Page 43 of The Reno
“One day, Kit Kat,” he’d said, in his deep Mancunian accent that became more pronounced when he was back home, “when this house is going to come up for sale, I’ll buy it, and we’ll do it up together. How does that sound?”
On the long drive back home, like a typical eight-year-old, I’d excitedly detailed all the features I’d add to the house. I wanted a slide from my bedroom window down to the garden. A pink playhouse at the end of the garden. My dad had listened to me, nodding indulgently and chuckling. We agreed over petrol station McDonalds that he would get me a playhouse if it could double up as a pub for him. He held my hand, walking back to the car, promising he’d let me make dens in the garden.
That excited, naive ten-year-old was far away now. But even though I shouldn’t, I still craved that promise. The little agreement we’d made together, plotting in the four-hour car ride. Just two years later, we’d all fall apart. He would go from a doting father to a ghost. We’d shift to missed milestones and stilted, awkward conversations over the phone that eventually died out.
Where did it all go wrong?
Did he not love me enough to give me those memories, too?
I felt a single tear rolling down my cheek. I hadn’t realised I was crying.
“Looks like they had fun here,” Liam said gently, touching the sketches.
I huffed and rubbed the tear away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t apologise,” Liam interjected. “I get it. It’s hard to…” He cleared his throat. “Grief is complicated.”
I laughed, looking up at the ceiling. “Yeah. Yes, it is very complicated.”
“If you ever want to speak to anyone about it.” He flinched. “You have Lydia to talk to about it. And Brian and Sandra, too. I’m sure they would be there for you, if you asked.”
I shook my head. “It’s hard to speak to them about it. They had a very different relationship with my dad than I did. You can forgive absent uncles. It’s harder to forgive absent dads.”
“I get that.” Liam nodded.
I wiped my eyes. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be trauma-dumping on you. I’m sure you got an eyeful at the funeral as it is.”
I finally met Liam’s eyes, and his expression was full of that same pity as at the funeral, and my stomach turned.
“I understand how you feel—” Liam lifted his hand to put… where I wasn’t sure.
My whole body screamed to get out of this conversation. I couldn’t do this. Not now, not with Liam.
“Anyway!” I said breezily. “Let’s get back to the job at hand—”
“Kat.”
“I’m fine, Liam.” I dusted my hands of plaster. I refused to look in his direction. I was too embarrassed about gettingso emotional in front of a stranger.
“Do you want some good news?” Liam asked, his tone brighter. Lighter. I was grateful for that shift.
“Yes, please.”
“I spoke to my dad; you know he and Brian are thick as thieves. Well, he knew your dad as well. They played football together or something like that. Probably back when the ball was made of leather, and everything was in black and white.”
I gave a teary laugh, and Liam’s lips twitched. So close to a smile.
“I explained how you wanted to renovate the house, and he wanted to help. So, he said I was forbidden to charge you.”
“Can’t charge me?” I squeaked.
“He was pretty insistent.” He looked away. “Well, you’ll have to cover costs for materials, but we won’t charge for labour.”
I gawped. “You can’t do that. It’s too much.”
Liam shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
“That’s thousands of pounds, Liam.”
