Page 82 of Vivacity
‘I have no clue. But it seems Miles has some experience with it, and he made out that he could spot it at fifty paces where Dad was concerned.’
‘I mean, that makes sense. Once you know what to look for in a condition, you get attuned. My older brother has ADHD, and my mum used to say she could spot an undiagnosed child across a playground, or from any throwaway comment we made about kids in our class.’
‘Like the parts stuff.’ I told Soph about seeing those parts come out when I was watching that cyclist and that woman have their bust-up.
She pokes me in the chest. ‘Exactly. Once you see it, you can’t unsee it.’
‘So you think he could be? My father?’
Soph blows out a breath. ‘It’s very possible. I mean, he’s either a raging narcissist or just a gigantic wanker. Neither is great for you. Do you have a take on why you need to know?’
I allow myself to flop back down on my back, to let the sand hold me. ‘I’ve been trying to work that out. It’s not that it’s bothering me—more the opposite. Because it’s an explanation, I suppose. And if there’s an actual, clinical label that I can attribute to him then it absolves me more. It means none of it was ever really about me, or what I did wrong. It was about him.’
Her face creases with emotion, and she brushes her knuckles oh-so gently down my stomach. ‘Listen to me, babe. It was never about you. None of it. And I really hope that the work you’re doing with Philip will show you that unequivocally. No matter what the fuck is wrong with Richard, it was all about him.’
I nod, but I’m not entirely sure I’m processing that. I know, having met my younger self several times now, that she’s right, but it’s extremely hard to absolve myself. To know that I couldn’thave done anything differently, that the way my father treated me—treats me—has always been out of my hands. ‘Still, it would be nice to get some… validation, I suppose.’
‘You’ll never get it from him. You’ll never get an apology. There are certainly lots of online tools and questionnaires you can use to get a clearer idea of what you’ve been working with for all these years when it comes to your dad, but he’ll never admit that you didn’t deserve any of it.’
I blow out a breath. ‘I know. Sorry.’
‘Don’t ever apologise. But we can work on it this week if you like—there are checklists that will validate your experience. When you see all those behaviour patterns written down, my guess is that it will resonate really fucking hard. But that’s why the work you’re doing with Philip is so important—because it’s about reparenting and unburdening those parts yourself. That’s how you find your peace. Not from him, never from him.’
I slide a hand around her bare waist and pull her down towards me on the sand so that our foreheads are touching. ‘Thank you.’
‘Always.’ Her forehead still pressed to mine, she rakes her fingers through my hair. It feels so amazing that it gives me shivers. ‘For you, I think, it’s about how you respond going forward, how you want to reclaim your life. Boundaries, for starters. Honestly, walk away tomorrow if you like. Cut off all contact with the worthless dipshit. It’s nothing more than he deserves.’
I laugh a little nervously, because the thought of blocking my father from my phone and walking away from the giant ego-trip of a company that he’s built feels so fantastical, so insane, that it has my head spinning. But Soph’s not done.
‘And also, for you, I suspect a lot of it is about recalibrating your relationship with control.’ Her voice is gentle; I can tell she’s being careful with her choice of words. ‘Historically, it’sbeen a way to keep you safe, but as you heal you might find you don’t need to hold onto everything so tightly.’
I close my eyes and rub my nose gently against hers. ‘Thanks for the free therapy session,’ I whisper, and she laughs softly.
‘Well, you’ve brought me on holiday. Let’s call it even.’ She pulls away, and I open my eyes, staring up at her. She’s looking at me with so much care and concern. ‘Bottom line—none of your past relationship with your father was your fault in the slightest, and going forward, everything is up to you. He doesn’t get to define how you move through the world anymore. For fuck’s sake, don’t let him take another day of your happiness or your peace. Remember:it’s not your fault.’
My eyes dampen instantly. ‘That’s basically what I want to say to Jamie. That none of this shit is his fault. He’s just a kid. I’ve fucked up so badly, yet I’ve stuck him in therapy, like he’s the problem. How the hell am I supposed to make it right?’
‘You will. I promise you you will. Showing up, doing the work—that’s how you make it right. Before long, you’ll be in a place where you can have that conversation with him, and you can start to prove it to him through your actions. And don’t knock the therapy—it’s great that he’s doing it. If you both have professionals who can help you, it will give you both far more emotional literacy. Your relationship will be all the better for it. I promise you.’
‘Thank you,’ I mouth before pushing myself back up on my side. I hook a leg around her legs and close the gap between us. ‘You know, you’re really good at this stuff. You have a very special gift. I’m so sorry for that hissy fit I threw when you told me you wanted to move into this at some point. God, it was so fucking childish.’ I screw my face up at the shame I still feel over that memory.
‘I accept your apology on behalf of the part that was working very hard to protect you,’ she says with a beatific smile. ‘Andit’s all good. Honestly, you probably can’t see it, but you’ve made such massive progress in just a couple of weeks, babe. It’s incredible. Goes to show what strides you can make when you put your mind to something.’
I trace a line over the sand-dusted curve of her shoulder and down her arm. I was worried I’d regret opening up, that it would spoil this bubble we have, that laying myself bare would make me want to instantly clam up again, but none of those things have happened. We had what I would deem a very fucking deep conversation, and as a result I feel closer to her than ever. It helps that she’s so wise, so brilliantly articulate about these matters and so firmly supportive. I meant what I said. She’d make a brilliant therapist.
But right now, it’s a different kind of therapy I want from her. And so it’s gently that I sit up and lay her down flat on the sand, dark hair splayed in tangles around her and her sea-damp skin glistening in the sunshine. I pause for a moment to drink in the sight of her, because she’s a fucking vision, before lowering myself on top of her and pressing my lips to hers.
CHAPTER 37
Sophia
Our week of a Mustique lifestyle is quite the antidote to the bleak midwinter of London. We cover the bare minimum of work—Ethan was definitely lying when he proposed working from here—but it doesn’t feel so bad when ‘work’ involves swimming costumes and bare feet and a cup of Irving’s excellent coffee as we check our laptops on the veranda each morning after breakfast.
We swim in the sea. We stroll down to Basil’s Bar most evenings and work our way systematically through the excellent cocktail list. After an indulgent first night dining at the Cotton House, we tend to come home for dinner. It’s more chilled out here, and I want Ethan all to myself. He seems to feel the same.
And we talk. God, do we talk. Here, in his safe, happy place, his tongue is loosened. We lie in a large hammock in a shady area of the garden, top-and-tailing as he haltingly tells me about his first few sessions with Philip, opening up about his fucking father, and his fucking investment club, and his fucking Father’s Day celebration no-show, and I’m so furious that I cry helpless tears of rage.
Maybe I wouldn’t make such a good therapist after all, if I can’t hold space for Ethan without losing my shit.
