Page 48 of Always Alchemy

‘What the hell did he say?’ I ask.

When she looks at me, there’s so much pity in her eyes.

‘I don’t know why it surprised me so much, given the way he’s cut you out of his life—or forced you to cut him out, I suppose. But it really did. I was talking about you, about how well Darcy’s dance studio was doing. I tell him tidbits from time to time. It’s hard to know with your father how much he’s struggling to keep up those walls he builds. He’d never admit that he misses you, because that would mean admitting that he’s made a mistake to estrange himself from you.

‘But I let it drop that you’d just found out Darcy was pregnant. I admit I was stirring the pot a little—you know how loopy your dad is about babies.’ She covers my hand with hers and squeezes, giving me a sad smile. ‘He looked straight at me and said that your child would be none of his business and he wouldn’t consider it his flesh and blood.’

I shut my eyes, running my tongue over my top lip. What the fuck is wrong with that guy? Does he honestly value the small print of his faith so highly that he’d shun an innocent baby born out of nothing but love?

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘It’s not like I’d ever let him meet him or her, anyway. If he won’t meet Darcy and Max, there’s no way he’s getting his hands on our baby. Honestly, it doesn’t change anything.’

But Mum’s not having any of my bravado. I may be right,but it still fucking hurts that he can have created me and then walked away when I’ve been the perfect fucking golden boy my whole life.

‘I’m so, so sorry my darling,’ she whispers. ‘I didn’t know if I should tell you, but I’ve been stewing over it for weeks now. It’s really been eating me up inside. I wondered about asking Charles’ advice, but you can imagine what his reaction would be. After all, Ben’s the man who’s shunned Charles’ son. In the end, I decided to mention it to you. I’d rather hurt you now than risk you reaching out to him when your baby is born and have it be an even bigger rejection.’

The man who raised me is making it his business to outright deny the existence of everyone I love.

If I didn’t already have it, I’d consider Mum’s words a sign that it’s about time I do the same to him.

When I glance up at my sister, every single one of the emotions currently slashing my heart to bloody, pulsing ribbons is mirrored in her eyes.

17

BONDS AND BOUNDARIES

BELLE

Hyde Park feels like the right place to do this. The sun is shining, it’s a mild enough May day that Rosalie is bare-headed, and it’s Dad’s favourite place to hang with his granddaughter.

Of all the accusations that can be laid at Benedict Scott’s door, lack of devotion to his granddaughter is not one of them. The man is enraptured—just as enraptured, Mum tells me, as he was with me when I was the ripe old age of seventeen months.

Catholics love babies. That much is well known. They love babies unconditionally. They prioritise new life at all times, regardless of the mother’s circumstances.

So tell me this: why thefuckcan’t my dad prioritise Dex’s unborn baby son?

After that rough conversation with Mum and Dex at Daphne’s, I’ve been biding my time. I knew what I had to do right then. I knew I couldn’t in all good conscience allow mydaughter to grow up knowing the unconditional love of her maternal grandfather when her cousin would never even know the man.

However I cut it, however much I stewed and agonised and cried on my husband’s very broad shoulder, I couldn’t find a way around it.

Obviously, I couldn’t pile on while Mum was in the process of serving Dad with divorce papers. There’s taking affirmative action and there’s being downright cruel.

But I’m piling on now, and the knowledge of that fact has my empty stomach rolling and cramping like nobody’s business as I push Rosalie’s stroller into the almost empty toddler pavement hidden away from the Serpentine lake.

Rafe offered to come with me, obviously. But this is something I have to do myself. I owe it to my dad to have this conversation one on one. If Rafe was here, Dad would get even more defensive. My loyalties will always lie with my husband and daughter, but I don’t want to hurt or humiliate Dad even more than I need to.

I’m strolling around the perimeter of the playground, Rosalie bundled up in my arms, both of us oohing and ahhing over the prettiness of the pink cherry blossoms flanking the play area, when I spot him. He gives us a cheery wave as he unlatches the kid-proof gate and lets himself in, and my stomach drops.

He looks so happy to see us, in an uncomplicated way that couldn’t be more at odds with the complexity of my feelings towards this man and towards the awful, inhumane wrong I have to do by him. He’s in a lightweight jacket, one of his pale yellow V-neck sweaters visible underneath it. He rushes over, arms outstretched.

‘Look, Rosalie,’ I whisper to her, turning my body so she can see him. ‘It’s Grandpa!’

She babbles happily, stretching out her own arms, opening and closing her chubby little hands. In another future, the toddler version of herself would find that Grandpa was always good for an ice cream in the park. Her five-year-old self would have the delight of Grandpa “finding” chocolate coins hiding behind her ears more often than not. And her ten-year-old self would know that only Grandpa would stick with a game of Monopoly right through to the end.

I swallow as he approaches, my heart in my stomach. I cannot believe I’m doing this.

To both of them.

‘Hi, darling,’ he says to me, kissing me on the cheek before immediately grabbing Rosalie from me and throwing her up in the air. She giggles. As soon as he’s got her down, he dips his head and plants a huge, wet, noisy raspberry on the side of her neck.

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