“I’d forgotten how satisfyingly pink your cheeks turn.”
“There’s no point in trying to flatter me.”
“I wasn’t. Anger isn’t a good look on anyone, but believe me, it does nothing kind to your complexion.”
“I’m not going to trade insults with you.”
“No, because you’re so much better than that,” he replies tauntingly. “You’ve won the good brother. The righteous one. Though I’m not sure exactly how righteous a common whore can be.”
“If you’re trying to frighten me off, you’re wasting your time. I know exactly who he is and what’s done.”
“Oh. Okay. So I can shake a few more skeletons out of the family closet without fear of upsetting your delicate sensibilities?”
“Have at it.”
“I suppose we are family now.” His eyes move over me suggestively again. “So I’ll add murder to the mix.”
“Your brother fought for his country.”
“I wasn’t referring to government sanctioned slaughter but the murder of his own grandfather.”
“That’s not true.” I’m sure of it.
“Isn’t it? I’m sure if you ask him, he’ll tell you himself. In a fit of black rage, he held up our grandfather, an elderly and infirm man, by his throat. He shook him like a baby he was frustrated with. Maybe he didn’t mean to kill him—that’s what the parents of babies shaken to death say, don’t they? That they snapped. That they’re sorry. Anyway, he died three hours later.”
“Then why isn’t he in prison?” Because this is bull, that’s why.
“Because we Hayes like to keep our dirty laundry behind closed doors. And because his death certificate says abdominal aortic aneurysm. There’s no denying it was brought on by the trauma. Carson was the apple of his eye.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me all this, what you think it might change.”
Simon straightens from the counter, sauntering over to the receptionist’s chair. He drops into it, swivelling the seat back and forth as though contemplating my words.
“I thought it might worry you. Living under the same roof as the murderer. Allowing a murderer to raise your child. But I can see he’s already told you his version of events. So I suppose I’ll just have to tell you where this brings us to next.”
“Can’t wait,” I mutter, glancing at the clock on the wall. Any minute now, Beth or Marta will turn up for work and I don’t know if that will make the situation better or worse.
“I have an ultimatum. You have a child that is my flesh and blood. A child I’m entitled to be with. To bond with.”
“You have no rights. None at all. I’ve checked.” And I’m bluffing just a little. The temptation to google diagnose our legal situation was cut short when Carson had leaned over the back of the sofa where I sat, iPad in hand. He promised I had nothing to worry about. That he had the best legal representation money could buy.
So I stopped looking. Does that make me a fool or afraid?
“That’s true at the moment. I’m not interested in being her father, but I’ve already started the process of petitioning for paternity.”
“Why? What did I ever do to you?”
“This isn’t about you, Fee. You’re not important.” Oh boy. He is just a twirling moustache and a swirling cape away from a cartoon villain. “You’ll be ordered to deliver Eloise for a paternity test. Once paternity is determined, and we both know the outcome of that, I’ll start the process into obtaining visitation rights.”
“You want to sit in a state sanctioned access centre with a child you don’t know, a child who doesn’t even like you? While fractured families cry and fight and sully your Armani shoes?”
“These were actually custom made in London,” he answers with a brief glance to his feet. “But you do paint a persuasive picture.”
“How could you ever get to know her like that? One weekend in three is the best you can hope for.” Even as I say this, my mind is racing ahead. What happens when my year is up? Will we be forced to stay here? “You think forcing her to see you will make her like you more? Love Carson less?” Because that has to be the point of this morning’s intervention. If it’s not about me and it’s not about Lulu and it’s about the hatred between two brothers.
“I don’t give a fuck who she loves. But you know in your heart of hearts I can win any woman over, no matter the age. And I have all the time in the world. It might be an access centre to begin with. Then it’ll be an hour at the park. Before you know it, she’ll be bouncing between us, owning two of everything and never really knowing a full-time home.”
“That’s not going to happen.” My heart begins to pound once more, my fingernails making half-moons against the meat of my palms.