Page 97 of Save Us
Seeing Dad here catches me off guard. My eyes flick automatically to Lydia, who is sitting at the table with Lin, laughing herself sick over the cards the girls made. I’m desperate to stop her from spotting Dad. I want today to remain a happy memory for her.
Unfortunately, he walked straight round to the garden without ringing the doorbell. The moment Lydia catches sight of him, my heart sinks down to my boots. Her laughter stops abruptly, and in just a few seconds, all the color has drained from her face.
But just as I’m about to set off toward her, I see Graham crossing the lawn to Dad. He stops in front of him. “You have no right to be here,” he says, his tone hard.
Dad raises a mocking eyebrow. “And you have no right to speak to me like that,” he replies coolly.
“This is our party. And I don’t recall you being invited. You are not going to ruin this day for Lydia,” Graham says firmly. He looks like he’s on the verge of grabbing my father and personally escorting him out of the garden.
A tingle on the back of my neck makes me turn to Lydia. She is staring wide-eyed at Dad and Graham, and then her eyes meet mine.
Do something, they say silently.Please.
Without thinking, I put down the plate I’d just loaded up at the buffet and walk over to my father.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Dad takes his time looking around, taking in the balloons, the peonies on the long garden table, the finger painted tortoises, and, finally, the buffet. A mocking smile appears on his face that sends my pulse soaring.
“I’m here to speak to you,” he says, so softly that we’re the only people to hear it, even though the garden has gone deathly quiet. It’s like everyone’s holding their breath, waiting to see what’s going to happen next. “You aren’t answering my emails.”
“What makes you think I want to talk to you?” I ask coolly.
Something flickers in his ice-cold eyes, something I know only too well. It’s the unbridled rage that prompted him to raise his hand to me every time it happened. I promised myself that I’d never hit anybody again—but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to defend myself if he tries it.
“Come with me. Graham’s right. You’re not ruining Lydia’s day,” I say, nodding toward the house. I turn and walk away, not looking back to see whether he’s following me. From the corner of my eye, I see Ophelia stand up and come toward us.
“Mortimer,” she says just as we’re about to step through the conservatory doors. “Did you really have to come here today, of all days?”
Dad doesn’t deign to look at her. “This is between me and my son,” he says, walking past her into the house. “Keep out of it.”
“You made it my business when you brought your daughter to me,” Ophelia replies. Her tone is as cold as ice. I’ve never heard her speak like this before.
I see Dad’s shoulders tense. Slowly, he turns to Ophelia.
At this precise moment, Ruby, Wren, and Alistair walk into the conservatory. They stop dead, their faces anxious as they clock how edgy the mood is.
“It’s OK, Ophelia,” I say.
I have to do whatever it takes to get Dad out of here ASAP, without him getting too close to either Lydia or Ruby. I’d never forgive myself for that.
“Let’s go into the dining room,” I suggest.
Dad follows as I walk out. I shut the dining room door behind us and then slowly turn to face him. I’ve spent the last few weeks being so open with my emotions that he must be able to read every one of my feelings on my face.
“What can possibly be so important that you have to turn up in the middle of Lydia’s baby shower?” I ask, trying to keep my voice moderately calm.
“I didn’t know people celebrated schoolgirls getting pregnant these days. Besides which, nobody informs me about what Lydia does in her free time.”
“Like you’d have come if she had invited you.”
Unlike mine, Dad’s mask is perfectly in place; his face isblank. I realize that I’m not getting an answer to my little jibe—he’s always been like that if he thinks a thing is beneath him.
“What do you want, Dad?” I ask instead, keeping my voice cool.
He stretches out his arms. It’s a sunny Saturday, and particularly warm for May, but he’s wearing a black suit and tie. He looks—as always—like the perfect businessman.
“I put your flouncing out of the firm down as a piece of childish rebellion,” he begins. “But it’s been over five weeks now.”
