“Helen can talk the hind legs off a kangaroo.” He waves his bottle between us. “What are you doing here in Sydney?”
I shuffle on my feet and point to the women. “Priya moved back here to be with her family, and I followed so I could be near my girls. I’ll introduce you to them soon.”
“It’s fine, son. Let them play. It’s nice to see them enjoying themselves. Kids their age can make bonds for life.”
“Yeah.” My mind wanders back to Steph and I at their age. She was the only person I told about my dad’s drinking. The last time I saw him, he was wasted. Mum started mouthing off and he shut her up with his fist. I jumped in the middle like He-Man, trying to defend Mum, but ended up face down on the glass coffee table.
The memory clouds my head like a thick black fog of fury taking over, making me want to plant my fist on his face just like I watched him do to Mum all those years ago. My fingers tense, stretching and clenching as if warming up for the act. My insides vibrate as I hold everything in.
Danni opens the cooler and pulls out another ginger ale, distracting me from my dark thoughts. “The children are getting along.”
Her wide smile at Daddy dearest tells me she hasn’t seen him at his worst. Although he was always kind when he was sober. Like Jekyll and Hyde. Pity he wasn’t sober very often.
“It’s nice for Harper and Jack to have cousins,” Dad says, smiling as he watches them tag each other, running around the extensive garden like a pack of feral dogs.
“Doesn’t your son have any kids?” I ask.
He pinches his eyebrows. “You’re the only son I have.”
It must have been someone else’s kid. “I saw you about twenty years ago taking a kid to football.”
“You were here? Why didn’t you talk to me?”
I shrug and kick a stone edging next to the lawn. “You looked like you were playing happy families with your new son. I didn’t think you’d want me around anymore.”
“Cal, I always wanted you. I wanted to contact you so many times but…”
“I think that was me,” Danni interrupts. “I used to play soccer, and Dad would always take me to my games.”
I huff. “You’re lucky, Daddy dearest never came to watch any of my games.”
He hangs his head low. “I thought you hated football.”
“Maybe if you’d taken me to a game, I might’ve felt differently.” The stone edging I’ve been kicking loosens and rolls over, knocking into a plant pot that cracks open.
“Shit.” I bend down and secure it back in place.
“Callum, don’t worry about it.”
Soil spills from the broken pot and the bedding plant hangs limp.
“Son. Leave it, please. It can be fixed.”
Can it? Is he talking about the rockery or our relationship? “The pot’s broken. You can’t fix that.”
“Leave it. I’ll buy another.” He growls.
“Is that what you did here? Bought yourself another family when you broke the first one, leaving us in tatters.” I glance around the garden and home. He’s done all right for himself. I scoop up the broken pieces of the pot.
“I don’t care about the pot. Dammit.”
I stand and meet his eyes head on with clenched fists. The broken pieces dig into the palm of my hand as old memories flash through my head.
“I care about you. I’ve always cared about you. When I got my life sorted out, your mother returned the money I sent. She wouldn’t take anything from me.”
“Can you blame her?”
“No. I felt ashamed at how I treated her and the longer time passed, the harder it became to make contact. I understand if it’s too late for us, but maybe it’s not too late for my grandchildren.”