’
Was he actually trying to make her laugh right in the middle of her heartfelt speech? The one she’d rehearsed all through the flight! No matter. She was finishing this if it killed her.
She tightened her gaze on his. ‘That’s my point. What you saw, backed away from, was as much fake as it was real. Your father was difficult, Will. Troubled. He found it hard to show affection. But underneath I always felt he was a good man, and I miss him. But he wasn’t my father, he was yours. And I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you.’
‘Oh, Quinn.’ His eyes were glistening, smiling at the same time. ‘Just come here, will you?’ And then he was pulling her inside, pushing the door closed, taking her shoulders in his hands. ‘None of it matters. Now I’ve read Dad’s letter I know that for sure.’
Her heart pulsed. ‘You’ve only just read it?’
‘Yes.’ His lips tightened. ‘I stuffed it in a drawer the day I got it because I thought it would be full of rubbish, Dad trying to justify the terms of his will.’
Which, from the look in his eyes, it wasn’t.
She felt her heart flowing out to him, her hand going to his cheek. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
His gaze softened and then he broke a smile full of heart-stopping warmth. ‘I do. I want to talk about everything, but not right now.’
