Fake (21 page)

His eyes are dark pools of pain. ‘I didn't come here to ask your forgiveness.'

‘Good, because you're not getting it.' I cross my arms and harden my heart. ‘What do you want?'

‘I wanted to tell you …' His voice trails off and his lower lip quivers.

‘What?' I will not feel anything but loathing for this man. I will not.

‘It was never because of you.'

And something inside me breaks. It shifts and I have to support myself with two hands on the plastic seat because I fear I'll tip sideways. ‘Whatever,' I say, but inside I take those words and wrap them up tightly to be taken out later and examined.

He reaches out across the table like he wants to take my hand, but I can't let go of the edges of the seat. My world is tilting and shaking. He picks up the fake tulip instead, turns it once and then places it gently, as though it's actually alive, back in the vase.

He sighs. ‘I can't make it up to you.'

‘No crap.'

‘But I'm grateful you came here today.'

He's grateful? I grip the seat so hard my knuckles ache. ‘How could it have happened?'

His hands twist and turn over each other. ‘It's impossible to explain.'

I lean back in the seat, without letting go but aiming for a relaxed I've-got-all-day expression. ‘Try me.'

His coffee comes then. It's not steaming and I wonder whether the waitress was waiting for a lull in the conversation to dare set the small white cup and saucer down. She's rough with it and the black liquid slops out the side and forms a murky puddle around the cup.

Has she been listening to us? Her hands go to her hips like she's daring him to say something so she can give him an earful. Marty doesn't complain and she stalks back behind the counter. He sips the coffee.

I wait.

He sets the cup down with a clink and a splash. ‘Your mother was my high school sweetheart. We married young. There was never meant to be anyone else.'

‘Oops.'

He doesn't respond to my sarcasm. ‘I met Carmella through work. She was in desperate trouble. There were people … It's hard to explain but my protection helped.'

‘How romantic. So you weren't a three-timing jerk but a knight in shining armour. And the other one?'

He shrugs. ‘By then I thought I was invincible. You tell enough lies without getting caught and … I started to believe them. I thought I could do whatever I wanted and no one would get hurt. You can't imagine what it's like. Three fake lives, three women who all deserved better. Not being honest was the biggest mistake of my life.'

Something like guilt settles in my belly. Because I do understand. A little. ‘But you were caught?'

He nods with a weary movement. ‘And it all fell apart.'

‘Then what?'

‘You want me to say I regret what happened? Of course I do. No one deserves what I did to them.' His eyes close for a second and a pulse tics in his jaw. ‘It was a nightmare. The media were all over it.'

‘I remember.' I lean forward, risk letting go. ‘What happened after?'

His hand rubs at the balding spot above his temple. ‘It could have been jail time but thanks to the dubious credentials of the celebrants the bigamy charge didn't stick. I moved out of a visible role at work and let the fuss die down. Carmella waited for me through the legal stuff. I guess she didn't really have a choice. She's not strong like your mother. We've been together since.'

The words shouldn't hurt. I've long since mentally cut this man from my life so I shouldn't care about what he's been doing, except there's one more thing … ‘She was pregnant.' I have to choke the words out. It made the whole thing worse somehow for Mum. She could hardly pretend he hadn't been sleeping around when the paparazzi picked up the case. Mum sleep-dishevelled in her dressing gown spliced next to the glowingly pregnant Carmella made a great headline shot.

Marty nods. ‘We have two children.'

I want to run out of this dingy café with its fake flowers and plastic seats. Or at the very least to stick my fingers in my ears and make noise until it all goes away. But for some reason I can't make myself end this conversation.

‘Tell me about them.' I blurt out the words before my instinct for self-preservation stops me.

For the first time he brightens. ‘I can do better than that.' He pulls his phone from his pocket and flicks it to photos. Then he slides it across the table. Two faces smile up at me with the light of love in their eyes. A boy and a girl look adoringly at the person taking the photo. I imagine them all laughing together as my father – their father – captures the shot.

‘Twins?'

He nods. ‘Ten next July.' Pride colours his voice.

My teeth clench. They were born right when everything in my life went to hell.

I shove the phone back across the table. My eyes close on the hot sting of jealous tears. I will not let them fall. If a single one slides down my cheek he'll know I give a damn that he left me but he stayed with them.

And I don't. I don't. I don't.

But the image of their smiling faces stays against my eyelids. Their perfect brown skin, hair even darker than mine, almost black eyes filled with mischief, and matching dimples highlighting their cheeky grins.

Two beautiful, happy children. Something about the little girl …

‘Anna looks a little like you,' Marty says.

I shake my head and open my eyes. ‘She's nothing to do with me. And neither are you.'

He reaches out to grab the hand I didn't realise I'd placed on the table. His touch is gentle but strong. ‘But we can be. They're your siblings and I'm your father.'

Siblings … I've never wanted a brother or sister. The fierce unity between Sebastian and Lana isn't a part of my universe. And I don't miss it. I won't waste a second wondering whether those kids are as cute in real life as in the photo.

I pull my hand away, ignoring the silly leap of my heart. ‘You're too late.' I stand, looking down on him. ‘About nine years too late.'

And I walk past him and out into the afternoon without looking back.

CHAPTER

17

I'm still shaking as I walk the path to my front door and it's not from the light breeze or mild evening air. It's exhilaration. I stormed out on my father.

For the first time in my life I stood up, refused to take someone's crap, and said my piece.

The rush of the moment has me high and victorious. I pretty much bounce home, replaying his stunned expression when I left him mouth agape in the café. I taught him what it's like to be walked out on. I showed him that I won't wait around for him to decide he wants to be in my life.

The feeling lasts as I duck under the low hanging branches with their last autumn leaves. As I hurry past the barking dog with the crazy eyes a block from home. And as I wait at the last corner for three cars to drive by – a positive traffic jam for our street.

Regret hits me at the front door.

It isn't the memory of the pain in his eyes or the image of the siblings I refuse to be curious about. There is no triumph here. I lost. I let him off with a couple of hard questions and a whole lot of long silences. My big confrontation was nothing more than an opportunity for him to ease his conscience.

He didn't ask a single thing about me.

Not once did he say, ‘So how have you been for the last nine years?'

I lean on the door handle to help my knees out. They're strangely wobbly and the cramped feeling in my chest is back with a vengeance. The door opens from the inside and I have to stop myself from falling flat on my face.

It's Mum wearing a lotto grin. ‘I thought I heard you. Dinner's on the table.'

She's too happy. I glance behind her but there's stillness from inside. ‘Is Colin here?'

‘No, but we had a wonderful time.'

For a second I would swear there are actual stars in her eyes, but it's only the reflection of the porch light. I trail her inside. ‘Can I change?'

‘Sure.'

I escape to my bedroom and find my most comfy trackies. I need a second to think.

How can I tell Mum what happened? She's so happy and I don't want to take that from her. I don't even know how to put today into words. The fact I didn't tell her about the email. And then his pride in those kids and his new family.

But I can't stay in my bedroom forever.

I stop at the door to the kitchen-meals area. Mum's at the sink, staring out through the window into the night. Her smile is a slight curve of shining lips. It speaks of remembered touches and moments she'll replay until she sees him again.

I know that feeling – it's the way I am after I've seen Sebastian – and I can't spoil it. Not tonight. We've been through so much together. I just hope that, when I work out the words for everything that's been going on, she'll be ready to listen.

She looks up, catching me staring. Her smile widens. ‘Come on, you, have a seat. Tell me about your day.'

I have no intention of doing so, but I nod and sit at the table. ‘How was the movie?'

* * *

Despite my fears that I'd toss and turn all night worrying about how to tell Mum, I sleep so heavily on Sunday night that I miss my alarm and have to run to avoid a late slip. All day Monday I hope to see Sebastian but he doesn't turn up at lunchtime and I don't bump into him on my detour past the IT building. Joel is moping about all morning and I don't see Lana either. When I see Chay near our gum tree she's late for something. Barely stopping, she explains being missing at lunch by saying she wanted to give me and Sebastian space.

It suits me.

I can't stop thinking about Dad and what he said. It's easier than thinking about everything he wasn't interested in. Like me.

Not being honest was the biggest mistake of his life, and while I'm going through the motions of school, Sebastian could be finding out I'm behind the fake guy messing with his sister. Or I was. The fact that Chay has frozen me out of the revenge plan won't make Sebastian any less pissed if he discovers what we've done.

I finally see Sebastian from a distance after school. He's crossing the grounds with Joel and some of the other soccer boys. They must have forgiven him for his no-show at the game the other night.

I'm tempted to stay and watch them train, but Lana's already up in the stands with some of her friends, so I leave.

Mum is busy as usual in the salon when I get home but she calls out a cheery greeting as I head up the stairs. I try to do homework but I can't focus on the words in my textbook because all I can think about is Mum's reaction to me seeing Dad, and what Sebastian will do when he discovers I've been lying to him.

After an hour of achieving nothing, I go back downstairs. Mum's appointment book will tell me when she'll be done and at least I can get that conversation over with. Mum doesn't look up from the basin where she's rinsing out a colour. She's too busy being regaled by some old lady's tale of a dodgy hip replacement operation.

The appointment book is open on a small table by the phone. While trying to remain inconspicuous, I scan today. This is Mum's last appointment and she should be done within the hour. But there's something else. She's crossed off tomorrow.

Tuesday.

Choose-Day.

It's been more than a month since she last called in sick for me and we hit the antiques shops up the coast, and we've hardly seen each other lately thanks to my … everything and her Colin. The knots in my belly relax. We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow.

* * *

The next morning she knocks on my door but doesn't open it. ‘Kath,' she calls, already walking away. ‘Get a move on or you'll be late for school.'

I sit up. The sun is streaming around the edges of my blind. ‘School?'

She's not far enough away to miss the question in my voice. A moment later the door opens and she leans her head in. ‘That big place of learning you like to visit on a daily basis.'

‘But I thought …' My voice trails off.

Her perfectly plucked brows almost meet. ‘What, honey?'

‘It's Tuesday.'

‘Yes.' She looks at me like I'm speaking another language.

I rub at the sleep in my eyes and swing my legs out to the floor. ‘You crossed it off.'

Her smile vanishes and she actually chews at her prettily painted lips. Date lips. The door swings open more and I take in the skirt and boots and the fitted peach top. Date clothes.

I cross my arms. ‘You're meeting Colin again.'

‘Don't say it like that.'

‘Like what? Like the fact you spend every second you're not in the salon driving to meet a man you haven't bothered to introduce your only child to.'

‘I don't want to rush things.'

I huff. ‘So meeting me is rushing, but dropping everything whenever he asks isn't?'

‘It's not like that.'

‘Well, please explain what it
is
like, because it looks that way from here.'

We stare each other down across my bedroom for long seconds. Once, I would have been apologising by now for talking back but today I can't.

I know I'm right.

‘I'm sorry you thought we were going out.' She comes and sits on the edge of my bed. ‘Next week we will, I promise.'

‘Doesn't matter,' I lie.

It wasn't until I realised she didn't plan to spend the day with me that I understood how important it was. I miss it being us against the world. For so long I've been Mum's priority and I guess I expected her to be around when I need her.

She pokes me in the ticklish spot on my ribcage. ‘Yeah, it does. You're a terrible liar.'

I stifle a gulp. ‘I'm an open book,' I agree.

And she doesn't even blink at the biggest twist of the truth I've ever told her.