Chapter 24

 

‘You’re not dressed for work? Turning from the pantry with a loaf of bread in hand, Agnes looks a little startled when I appear in the kitchen. She frowns as she takes in my appearance; my running shoes, shorts, and t-shirt, sweat causing the fabric of the latter to stick my skin. ‘You’ll be late to take the bairn to school.’

‘Flynn’s coming to take her. I’ve got a few calls I need to make.’ I keep my expression impassive despite experiencing what it must feel like to be a volcano internally. I thought the run would help. Thought I might be able to run off the steam, or maybe exhaust myself, especially as I’ve barely slept all night.

‘Can you go with them and walk her to class?’ I feel a bit of a shit for asking because I’ve made the school run my thing. I might not always be here to tuck Sorcha into bed, but if I can, I’ll always be there to take her to school. If I’m ever travelling, Flynn and Agnes step in. I do have a car service I can rely on, but I prefer to trust the people closest to me if I can.

‘Speak of the devil and he shall appear,’ Agnes says as Flynn enters the kitchen.

‘Agnes, babe,’ he says, clutching his heart. ‘You wound me.’ He swipes a shiny red apple from the large fruit bowl on the breakfast bar, polishing it on the lapel of his blue suit.

‘Not yet, I haven’t,’ she answers, taking the apple out of his hand and depositing it back. ‘But it can be arranged, y’ken.’

‘He promised not to curse at the traffic this morning. Didn’t you, Flynn?’

‘That’s right, Scorcher,’ he answers using his silly nickname for her, picking her up and spinning her in his arms. ‘I’ll try my very best.’

‘It’s Sorcha,’ my daughter answers, giggling as she pulls on his arm.

‘And I’ll believe it when I see it,’ Agnes grumbles, but I barely hear as I turn my attention to my daughter.

‘What have I told you about opening the front door without telling Agnes or me first?’ Despite trying to keep a tight rein on my temper, both adults in the room look surprised by my tone. In contrast, my daughter, it appears, couldn’t be less concerned.

‘It was just Flynn, Daddy,’ she answers with an unconcerned flip of her hand. ‘I checked before I opened it.’

‘That’s not the point. When I ask you not to do something, I expect you to pay attention. Do you hear me?’ With each word, my tone becomes louder. Fiercer. ‘You don’t know who could be lurking on the other side of the door. There are bad people out there!’ Like newspaper reporters and her nut of a mother.

I don’t often yell, and when I do so, Sorcha’s expression fills me with remorse immediately. Her wee eyes brim with tears, her bottom lip quivering.

‘Come on now, chicken hen,’ Agnes says softly, providing us all with something else to focus on. ‘Let’s get a wriggle on, or we’ll be late for school.’

Flynn adds his own brand of specialness to the moment, exaggeratedly wiggling his arse as he leaves the kitchen. ‘I’ll be wriggling on out this way. See you in the car, Princess Scorcher.’

Grabbing Sorcha’s school branded bag from the worktop, Agnes levels me with a look full of censure before she follows, leaving Sorcha and I alone.

‘I promise I’ll try to remember next time,’ my daughter says, directing her words to her black shiny Mary Janes.

‘I know you will. I’m sorry I’m in such a bad mood.’ My words are rough as I bend to place a kiss on her head. It’s been a mindfuck of a night, but she doesn’t deserve to bear the brunt of my worries and fears. I fucking hate telling her off at the best of times, though I do so, for her own good mostly. But this is different. This is me lashing out because of my fear she’ll be taken away from me. Before I realise I’ve even done it, I’ve pulled her wee body up against me, my arms wrapped around her so tight.

‘Ew, Daddy! You’re all wet,’ she complains, struggling against me. ‘Wet and icky.’

‘Sorry, darlin’.’ I set her back on her feet again. ‘And sorry I can’t take you to school this mornin’.’

‘Are you okay?’ Her blue eyes stare up at me as though trying to decipher my thoughts. ‘You’re not sick or anything, are you? Because—’

‘I’m fine,’ I answer, cutting her off. ‘I’m just very busy this morning. Lots to do. Sorry I can’t take you to school.’

‘That’s okay,’ she says, swinging on her wee heel before skipping out of the kitchen. The rest of her words are chucked over her shoulder, her thoughts already on other things. ‘Flynn says he’ll stop and get me a hot chocolate before school.’

‘Only if Agnes says,’ I call back as the door to the garage slams shut. Then I realise I haven’t braided her hair.

I grab a glass, filling it with water from the dispenser on the fridge, then pull open the fridge door to contemplate the contents. Close it again. Drink the water. Then do the thing I’ve been avoiding all morning. I open my phone and answer the message I’d received late last night.

Arriving at Gatwick on the 10:50 from LA. Pick me up, or shall I go straight to the offices of the Daily Mail?

In answer, I type out, I’ll be there.