I have another swig from the bottle. With every breath, I want to get my girls and get the hell out of dodge, but looking into his sad eyes has my feet pinned to the ground.
Priya, Helen, and the girls join us. “Bill, this is Olivia and Bethany.”
He bends down to their level. “You did great in the show, Olivia. How long have you been dancing?”
“Since I was three.”
“Do you dance too, Bethany?”
“No, I like to kickbox with Daddy.”
I smile. “She’s a tiny thing, but she has a great kick.”
“The food’s almost ready. Help yourself to burgers, steak, salad, and potatoes,” Helen says.
Bill asks the girls if they want a burger or sausage and takes them to the buffet table.
“Everything all right?” Priya rests her hand on my bicep, over my shirt.
“Yeah.” I nod and give her a smile, grateful that she’s here, although the one person I want to talk to about this is on the other side of the world. Steph was always there to listen. Not that I talked about Dad much, but I didn’t need to. Growing up, she always seemed to know how I was feeling.
She’d be glad I was giving him a chance, I guess. She told me to look for him at uni. I never told her I took her advice all those years ago. Maybe I can tell her one day.
* * *
STEPH
“Eeeeek.”Amy squeals, dancing on her toes as she steps towards me. Her heels click on the tarmac of the platform at Kings Cross Station. “I can’t believe you’re actually here. I’ve missed you so much.” Her arms wrap around my shoulders, and she lunges in for a kiss on the cheek.
She goes in for another kiss after I pull away. “Oh, are we doing the double?”
“That’s how they do it in Paris, sweetie.”
“How is Paris?”
“Same. I’m determined to get you to visit me there again. We can do all the art galleries.”
“Kinda difficult right now.” I point to my ever-growing belly that looks like I have stuffed a lumpy cushion under my top. I’m at that weird stage where any slim person would have a perfectly round football shaped bump, but when you’re a fat lass, it just looks like you’re carrying extra holiday weight, and you’ve just eaten a large Sunday roast. “You’re lucky I’m here in London.”
“Speaking of art…I booked us into a painting class.”
“What? I can’t paint.”
She waves a hand in the air. “Oh, hush. It’ll be fun—there’s wine.”
I point to my large belly. “Er, I can’t drink either.”
“Spoil sport. It’ll be like old times at uni. Remember those life drawing classes we took?” She giggles and takes the handle of my suitcase, wheeling it along the pavement as she links her arm through mine.
“How could I forget? Somehow, I was always positioned smack bang in the middle with the dangly thing in full view. I wouldn’t have even minded if it was pleasant to look at. But it resembled a shrivelled prune.”
Amy bursts into a fit of giggles. “You can’t blame the poor bloke. It was chilly in that studio and he only had that tiny blow heater.”
“I hope this one you’ve booked us on isn’t nude male models. I’ve seen enough dick to last me a lifetime.”
She glances at my enormous belly. “You’ve done more than see by the looks of things.”
I swat her arm, and we both step outside the station. The autumn breeze blows her floral coat open, always dressed in the latest Parisian chic. We haven’t seen each other in years, but it’s always the same. We slip back into our younger silly selves.