Page 125 of The Surrender
Different? In turmoil? Heartbroken?Pregnant?“I’m the same.”
Grandpa ushers me over and looks me up and down. “She’s right. You’re blotchy.”
“I’m fine, Grandpa,” I say, rubbing his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“I got all the pictures people sent me printed off,” Rachel says, wandering in from the kitchen. She recoils when she clocks my face. Shit,amI blotchy? I shake my head mildly, making her look atClark, who also shakes his head, taking her arm and leading her into the hallway.
Grandpa looks at the pictures in front of him, scratching his bald head and removing his glasses. “How many are there?”
“Hundreds.” Grandma indicates the endless piles. “Are we putting them in an album?”
“Kids don’t have albums these days.” Grandpa points to an iPhone on the table. “They have camera rolls.”
I smile and follow Clark and Rachel. I know immediately when Rach gives me a smile loaded with sympathy she can’t hide that Clark’s told her. “You know,” I whisper when she pulls me in for a hug.
“We’re here for you.” I’m squeezed tightly. “What on earth’s happened?”
“I’ll come back to you on that one.” I kiss her cheek and go find Mum. “Hey,” I say, hugging her from behind where she’s standing at the sink in an apron and some rubber gloves.
She stills for a moment, laughing lightly, before forcing me to release her when she turns. She takes me in from top to toe, and it takes everything in me and more to stop my lip wobbling.
“What’s happened?” she asks quietly, removing her rubber gloves.
“Nothing’s happened.”
“Oh, please, Amelia. Are you forgetting who you’re talking to?” She takes my hand and leads me to the laundry room. “Explain what these are.”
A massive bunch of peonies is sitting on the worktop over the dryer. “Did he come to the florist again?” I ask.
“He looked terrible,” she whispers. “What’s happened?”
“I’m not seeing him anymore.”
“But why?” she cries. “We had a lovely weekend with you both, Amelia. You and Jude, you just looked so happy together, and your father hasn’t shut up about him since!”
Everything inside wilts. Isn’t it just typical that my father would change the habit of a lifetime now? “It didn’t work out,” I say, approaching the flowers.
“There’s no card. I removed it.”
“Why?”
“Well, I didn’t want your father reading it.”
“Why?”
“Well, in case this is a storm in a teacup.”
“In case I work it out with him?”
Mum pouts. “Will you?”
I laugh, and there’s an edge of sarcasm. “No, Mum, trust me. We won’t be working it out.”But he’s the father of your impending grandbaby, so I can’t tell you why and make you hate him as much as I do.“He shouldn’t have come to the florist.” That’s tactical.
Mum pulls the card from the pocket of her apron and hands it over, her lips pursed. “He sounded terribly sorry for whatever’s happened.” The questions swirl in her eyes.
“Mum,” I breathe, taking her hand. “Please, let’s forget about him.”
“But, my darling, I saw a sparkle in your eyes I’ve never seen before.” She comes closer. “That’s got to mean something. And he was so handsome and charming and refined.”
