Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) (33 page)

Someone has thrown a cold blanket across my shoulders. 'Who is
he
?' I say from about seven galaxies away.

'
Your
real
Dad. He was American.
In the army.
He was based here in the seventies. They met and fell in love... that's what your mum told me. He was supposed to be getting a divorce from his wife back home, but they managed to patch things up, apparently. He didn't want to leave Helen, but she made him go. Made him go back for the sake of his kids. Never told him she was carrying his child as well, because she knew he'd never have left her then.'

Now I feel like I've been dropped into an icebox. I start to shiver from my feet all the way to the top of my head.

'I only met him a couple of times,' Dad continues. 'In passing, you know. He knew me and your mum had been an item before he came along. It was all... very complicated. Then he was gone, you see. But me and your mum, we went way back, you know? Started seeing each other in our teens, before we split up the first time. And then when she was left alone, after he'd gone back to the States, I stepped in. Tried to be a dad to you, the way he wasn't. The way he couldn't.'

'You
left
, Terry,' Jamie says, rage in his voice. 'You fucking left them both!'

Dad looks distraught. 'I know! I couldn't take it! Your mum never really stopped loving him. Never looked at me the way I wanted her to... because of him. I had to go!'

I try to speak, but have to swallow the nausea boiling in my stomach before I can get the words out. 'Mum never told me any of this.' My voice is weak, faint,
horrible
.

'She didn't want to hurt you any more, sweetheart. You had one father leave you already. You didn't need to know about another one!'

'Why didn't you say anything when you came back this year?' I ask. 'Why didn't you tell me the truth then?'

Dad's face crumples even more. 'I was going to! Really I was! But then I saw Poppy... saw the life you all had together, and I wanted to be part of it. Besides, if Helen didn't tell you, what right did I have?'

'Excuse me?' Jonathan Lightfoot pipes up awkwardly from behind us. 'Should we, er, leave?'

'Shut up!' Jamie and I both snap at him in unison.

I look back at my father. 'You're not my dad?' I feel Jamie's hand grasp mine tightly.

'No, sweetheart.
Your real dad is an American guy. That's why I didn't want to be on TV in the States with you. Just in case he saw it and recognised me. He might have seen you too, and realised who you were.'

'That's a bit of a fucking stretch, Terry. I doubt the guy is Sherlock Holmes,' Jamie argues, quite rightly.

'I know! I'm an idiot! I should have just kept quiet. Everything would have been fine!'

I feel a small hand take mine, so both of my
family are
standing either side of me. 'Mum? What's going on?' Poppy asks. 'Why are you talking about America?'

Jamie moves around and picks her up. 'Let's let Mum and
Grandad
talk, sweetheart.' He backs away with her and stands next to Lightfoot and Pete, who both look like they wish they were anywhere else - even at ITV.

'
Grandad
?' I hiss. A sneer forms on my lips as I look back at my
fathe
- sorry,
Terry
. 'What's his name? What's this mystery man's name?' I order.

'Lawrence. She called him Laurie though,' Terry replies.

Of course she did.

'Laurie what?'

Terry shakes his head. 'I don't know! I never asked more about him, and your mum never told.'

'So, you don't know where he came from?'

'No.'

'Just that he was called Laurie and was in the army?'

'Yes. I think he might have come from Boston, or somewhere like that.' Terry swallows hard. 'She loved him Laura. Loved him in a way she never loved me!'

Words fail me.
Utterly
.

Here is this man who I thought was my father, who left me as a little girl, standing here now and looking at me with a combination of fear and self pity on his face that makes me want to punch him in the mouth.

'Get out,' I
order,
discovering that words don't fail me after all, it's just that they're not very nice ones. 'Get out
now
.'

'But Laura - '

'Get the fuck out of my house!' I scream.

A few silent moments pass. Terry then gives Jamie and Poppy a last, regretful look, and walks out of the lounge and towards the front door.

I hear it slam behind him as he goes, and turn to look at my husband and child, both of whom have tears in their eyes. 'Don't cry,' I tell them. 'He's not worth it.'

'Oh honey,' Jamie replies. 'We're not crying for him.'

I open my mouth to say that I'm not even going to cry for me, so why should they, but realise that the tears are already flowing down my cheeks.

'What do you want to do, baby?' Jamie asks gently.

I think for a moment. 'I want to punch him,' I say with a sniff.

'What?'

'I said I want to
punch
him.' My hand curls into a fist. 'I'm
going
to punch him.'

I'm headed for the door in pursuit of Terry before Jamie or Poppy can say another word.

I should just let the old man walk away - that would be the mature thing to do, but I'm so fucking angry at him that the mature thing can go take a long walk off a short pier.

I fling the front door open to see Terry walking slowly down the driveway, his head hanging.

'You!' I holler.

He turns to see me
barrelling
towards him. 'Now wait just a moment Laura!' he says, arms held up.

I will do no such thing. I will however punch him in the face - or at least try my best to.

Sadly, my aim is off thanks to all that anger and betrayal, so I end up whacking him on the forehead, and therefore probably doing more of an injury to myself than him.

Given my ineptitude when it comes to fisticuffs, I resort to slapping like a mad fishwife at dawn. I can feel pain rocketing up my right wrist every time I do, but the adrenaline is powering me through it nicely at the moment, and I won't realise I need hospital treatment for another few minutes.

One thing to bear in mind here is that Jamie and I live in a nice residential area, where the inhabitants are not used to seeing a fully grown woman beating up an old man on one of the less well manicured front lawns in the street. Even through my rage I can feel the eyes of the neighbours turn swiftly in my direction to see what all the fuss is about.

And I'm not the only one who sees this.

'Laura! Sweetheart! Just stop!' Jamie cries, walking across the grass towards me, head darting around at all the nearby windows.

But I can't. I so want to, but I can't.

Terry is putting up no kind of defence now, other than one raised arm that I'm still slapping at in impotent fury. My hand hurts, my face is streaked with tears and I feel dizzy, and yet I can't stop hitting this stupid man. He's taken my feet out from under me in the worst possible way in the last ten minutes, and I want revenge, damn it.

Then Jamie says the one thing that does get me to stop.

'Laura! Poppy is watching this! You're scaring her.'

The anger drains completely out of my body in a split second. I turn to look at my daughter, who is hiding behind Jonathan Lightfoot's legs. The BBC producer has trailed out behind my family, and is looking on aghast at my actions. Pete, obeying some kind of universal journalistic law, is filming the entire exchange on his camera.

I see the upset expression on Poppy's face and hold my hands out to her. 'Poppy, it's okay honey. Mum's just a bit angry with Gran - she's just a bit angry right now.'

Poppy gives Terry a grave look and my heart sinks. She should never have had to watch any of this. I am a terrible parent. But then so is my not-father for lying to me all this time.

'He’s not my
Grandad
then?' Poppy asks in a low voice.

'We'll talk about it later, Pops,' Jamie says, moving to stand by her again.

That is one conversation I doubt either of us is looking forward to. Trying to explain the cruelty and stupidity of adults to a child must be one of the hardest parts of being a mother or father.

Which reminds me...

I turn back to Terry. 'Leave. Just leave,' I say, all the passion and rage now gone from my voice.

The old man moves towards me, hands out again. 'I'm sorry, Laura!'

'Stop saying that. It means nothing.' I'm acutely aware that my right hand is throbbing like mad. I'm dog tired now as well. Funny, I was so full of happy energy just ten minutes ago, thinking the interview had gone really well. If anyone ever tells you that life is easy to predict, they are comprehensively lying to you.

'Just go, Terry,' Jamie orders, one finger pointing down the road.

Unbelievably, as the old man trudges away, Pete the cameraman moves to follow him. I step in his path and instantly fill the camera's field of vision. 'Pete, unless you want the next shot you get to be the inside of your own colon, I suggest you stop filming right this instant.' The camera drops to his side in a heartbeat. A skinny, clumsy woman I may be, but I wouldn't mess with me either right now, given how I look.

I hold out my arms to my daughter. 'Come here baby,' I tell her. 'I'm so sorry about all of this. It's all going to be okay.'

Now some children would be frightened of their mother right about now, having seen her so enraged, but if you've been paying attention properly, you'll know that my Pops is no ordinary child. She runs into my arms, and I gather her up, wincing at both the pain in my hand, and under the strain of her rapidly increasing size. 'So, my
Grandad
isn't him then?' she asks, her perfect little brow knitted in thought.

I could lie. I could sugar coat. But this is a girl who thinks nothing of entertaining a room full of complete strangers with a bad rendition of Umbrella. Her bravery is undeniable. 'No Pops. It turns out that he isn't.'

'No,' she confirms, as much to herself as anyone. 'My
Grandad
is somebody called Lorry. A man from America with a funny name.'

I stroke her hair. 'That's right honey.' And if I ever find Lorry, I'm going to drive him round the bend.

Now my hand is
really
hurting, so I give Poppy to Jamie and look round at Lightfoot. 'Jonathan. I think we're done here for the day.'

'Yes, I believe we probably are,' he replies, trying to sound nice and neutral. Disagreeing with this apparently psychopathic writer wouldn't be in his best interests - or the best interests of his documentary, which lest we forget, is supposed to be about comedy.

'I trust that you will cut any mention of that man from your interview with us?' I say.

'Absolutely.'

'And you won't say anything about my horrendously complicated family life either, will you?'

'No Laura, I won't.' He offers me a sympathetic smile. 'I'm so sorry.'

I roll my eyes. 'Don't be. I didn't even know that man a year ago. It's no loss.'