Page 125 of Fighting Mr. Knight

Thank God Jack didn’t come.

That thought makes me feel even guiltier.

I used to die of embarrassment at some of the things Dad would say to Max. The nights when Dad would have a few too many pints and decide to give privately educated Max advice on how to be a successful businessman while Max sat in uncomfortable silence until he had enough and abruptly cut Dad off.

I grew up with it drilled into me that you should never be ashamed of your roots.

But sometimes walking down the street with Dad when his trousers were shabby and hanging off him and he smelt a little squiffy, I hung my head in shame.

And hated myself for it.

It was one of my biggest worries about the wedding. That Dad would be too drunk and too embarrassing. Max’s too, as he kept drilling into me.

“You used to love coming to the Saturday market with me.” He smiles sadly at me, and I feel yet another pang of guilt. He seems to grow smaller every time I see him. And more fragile.

Every Saturday, Dad had a small stall in the local market. I helped him until I was about fifteen and it stopped being cool. Then Dad would go to the market alone after that.

Now he doesn’t go at all.

“I’ve been at this for hours and you won’t let me throw anything away. You do realise your new place isn’t the size of Buckingham Palace, right?”

I sigh, as I find more knick-knacks at the bottom of the CD box. Things that wouldn’t sell at a flea market. Dad has lived in the social housing flat since his house got repossessed ten years ago and has hoarded everything ever since.

I haven’t told him that I’ve started seeing Jack. I don’t want a drama. Is it weird that my boyfriend’s company is rehousing my dad?

“What’s this?” I ask, lifting up a sealed transparent packet.

He squints at it. “Nothing of value.”

He tries to take it off me but something about it makes me freeze.

Inside the pocket is a gold signet ring that looks like it’s designed to do damage to a face. It has a prominent, almost gaudy, crest on it.

A family crest that I’m familiar with.

“Where did you get this?” I ask curiously, turning it around. “You know this might actually be worth something.”

“Nah. Here, I’ll take it off you.”

Something about how he tries to snap it away from me makes me take a step back. I examine it closer, and my heart quickens.

“Dad.” I gawk at him. “Do you realise this is Jack Knight’s dad’s ring?”

His throat bobs. “Archie Knight? Nah,” he scoffs. “It’s not his.”

He looks like he has seen a ghost. Dad never had a good poker face.

“It’s got hisnameengraved on it.”Exactly like Jack’s chain. “I know it’s his. We have to give this to Jack.”

“No,” he snaps.

My brows shoot to my hairline. “Why on earth not?” I stare uncomprehendingly at Dad. “Is it about the money? Are you actually planning to sell this?”

“I’m not answerable to you, lass.” His voice takes on a hard edge that I’ve heard before, but never directed at me. “Give me the fucking thing, Bonnie.”

Dad never curses at me.

My hand tightens around the ring.

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