he obviously wasn’t desperate to have her back; plus she didn’t like the idea of using him just because things had gone spectacularly wrong, and if she went back now that would be all she was doing. She also had a large dose of stubborn pride that was stopping her: that, and the thought of having to put her tail between her legs and admit she’d messed up again – no, she couldn’t go back to Jarvis’s. The sentiment that had underpinned her decision to end their relationship was the right one, although the timing could have been so much better. They had been treading water for a while and, whilst this approach was most definitely more akin to ripping off the plaster rather than soaking it off gently, it was still the right thing to do.
The chill of the April breeze made her shiver. She took a deep breath and tapped on the door again. She could see movement through the opaque glass.
‘Who is it?’ Her father sounded annoyed.
‘It’s me, Dad.’ He opened the door and hastily beckoned her inside. He was wearing his dressing gown but had socks on his feet. It was an odd combination for the middle of a Monday afternoon – or at any time, come to that. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Er, yeah. I’m fine. What can I do for you?’ He tightened his dressing gown cord and hovered near the door. Her father lived in the same one-bedroom maisonette that he had bought after her mother had left him and taken everything (except Regan) with her.
Regan balanced her box on the back of his sofa. ‘I’d kind of like to stay if I can?’
Her father’s eyes widened. ‘What? Here?’
It wasn’t the welcome she’d hoped for. ‘If that’s all right.’ It was feeling very much like it wasn’t all right at all. She knew she’d be on the sofa, but that’d be fine for a few nights while she licked her wounds and sorted a few things out.
‘Have you had a row with Jarvis? Because I’m sure you can sort that out.’ Graham adjusted his dressing gown again whilst his eyes darted about. There was definitely something wrong.
‘Not exactly, but—’
A noise from the bedroom stopped her mid-sentence. She turned to listen, and then turned back to her father. He was biting his lip. ‘Is there someone else here?’
He nodded sheepishly. ‘Tara just popped round …’ He broke eye contact and Regan surveyed her father’s attire afresh.
Tarty Tara was there. Regan knew exactly what she’d popped round for. She suddenly had a horrible thought that under his dressing gown he was probably not wearing anything at all. She almost knocked her box to the floor in her haste to snatch it up. ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered something.’ She lurched for the door, desperate to escape before embarrassment ate them both alive.
‘Right. Okay then,’ Graham called after her, enthusiastically. ‘If you’re sure?’
‘Yes. Certain. I’ll be fine.’
‘Maybe next time give me a call first?’ he said, hiding behind the door as he opened it for her.
‘Yes. Good idea. Thanks. Bye.’ Something made her pause. She leaned round the door and kissed his cheek. ‘Love you, Dad.’
‘Um, yes. You too, Regan.’ He gave her an awkward smile before closing the door. She heard hysterical laughter erupt behind the glass and rolled her eyes at them behaving like teenagers.
That was her only family member in a fifty-mile radius. Now what?
She trudged back to her car and sat there thinking. Her phone pinged to indicate she had a message. It was from Alex.
V sorry. Hope UR OK.
Regan shook her head and deleted the message. Worst-case scenario; she could sleep in her car. It wasn’t ideal, but at least she wouldn’t be joining Kevin and Elvis on the streets tonight. Although it would still be a bit chilly in the car. A thought struck her. Perhaps she’d sit it out? Tarty Tara would likely be off home soon. Yes, that was a good plan. Wait for Tara to clear off, then she could try to explain again to her dad what had happened and kip on his sofa. She reclined her seat so it was a bit more comfortable, and she waited.
Two hours later her phone rang, pulling her from a delicious dream about swimming in an infinity pool with a pet hippo and Liam Hemsworth. Her neck was stiff and she wasn’t sure where she was for a moment. Then she remembered, and a little dark cloud seemed to hover above her. She picked up her phone – it was Jarvis.
‘Hi, Jarvis.’ She prepared her resolve.
‘Regan, I just wanted to check you’re not having some sort of breakdown.’
Regan closed her eyes and tried to keep her irritation levels at a manageable level. ‘No, I’m fine thanks, Jarvis. But I am sorry if it was all a bit sudden.’
‘No, not at all. I mean I was a little surprised that it was you instigating it rather than me, because I’ve been considering it for quite some time … I just didn’t know how to broach it.’
Great, thought Regan, another blow to my dwindling self-esteem. ‘Well, I’m glad you finally approve of one of my decisions.’
‘Anyway, I don’t think I should be responsible for giving your belongings to charity. I don’t want to get caught out legally. So I’ve packaged them up for you to collect whenever suits.’
‘Thanks.’ It was a small thing, but at least she had her stuff back even if she didn’t have anywhere to put it.
‘When would you like to collect it?’
So much for whenever suits you. ‘I can come straight over now.’ She glanced up at her father’s front door. There didn’t seem to be any sign of Tarty Tara leaving; her tarty Toyota was still parked outside. Maybe she’d be gone by the time she got back.
‘Great. I’m off to Waitrose, so please lock up properly and push your key through the door.’
‘Will do. Bye.’ It was some consolation that she hadn’t broken his heart with her phone call this morning – although had he been a little more upset, it might have helped her feel a bit more valued than she currently did.
Regan was dashing about Jarvis’s kitchen when Cleo FaceTimed. Her phone was on the counter so she hit the answer button.
‘Regan? You there?’
Regan picked the phone up from the counter. ‘Hiya, I’m just … I’m …’ She realised she couldn’t drop all her woes on Cleo – she’d only fret. And what could she do when she was thousands of miles away? ‘How are you?’ asked Regan, trying to sound bright and carefree.
‘I’m okay.’
‘You at another party?’ It looked like a hotel lobby in the background.
‘Yeah. I’ve stepped out for a bit of a break.’ Cleo looked like she was stifling a deep sigh, or a yawn.
‘What time is it there?’ Regan opened and closed kitchen drawers.
‘Nearly three in the morning.’ She looked tired. ‘I could go but I loathe being in a hotel room alone. I think I might be a bit homesick.’
‘Blimey. Ow!’ Regan was only half listening. ‘Bloody skewers.’ Regan sucked her finger.
‘Are you cooking?’
‘Don’t look so surprised!’ said Regan. ‘No, I’m not cooking, but I could be. I’m looking for a corkscrew.’
‘What else are you doing? Remind me what normal people do.’
‘It’s riveting. I’m having a mug of soup.’ Regan held up the mug as evidence whilst she moved around the flat picking things up and stashing