If he didn’t make this call in the next thirty seconds, he probably never would. He sucked in a deep breath. And on the exhale, pressed the call button.
Rich arranged to meet Candi that afternoon.
The conversation to set up the meeting had been, understandably, somewhat stilted. The moment she answered the phone, his mind had flashed blank. As if that one solitary word, ‘Hello’, confirmed her existence; made him realise that, in some ludicrously head-in-sand way, he’d been hoping her appearance had been nothing more than an apparition; that she didn’t really exist at all.
She was already at the venue she’d suggested – a quaint café in Harrogate – when Rich arrived. Sitting at a small table tucked away at the back, she had what looked like a strawberry milkshake in front of her. The café was busy, seemingly overtaken by a busload of pensioners. Due to the bustle of activity, she didn’t see him at first, allowing him another few seconds to appraise her. Her lank, mousy hair was scraped back in a high ponytail, and her yellow hoodie sapped her face of all colour.
Did she bear any resemblance at all to him? He didn’t think so. Or maybe her –
All at once, she turned and caught his eye. Her mouth stretched into a nervous smile.
Rich’s stomach flipped. He attempted a smile of his own, but by the strange look a passing waitress shot him, suspected he looked like he might be in dire need of the loo.
Candi’s smile widened as he approached the table. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi.’ Rich slipped into the chair opposite. ‘How, er, are you?’
She grimaced. ‘A bit nervous, to be honest. You?’
‘Ever so slightly terrified.’
She nodded. ‘Well, I guess it isn’t every day you discover you have a kid you didn’t know about.’
Rich gave a snort of ironic laughter. ‘No, thank God.’ Then, realising how bad that sounded, immediately added, ‘Not that it wasn’t … I mean, it isn’t … I mean, you aren’t …’
This time her smile was sympathetic. ‘It’s okay. I can imagine it came as a bit of a shock.’
The arrival of the waitress at that point spared Rich having to explain that there was no “bit” about it. He ordered a café latte and sat back in his chair. ‘Well …’ he began. Well, what? He had no idea what to say next.
‘Awkward?’ she suggested with a shy smile.
Rich noticed how it lit up her face, making her appear, if not exactly pretty, then certainly a deal more animated.
‘It took me ages to pluck up the courage to contact you,’ she admitted, her gaze shifting to her drink as she fiddled with the two straws ensconced therein. ‘I didn’t know the best way to do it. If I should send you a letter, or phone, or … Anyway, after much deliberation, I decided it was probably best just to bite the bullet and do it in person.’
Rich nodded. ‘You were right. I think if you had sent me a letter, I probably would’ve thought it was a wind-up.’
‘I’m really glad you called me,’ she confessed, her gaze still on the straws. ‘I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.’
Rich gawped as, for the first time, it occurred to him that he hadn’t given a moment’s thought as to how she must be feeling about all this. He needed to find out more.
‘So how long have you known I was your …?’ What? Dad? Father? Donator of sperm?
‘Just after my A-levels last year,’ she replied, sparing him the trouble of further indecision. ‘We moved house so Mum had to empty all the drawers in the bureau she normally keeps locked. I knew my birth certificate was in there so I managed to have a rummage. Of course, I’d asked her loads of times before, but she just fobbed me off.’
Great, fumed Rich. Not only had Bernice ousted him from playing any part in their daughter’s life, but she’d withheld his very existence. Indignation surged through him. For all he wasn’t over the moon about the discovery, surely he had the right to know he’d fathered a child? Wasn’t there some law about that? Because if there wasn’t, there damned well should be.
‘Does your mum know you’ve contacted me?’ he asked, attempting to banish any hint of venom from his tone.
Behind her spectacles, Candi’s eyes grew wide. ‘God, no. She’d go ballistic.’
Rich caught his bottom lip between his teeth. Recalling many of the tantrums Bernice had thrown in the short time he’d known her, he could well imagine that being the case. ‘How, er, is she?’ he heard himself asking. Crap! Where had that come from? He couldn’t give a toss about Bernice’s state of health.
Candi shrugged. ‘She’s okay, I suppose. Has her moments. She can be a bit …’ – she resumed her straw fiddling – ‘… a bit difficult at times.’
Hmm. Rich suspected there may be a deal more to that than she let on, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to explore that particular avenue just yet.
‘Did you go out with her for long?’
His heart plummeted. Shit. Of course she’d want to know about his relationship with her mother. He should’ve seen that coming. But he’d been so wrapped up in how all this affected him, it hadn’t once occurred to him the kid must have a gazillion questions of her own. Although none he could probably satisfactorily answer. He suspected her conception had resulted from a clumsy, drunken fumble behind Beverley Fitzgerald’s garage after a house party. As tactless as he could sometimes be, though, even he didn’t think she’d want to hear that. Well, at least if Bernice hadn’t said anything about him, he could inject a dash of poetic licence.
‘We went out for a couple of months,’ he replied. ‘We were young. I don’t think either of us really saw any future in it.’
‘What was Mum like back then?’
The waitress appeared at the table with Rich’s coffee. He smiled his thanks, grateful for the few seconds extra thinking time the intervention allowed him. Bernice had been a selfish cow. In fact, if his memory served him correctly, the reason they’d split was because she’d been absolutely plastered but wanted to go on to an all-night rave. Rich had put his foot down, which hadn’t evidently been the response she’d desired.
‘She was, um, a bit of a party girl,’ he said at length.
Candi bit her lip.
‘Do you like parties?’ he asked, wincing at how naff that sounded. Anything to veer the conversation away from him and Bernice, though.
Candi shook her head. ‘Not really. I don’t drink. It makes me throw up.’
Huh. That was weird. Rich was similarly affected after only a couple of glasses of wine. ‘So what do you do with yourself?’ he continued. ‘I presume you’ve left school now.’
She nodded. ‘Last summer.’
‘And are you planning on going to uni?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘No. It’s never appealed, to be honest. I don’t know what I want to do really. I guess you could say I’m having a year out to assess my options. I’m earning a bit of money working in a clothes shop at the moment. But, as corny as it sounds, I feel like I need to find out who I am and what I really want before I trot down some route just for the sake of it.’
Wow. A wise head on young shoulders. Rich liked that. What he wasn’t so enamoured with, though, was the distinct air of sadness that hung about her.
‘So, what about you?’ she enquired. ‘Apart from owning the hot-tub business, I don’t know a thing about you.’
Oh, God. He really didn’t want to talk about himself. He’d keep it brief. ‘Not much to tell, really. I’m married to Alison and have a six-year-old daughter …’