Page 31 of Love at First Sight

‘My favourite two women!’ Dad says, stepping out of the lobby. ‘What’s everyone doing out here? Baby, the manager says we’ve run out of Veuve and wants to know what you’d like to do about it – switch to Bolly or Moët?’

Dad has just called herbaby. Gag.

‘Oh, Paul!’ Simone says, painting devastation over her features as he approaches. ‘I’ve had it with your daughter! All I’ve ever tried to do is be her friend, and you wouldn’t believe the names she’s just called me. Horrid, horrid things! At my own engagement party!’

She throws herself into my dad’s chest and lets out a wail so convincing that, for a moment, even I believe her story.

Then Leo says, ‘Well, that’s not quite what happened, is it, love?’

‘Thank you, Leo,’ Dad says, a gentleman’s way of sayingkeep your nose out.

Simone weeps loudly, and Dad looks at me like he’s expecting an apology. Leo takes a step towards me protectively.

‘This is ridiculous,’ I say. ‘Dad, come on. She’s hammingthis up! She’s trying to make you pick sides! I didn’t say anything that bad!’

Dad looks at me with pity. Actual pity, as if I am a sad, sad girl he doesn’t know what to do with. And it is a look that breaks my heart. ‘Dad?’ I say, because I know what choice he’s made before he even speaks. Simone wails some more, whilst Dad strokes her hair. I look to the ground, willing tears not to spill over.

‘I think it’s time for you to go, Jessie,’ Dad says eventually. ‘Simone is right, this is her engagement party. Let’s park this, shall we?’

Dad rubs Simone’s shoulder, and I can barely stutter out, ‘What?’

Leo puts a hand on my back protectively, and I swear to God I see Simone smirk from under Dad’s embrace. She’s won. She’s actually fucking won. The fight leaves me. I don’t want to be here, anyway.

‘Fine,’ I say, shaking my head in disbelief. ‘But you’re going to owe me one hell of an apology in the morning,’ I continue. ‘Because this is bullshit.’

Dad sighs, disappointed with me. ‘Don’t swear, Jessie. You sound all sorts of common.’

12

Well, I ballsed that up, didn’t I. I’ve woken up with the most tremendous headache, but I can’t parse which parts of the hangover are physical, and which are mental. Vivid images of Leo escorting me home replay in my mind, neither of us really saying much because what is there to say when your father asks you to leave his engagement party? All I know is, this has got way out of hand, and if I’m not careful not only is Simone going to ‘win’ in whatever war is raging between us, I’m going to have actively helped her. I can’t decide what’s a more upsetting possibility: that Simone really is as evil as I suspect she is, or that I misread the situation last night – because drink – and she truly was hurt. Either way, I need to see my dad, take responsibility. Fix what I can, forget what I can’t. And in the meantime? I need coffee, and fresh air.

Teeth brushed, face washed, sunglasses firmly on, I do what I do every day and meander through the domestic streets of Stoke Newington, with their Victorian terraces and bay windows and loft conversions, aware of kids watching cartoons in front rooms, and bedroom windows open to let in the morning air. I walk past my favourite café with the sunshine spot outside, but it’s not until I’m nearChurch Street that I realise my feet are taking me where my brain hasn’t even registered it wants to go: the butcher’s.

He’s got a Saturday-morning rush on, with people lined out the door waiting to get their evening meal and tomorrow’s lunch sorted. It half terrifies me that I could see Dad and Simone and be unprepared for it, but I’m sure somebody said they were staying at the hotel last night, so they won’t be here anyway, this early. Leo sees me through the glass and pauses, giving me a smile that I can’t say is totally happy. I self-consciously wave and wait for his crowd to thin out by grabbing two takeaway coffees from the café next door. One was meant for Leo but, in the half an hour it takes for him to serve everyone, I end up drinking them both.

‘I got you a coffee,’ I tell him, when I finally step inside.

He looks at my empty hands. ‘An invisible one?’

‘I needed it,’ I say, and Leo laughs.

‘Understandably,’ he says. ‘Well. I need a bacon sarnie. Arthur’s? You can buy?’

Now I laugh, because Leo makes me laugh just by being himself, my belly grumbling hungrily at the mention of food. ‘A sublime idea,’ I say sheepishly. He was wonderful last night, paying for the Uber and getting me home, but I can’t believe the scene he bore witness to. I’m worried it has changed his opinion of me, or made me seem like a horrific person. I want to explain to him how mortified I am. But he’s right, with this hangover what we need first is food.

Leo washes his hands and takes off his whites, and if I thought he’d smell like raw meat, he doesn’t. Maybe he’s Febrezed himself. He hangs up a ‘Back Soon’ sign and we walk.

‘I suppose I’ll open with an apology,’ I say. ‘Last night was …’

I don’t know how to sayshitshow-awful-embarrassing-cringey, so I don’t say anything.

‘Families are hard,’ Leo says, simply, and it’s such a kindness. Because they are. Familiesarehard. ‘And only an arsehole could judge anyone on their worst moment.’

‘Oh, I’ve had way worse moments than that,’ I say, trying to keep things upbeat, but Leo pulls a face.

‘I meant for your dad,’ he says. ‘I think he’s going to have some big regrets about how he treated you last night.’

I look at him. I didn’t expect him to defend me, mostly becauseIhaven’t been defending me. But, god, Leo might be right. Dad should never have asked me to leave, or pushed me away like he did. That isn’t what dads are supposed to do!

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