Heidi Rice - So Now You're Back

The truth was, there was nothing Halle could do about Aldo’s lack of a father—except hire a wonderful au pair like Trey Carson to take some of the slack. And nothing she needed to do about Lizzie’s dickhead of a dad, Luke Best, except remember every time she got the urge to flinch that she only had to deal with Luke’s bullshit by proxy these days.

No, all Halle needed to focus on now was one simple truth.

That Lizzie wasn’t colourful, durable Tupperware any more, who would bounce if Halle dropped her—as she had so often when her children were small and she’d been juggling two menial jobs, ad hoc childcare and her fledgling party-cake baking business in a Stoke Newington council flat all on her own. Somehow or other, while Halle hadn’t been paying the proper attention, because she’d been focused on making her career happen, her daughter had become china. Fragile, delicate, brittle china that had the potential to shatter if Halle let it fall off its perch. But as long as Halle knew that and remained vigilant, ready to handle any potential wobbles, everything would be absolutely fine.

Which meant finding the time to collect Lizzie in person from the Eurostar terminal, especially as she’d just celebrated a milestone birthday in Paris, instead of arranging for a car and driver to do it instead. But the occasional hiccup—like some tosser thinking he could turn right when the sign clearly said he could not—was not Halle’s fault, and she must not beat herself up about it. Especially as Lizzie was now perfectly capable of doing that for her.

Pushing the anaconda the rest of the way back down her throat, Halle waved her hand in front of Lizzie’s face and smiled as her daughter’s head bobbed up and she tugged out her earbuds.

‘About time. Where have you been? I’ve been waiting here forever.’

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ Halle said, knowing ‘forever’ had been a maximum of ten minutes. ‘Did the train arrive early?’

‘No, you were late. As always.’ Lizzie scowled. ‘Dad’s never late picking me up at the other end, you know.’

Yes, Halle did know, because Lizzie had never missed an opportunity to point out all the things her dad did right and Halle did wrong.

‘Well, at least I’m here now,’ Halle replied, keeping her beatific smile firmly in place and nobly resisting the urge to list all the things Lizzie’s father had done wrong once upon a time. Apart from the fact that would take months, Halle had made a decision sixteen years ago, when she had negotiated Luke’s request for visitation rights through the duty solicitor at the Citizens Advice Bureau in Hackney, that never having to talk to Luke again was worth the price of not slagging him off to his daughter.

Her silence on the subject of Luke’s betrayal, his selfishness and his numerous character flaws had been agony to maintain when Lizzie was little, and the pain of what he’d done was still fresh, still raw, still all-consuming. But she’d managed it, by keeping three things front and centre in her mind: Lizzie idolised her dad; the less Lizzie knew about her parents’ broken relationship, the less likely it was to become a point of conflict between them; and, for all his many faults, which were legion, Luke did love his daughter—unlike Aldo’s father, Claudio, who had refused to even acknowledge his son.

Plus, there was a limit to how much Luke could screw up Halle’s karma when Lizzie spent only a few weeks of the year with him.

So moments like this, when Lizzie insisted on poking at that old wound, were really only a mild irritation, which Halle could dismiss easily … enough.

‘Did you get the bouquet and the gift I sent to your father’s place on your birthday?’ Halle asked, subtly changing the direction of the conversation away from the minefield of Luke’s shortcomings.

‘Yeah, thanks. The iPad was cool.’

Halle’s smile became strained at Lizzie’s surly shrug—and the evidence that she obviously hadn’t rated any extra parental brownie points with the lavish gesture. She dismissed the treacherous thought. Easily enough (ish).

You’re not in a competition with him. Because if you were, you’d wipe the floor with him.

‘Good, I’m glad you liked it. Actually, I booked us a table at the champagne bar here to celebrate your coming of age before we head home.’ Halle’s smile became genuine at the shock in her daughter’s pale blue eyes. ‘If you fancy it?’

‘You’re kidding. You’ll let me have a glass of champagne?’

Nice call, Mel. She silently thanked her super-efficient PA, Melanie Blissett, for the suggestion.

‘Of course. You’re legal now,’ Halle said airily, gripping the handle of Lizzie’s suitcase and dismissing the pang of something sharp and bittersweet that stabbed into her left ventricle.

No need to go the full wuss.

This would not be the first time her daughter had consumed an alcoholic beverage. It would simply be the first time she’d consumed one with her mother’s permission—so really it wasn’t a milestone worth getting too emotional about.

‘Awesome,’ Lizzie replied, finally losing the last remnants of her scowl.

Halle led the way onto the escalator that took them up to the station’s impressive upper level and the Grand Terrace, where the champagne bar, which stretched towards a giant sculpture of a couple kissing, was already packed on a Tuesday evening. Halle was grateful that Mel had called ahead and somehow managed to secure them a corner banquette, especially when several of the other patrons gave her penetrating I-know-who-you-are looks as she and Lizzie were led to their seats.

She was careful not to acknowledge them, giving off what she hoped were please-don’t-approach-me vibes. Just this once, it would be great not to be recognised. Getting the chance to have a companionable chat with her daughter, without the usual friction, was rare enough, but having quality time with Lizzie without having to ride herd on Aldo, or, worse, settle the arguments between her two children—which was usually more traumatic than trying to negotiate world peace—was virtually unheard of.

She ordered them two glasses of rosé champagne and slid into the bench seat with her back to the rest of the bar—glad when the usual Londoners reserve held true and no one approached them.

‘Where’s the Antichrist tonight?’ Lizzie took the seat opposite. ‘With Mr Perfecto, as usual?’

‘So you’ve been missing your brother, have you?’ Halle teased, ignoring the jab at Aldo’s au pair.

She suspected—even if Lizzie would rather have all her precious Urban Outfitters clothes ceremonially burned than admit it to herself—that her daughter might well have a secret crush on Trey Carson. Which would not surprise Halle in the slightest—she certainly couldn’t fault her daughter’s taste this time.

Twenty-one going on thirty-five, Trey was kind, gallant, responsible, a lifesaver with Aldo and much better looking than the feckless hipster losers Lizzie had favoured in the past.

When Trey had first started to work for her three months ago, Halle had noticed Lizzie watching him and had panicked. She had instantly recognised the interest in Lizzie’s eyes, because it was similar to the puppy-dog eyes Halle herself had once cast at Lizzie’s father—when she was a clueless fifteen-year-old desperate to lose her virginity and Luke had been a surly, sexy sixteen-year-old class warrior and sixth-form reject.

Thankfully, for everyone concerned, Trey—unlike Luke—had been far too mature to take advantage of Lizzie’s interest. He’d handled the situation perfectly—treating her daughter with the same calm confidence he used to handle her son, while at the same time establishing a professional distance.