Page 23 of Textbook Romance

I squeeze into the cupboard and squat down next to her, seeing her eyes well up. ‘Lottie. He’s still your dad. For all that’s changed, he will always be your dad.’

‘But he’s also a wanker, too.’

‘Well, yeah…’ She smiles and throws her arms around my neck.

‘Can I say that to his face?’

‘Only at Christmas.’ I grab her face and look into those hazel, not green eyes. You’re so angry and I get it completely and I’m almost grateful for it, but I can’t have you hold on to that emotion forever. I don’t like how this has transformed my bright bouncing teen into this seething ball of resentment and confusion. That’s not a way to live, to grow up.

‘What is she doing in the cupboard?’ Brian says, returning to the room and seeing us there.

‘Laundry,’ she shouts out. ‘Idiot.’

‘Lottie, you can’t talk to me like that,’ he argues, trying to look over my body to catch her eye. I wouldn’t try, Brian. With the anger steaming off her, she’d turn you to stone. ‘Why have you blocked my number?’

She shows me a chicken bone that she pretends to stab into mid-air. I put my body in the way so Brian can’t see it.

‘I’ll do what I like. I’m allowed to be selfish in this very moment – I must have learnt that from you.’

My bold and fearless Lottie. It was the only way I ever wanted her to be, but this courage is all so barbed, so hurtful and that’s less good. I put a finger to my mouth, urging her to stop.

‘Why are you being like this?’ Brian pleads.

‘No idea.’ She’s brave but by god, she’s sarcastic, too. It’s the best weapon in her arsenal.

He tries to enter the cupboard. She throws a bottle of Febreze at him. Brian should be grateful it wasn’t the iron. He stops for a moment, and I look up at him. You know why she’s being like this. You’ve known this girl all her life. She needs time, she needs space, she needs to trust you again because no one in this room does at this very moment.

‘Look, the tickets are booked for Manchester, and I’d really like for us to go together. It’d be good to get away. I… Please, Lottie…’ he whispers.

I see her on the verge of screaming a hell of a lot of expletives, but she stops to see tears welling up in my eyes.

‘Dyl, talk to her. Please, mate. Look, I’ll go,’ he says, hands to the air, admitting defeat.

Dylan doesn’t reply. He just sits there, and I hear Brian’s footsteps leave the kitchen and the front door softly shut. I notice Dylan walk over to the sink with his father’s half-drunk cup of tea. He throws it down the sink, puts the cup in the dishwasher and returns to his seat.

‘Can we leave the utility room now? Maybe… Please…?’ I ask Lottie and pull her up to her feet, putting an arm around her as we walk back into the kitchen, and sandwich Dylan into a reluctant hug, trying to gloss over that awkward interruption.

‘I don’t want to go to Manchester, he can seriously stick Manchester up his backside,’ Lottie exclaims.

‘He’s a massive arsehole but I’m not sure an entire city can fit up there,’ Dylan mutters and we all laugh. It’s his first and only words on the matter but at least they were funny. They both cling on to me so tightly and I’m not sure I’ve felt a hug this tight since they were tiny and it was thundery outside, a time when they used to cling to the very bones of me.

‘Remind me what the tickets were for again?’ I ask them both.

‘The 1975.’ It was a Christmas gift he’d given them way back when he was still the hero in both their lives, a trip they planned together to include shopping and dragging Lottie around a football stadium tour.

‘But we won’t go now, Mum. It’s not right.’

‘Why not?’ I ask them, parting the hug.

‘Because he’s a twat and it wouldn’t be fair to you,’ Lottie tells me.

And I exhale loudly because as much as I love their allegiance, I would be a terrible parent to punish Brian in this way, to get in the way and affect his relationship with his own kids.

‘Or maybe, you go. Try and have a nice time. You love The 1975.’

‘We love you, too,’ Lottie says. ‘Possibly even more.’

I shake my head, laughing at her.

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