Page 110 of The Matchmaker
I watch him watch the crowd, his gaze skating over the couples without really seeing them. “Your mam said your dad rang the other day,” I say carefully. “But that you didn’t want to speak with him.”
Noah doesn’t respond at first, he doesn’t even acknowledge the question, and I’m about to abandon ship and swiftly move on when he shrugs.
“My dad’s a dick.”
Oh boy. I hesitate, trying to think of what Gemma would want me to say in this situation. Darren is a dick. We hate Darren. But we don’t want Noah to hate Darren, that’s what Gemma’s always maintained. She’s never said a bad word about that man in front of him, and I’ve seen the lengths she goes to to protect Noah from the continuous disappointment that is his biological father.
“He’s not a dick,” I begin. “He’s just…” I trail off, as Noah finally turns his head to look at me, pinning me with such a bored,don’t-even-try-itstare that I immediately give up. “Yeah. He’s a dick.”
Noah nods and his attention returns to the water. “That’s why I didn’t want to talk with him. Plus, it’s worse when he tries.”
“What?”
“Sometimes, he’ll send me a card,” Noah says absently. “Or he’ll give me money. He got me a guitar last year.”
“He sent you a guitar?”
“Two months after my birthday.”
I frown, not remembering one in their house, but before I can ask more, he explains.
“Mam had to throw it out because it broke,” he tells me. And then, “I broke it.”
“On purpose?”
Another nod. “I said I dropped it by mistake, but I didn’t. Mam went to the shops, and I threw it down the stairs. Twice.”
“Noah…”
“He didn’t send it for me,” he says defensively. “He never sends anything for me. He sent it to hurt her. Because he knows she doesn’t like it when he gets in touch with me. Not really. And I don’t like it either. Because he lies. He always lies. He says he’s coming to visit, but he never does. He says he’ll bring me on holiday, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t give a shit.”
“Noah! Language!”
But he ignores me, his features settling into a familiar scowl. One his mother was wearing not ten minutes ago.
“Adam takes me places,” he says. “He takes me to the pool all the time. And the beach and the cinema. And when we go, he never acts like he doesn’t want to be there. You’ve been to every one of my birthday parties and Frank goes to all my football games, even when it’s raining. Bridget helped me finish painting my room when Mam had to go work and Nush taught me how to pick a lock. And—”
“What do you mean, Nush taught you how to pick a lock?”
“My dad’s a dick,” he finishes. “And I want everyone to stop treating me like I don’t know it. I’m not five. And just because we’re related doesn’t mean I have to like him.”
I can only stare at him, watching the red angry flush of his cheeks begin to fade as he glowers unseeing at the lake. Alright, so maybe he’s a lot more observant than Gemma gives him credit for. Than any of us give him credit for, and I’m just about to tell him so when a distant rumbling draws my attention to the main road.
It’s a sound I know all too well, and I give Noah’s worried look a reassuring wink and, keeping the smile plastered to my face, hurry around to the front of the pub.
The noise grows louder as soon as I do, and I soon see why as a procession of trucks and Jeeps go rumbling past, making enough noise to drown out any music or conversation down by the lake.
“Do you think they’re here to protest?” Nush asks quietly, her eyes narrowing on the shiny black Jeep parked across the road as she joins me out front.
“They’re not going to knock down the pub, Nush. There are people inside.”
“They might wait until we’re at the fireworks tonight.” I feel her looking at me. “We could always—”
“You’re not chaining yourself to the doors,” I interrupt.
“I was going to suggest sleeping overnight.”
“They can’t just knock it down. That’s all kinds of illegal.”
