Camilla immersed herself in numbers and spreadsheets all day, so when she looked at the clock and saw that it was gone three, she was surprised. The time had passed without her worrying and she patted herself on the back again for her chosen profession. There was nothing like a spreadsheet, or ten, to keep your mind busy. She supposed that her love of numbers might have begun when her father left and she had to try to make her savings stretch to feed her and Dawn, when she didn’t want to worry her mother by asking for money to buy groceries, so she’d eek out her coppers to buy bread and tins of beans. She’d known the price of everything in the local shop as well as how far three tins of beans and a loaf of bread would stretch.

She shook her head. It had been a difficult time but Jackie had emerged from her depression and life had continued, if in a different direction than the one they’d thought it would: without Laurence.

And now he was back.

She swiped the screen on her mobile then typed a brief text to her mother and one to Dawn, letting them know that she was meeting with Laurence – leaving out the details about meeting Tom afterwards – and would text them later to let them know how it went. She was curious to know how things were going at Jackie’s anyway; how did someone react when their ex returned after a quarter of a century and asked to stay? Dawn replied instantly telling her to take care and that she loved her.

Camilla hurried upstairs to change and brush her hair. She didn’t want to look like she’d made a lot of effort for her father but she also wanted to look presentable and the leopard print onesie with the hood with ears, that she’d donned to work on the accounts, wasn’t quite what she had in mind. Especially as she was meeting Tom afterwards. She didn’t want him to start thinking she had a thing for dressing up as cats.

Outside The Red Fox, Camilla paused. The sky had turned gunmetal grey and an icy wind whipped around her ankles and buffeted her as she stared at the pretty pub with its stone façade and small paned glass windows. Inside, she could make out the glow of the fire and see a few people enjoying a quiet Monday afternoon drink.

She’d been in the pub so many times over the years with friends, family and clients, but never with her father. At least not since she was a child. She’d only been ten when he left and vaguely remembered having Sunday lunch in there a few times as a child and she thought she recalled him buying her a glass of Coke once, but sometimes she couldn’t be sure if they were actual memories or things she’d wished for. They could even be things she’d seen on TV for all she knew.

“Come on, Camilla. No point dawdling. Let’s see what he has to say.”

She spoke firmly, gathered her courage then opened the door and went inside.

At the bar, she ordered a coffee then, seeing no sign of her father, she went over to a corner table and sat down. She had a clear view of the bar and the front door from her seat, so she wouldn’t be taken by surprise when Laurence arrived.

The hands on the clock above the bar moved round and Camilla drank her coffee. She tried to take her time, but she needed something to do with her hands. When she drained her mug, she thought about ordering another one, but knew that the caffeine would make her more jittery than she was, so she went to the bar and ordered a sparkling water instead.

Back in her seat, she gazed around at the festive décor. The pub was always cosy with its exposed beams on the low ceiling and the open fireplace with its thick oak mantelpiece. The fire burned in the grate sending out a warm orange glow into the pub as the afternoon light faded. The mantelpiece was adorned with holly and ivy that draped over the sides and almost reached the floor. In amongst the greenery, tiny fairylights twinkled. To the left of the fireplace a tall Christmas tree stood in a deep red bucket. The tree was decorated with silver and gold bows and a fairy in a silver sequin dress sat at the top, smiling down at the pub’s patrons. The bar itself was trimmed with silver and gold tinsel and at intervals, sprigs of mistletoe dangled from the ceiling beams. It was a perfect festive setting and Camilla knew that on any other day, she would have appreciated it, but today, she couldn’t reach past the icy blockage in her chest to locate her heart. It was just fear and anxiety, she knew that, but its physical manifestation was horrid.

The clock struck four-thirty. Where was he? Why was he so late?

She sipped her water and took a few slow deep breaths then checked her mobile.

Nothing.

Then she saw him, entering the pub in a dark wool coat with a flat cap on his head, his cheeks ruddy and his face lit up with a smile. The blockage in her chest swelled, threatening to choke her. Here she was, building herself up into an anxious tizzy, and he walked in late and beaming. Bloody hell!

He removed his cap and coat and hung them on the coat stand near the door then looked around. When he spotted Camilla, he waved then gestured at the bar. She shook her head, trying not to scowl. She had to give him a chance, however difficult this might be. It wasn’t just about her but about Jackie and Dawn, as well as Laura and James.

“Hello, Camilla. Great to see you again so soon.”

Laurence put his pint of beer down on the table then pulled out a chair.

“You’re late.”

He frowned. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

He glanced at the clock. “So I am. Apologies, sweetheart. I took a walk around the village and got caught up in nostalgia. You know, I walked past the old park and it was like I’d gone back in time. I remember one day when I took you and Dawn there… gosh you must have been about six and she would’ve been… about three—”

“Four!”

“What?”

“If I was six, Dawn would have been four. She’s two years younger then me, Dad.”

He nodded. “Yes, of course.” He sipped his beer and when he put his glass down, froth clung to his moustache. Camilla pointed at it and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. “So you were six and Dawn was four. We went there for a picnic and spent all day playing and eating strawberries straight from the punnet along with whippy ice creams from the van that parked there in the afternoons every summer holiday. It was a fabulous day. We had so much fun but then… you both got sunburn.”

“Sunburn?”

“Yes and the ice cream… or the unwashed strawberries… upset your tummies. Your mother went mad.”

“And so she should have. Don’t you know how dangerous sunburn is? It leads to skin cancer and all sorts of nasties.”

He shook his head. “Back then, Camilla, we didn’t know so much about all that. But it was a bit irresponsible of me, I know that. I just… I tried to be a good daddy, although I guess I wasn’t always that good at it. You know… I was good at the fun stuff but not so good at the other things. How was I to know the ice cream or the strawberries would give you both the runs?”

Camilla watched him carefully as he spoke. His eyes had glazed over and he seemed to have travelled to another time and place. He’d changed so much. The memories she had of him were of a tall, broad-shouldered man with a thick ginger beard and hair swept back with wax. He’d had smiling blue eyes with sandy lashes and eyebrows and a strong lean physique. As a little girl, she’d admired him and yes… a lump rose in her throat… she could even remember now telling one of her friends that she wanted to marry a man just like her daddy when she grew up.

But now… the strong young man was gone and in his place sat a shadow. He still had that same big smile that spread from ear to ear but his hair had thinned and turned grey, its red long gone. His beard was mainly white but still had some flecks of rust, a reminder of his youth. He was tanned but the sun and smoking had aged his skin and thick grooves ran from his eyes, over his forehead and from the corners of his mouth, the latter ones disappearing into his beard. His neck was haggard below the beard, the skin loose and his Adam’s apple was exposed. As she stared at him, it bobbed in his throat and she realised that for all his bravado, he was actually nervous too.

“I guess I failed you then… before I even left.”

Camilla met his eyes and was surprised to see that they shone.

“I don’t really remember much about the time before you left, Dad. After you’d gone… it was tough. That time is etched on my memory but the life we had before… I don’t know. There are fragments of memories but nothing solid.”

“I understand. Camilla… I want to say sorry.”

She gasped as the blockage in her chest shifted. “It’s a bit late for that don’t you think?”

“Is it? Is it ever too late to say sorry? I don’t know. I hope not. I’ve come home, Camilla, and I want to make it up to you all.”

“All?”

“Yes, of course. You, your mum and Dawn. My grandchildren.”

Camilla swallowed hard. She had so many retorts on the tip of her tongue but she didn’t want to free them. If she started berating him, she might never stop and there was so much pain in her heart that she knew her words would be harsh. And she didn’t want to be harsh. As much as this man had hurt her and her mother and sister, she didn’t want to hate him. She just wanted… for him to love her.

To her horror, tears rolled down her cheeks and a sob burst from her.

“Oh my girl.”

Laurence jumped up and rushed around the table. He knelt next to Camilla and took her hands. She screwed her eyes shut, afraid to look at him, afraid to show him how much she was hurting. This wasn’t like her; she was strong, firm, and unemotional. Camilla wasn’t weak, tearful and vulnerable. She just didn’t do all that.

But now she did. Apparently. And all because a sixty-five-year-old man had turned up on her mother’s doorstep and told her he was sorry.

“Do you have any idea how many times I wished you’d turn up when I was a child?” she asked as she peered at him from behind her wet lashes.

“I thought about it so many times, too, Camilla. I swear it to you.”

“Why didn’t you phone more than once or twice a year?”

He frowned. “I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I did. At first. I rang every day then every week and every month and I sent you cards and letters but your mother…” He bit his bottom lip.

“My mother what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does. What…” A horrible thought crashed through Camilla’s mind. “Are you saying that you did ring and send us letters but Mum didn’t tell us?”

His cheeks coloured. “It’s all in the past now.”

“Evidently it isn’t or I wouldn’t be so upset.”

“Look… I was in the wrong. I left your mum and you two girls. I should have stayed around. It was my fault and I am so, so sorry.” He grimaced. “I’d better get up or my knees will stick like this.” He pushed himself up slowly then hobbled back to his seat.

“So why now? Why come back now?”

He sipped his pint then wiped his moustache. “It was time. High time, I mean. There are lots of reasons and I’d been thinking about it for a while but then I caught my wife… my third wife, with someone else.”

“You did?”

Camilla recalled Dawn forwarding her an email from Laurence about his third wedding. He’d written to Dawn presumably because she’d be less likely to reply negatively than Camilla would. There was a photo attached, taken on a mobile phone, of Laurence in shorts and t-shirt with his arm around a much younger woman. The woman had been extremely thin and tanned with sleek blonde extensions and large cobweb tattoos that covered her chest and disappeared below the neckline of her very low-cut white top.

“You mean the one with the cobweb tattoos on her—”

“Boobs?”

“Yes.”

“That’s right. Beautiful girl she was… is… but she was way too young for me. I should’ve known she only wanted me for the bar.”

“She took your bar?”

He sighed. “I signed half of it over to her as a wedding gift. Then a month ago, I caught her shagging a tourist behind the barrels out back.”

Camilla shook her head.

“So now she’s running the bar for you?”

“Uh… no. I sold her my share.”

“You’ve sold your livelihood? I hope she gave you a good price for it?”

“Wrong again.” He blinked. “And I had some… urrrr… debts.”

“You mean to tell me you have nothing left, Dad?”

“Nothing at all. Kind of like retribution, right? No less than I deserve.”

“Oh Dad…”

Camilla was overwhelmed with tiredness. There was so much to take in and she’d been through so many emotions. But as she sat there, listening to him, she realised that the blockage in her chest had shrunk a bit. This man did have feelings and he had been through some tough times too. He was in a bad place and as much as he’d hurt her and her family, he had nowhere else to turn.

“I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. Are you… okay?”

He nodded. “I wasn’t that surprised she cheated to be honest. I had my suspicions that monogamy wasn’t her thing when we married.”

“Why did you marry her then?”

He shrugged. “I’m an old fool. I wanted one last shot at youth. I don’t know really, Camilla. I’ve made so many mistakes along the way. I wish I could have my time over but no one can turn that bloody clock back.”

“No they can’t.”

“I’m not here to hurt anyone, Camilla. Please know that. I came back because I felt this was where I should be. If you want me to leave… if you think that’s best, then I’ll go.” He looked down at his shoes and Camilla followed his gaze. He was wearing shoddy brown brogues that she suspected he’d bought before he moved to Benidorm. Her heart squeezed and something rushed through her. Was it pity? Love? Misplaced loyalty? She didn’t know. She needed time to think about everything he’d told her, time to digest what he’d said.

“What do you want then, Dad?”

“To spend some time with you all over Christmas. If that’s okay? Then, if you can’t stand me…” He gave a small laugh but his eyes were cloudy. “I’ll go again.”

“Where would you go?”

“Wherever. It won’t matter if I leave here. There’s nothing left…” He shook his head. “Sorry. I’m not about to indulge in self-pity now. You take your time and make your decision and I’ll do my best to make it up to you. Or, if I can’t make it up to you because it’s been so long and because I’m such an idiot, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Camilla sighed. “Are you going to speak to Dawn too?”

“Do you think I should?”

“She’s sweet and soft. She’s not like me.”

“You’re softer than you think.”

“No I’m not. This has just…” She threw her hands up. “This has rocked me.”

“I’ll go and see her this week and speak to her. Try to explain.”

“Well make sure Rick’s there when you do. She’s not had an easy pregnancy so far.”

“A third baby on the way.” His lips curved slightly and he nodded.

“Yes. So be gentle with her.”

“I will.”

“I take it you’ve told Mum all this?”

“Your mum and I had a good long talk last night.”

“And how does she feel about it?”

“Who knows? She’s a strong woman your mother. She’s sensible too.”

“You broke her heart.”

He hung his head.

“I don’t meant to be hard but you did. I thought she’d never recover and she’s never found anyone else.”

“I promise I’m not here to hurt her.”

“You better not be.”

Movement at the bar caught Camilla’s eye and she looked over to see Tom smiling over at her. Heat rushed into her cheeks. How long had he been there? Watching? Trying to catch her attention.

“Look Dad, it’s five-forty and I’m meeting someone else.”

Laurence followed her gaze. “The handsome guy at the bar?”

“Yes. Tom Stone. He’s the new vet.”

“Vet eh? Good for you.”

“He’s just a friend.”

“I’d say the way he’s looking at you that he wants more than friendship. That’s the look of a man who’s smitten.”

“Don’t be silly.” She waved Tom over. “Let me introduce you. And we’ll speak again soon?”

“I’d like that.”

“Hi Tom.” Camilla stood up. “This is my father, Laurence.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

Tom and Laurence shook hands.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No thanks, I was just leaving.” Laurence walked around to Camilla and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Have a lovely evening, sweetheart.”

“Thank you.”

Camilla watched as he put on his hat and coat then left the pub. Through the window, she saw him pause then smoke billowed around him as he lit a cigarette. She was suddenly so tired she could have curled up under the table and gone straight to sleep.

“Everything all right?” Tom asked.

“Oh… yes. Yes, thank you.”

“Can I get you another drink?”

“What’re you having?”

“Well I wasn’t sure what to order so I told the barman I’d see what you wanted. Do you fancy sharing a bottle of wine?”

“I could use a glass of red right now.”

“Red it is then.”

Tom draped his wax jacket over the back of the chair that her father had recently vacated then went back to the bar. Camilla took the time to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting her father to say but she didn’t think she’d end up getting emotional. His third wife had basically cheated then taken his bar, he’d lost all his money and he’d come back because it was time. Or was it just because he had nowhere else to go? Did he think they were needy fools who’d believe everything he told them? Or did he genuinely want to make amends? They could turn him away or they could give him a chance. The question was, did Camilla want to give him a chance, or would it be easier to send him packing?

When Tom returned with a bottle of Shiraz and two glasses that he filled, she accepted hers gratefully.

“I’m a good listener.”

“Pardon?”

“If you want to talk about it.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Try the beginning. I’m in no rush. I’ve got a casserole in the slow cooker and I popped home to feed HP after work, so he’s snoring his head off in front of the log burner. I have all the time in the world.”

Camilla eyed him over her glass. Could she really discuss her innermost feelings, doubts and fears with this man?

“Look… in my profession, I hear everything and I never repeat a word. People just like to talk to me, kind of like their GP or their beautician. Cross my heart, I won’t tell a soul what you say and if you need some advice, I might be able to help.”

His eyes were so warm and friendly, that she felt her resolve not to share her feelings with anyone waning. She could talk to him, couldn’t she? Get an impartial opinion. If she spoke to Allie or Honey, they’d be too involved to be objective. And she couldn’t expect her mother or Dawn to weigh it all up rationally either. So speaking to Tom seemed like her best option. She could get a male perspective on it.

“Okay then. Thank you.” She sipped her wine. “I hope you like sad stories.”

He smiled at her, leaned forwards and clinked his glass against hers.

“I have a few of my own, believe me.”

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

“Sounds like a plan!”