Trust (London Love #5)

I went to bed, dried my tears on the sheets, face-planted into Mr Snuggles, and I slept.

I didn’t even feel guilty about it.

***

When I woke up, my dad was sitting at the edge of the bed, handing me a cup of tea.

“Thanks,” I said weakly. He was looking at me the way he did when I was about to get one of those tellings-off. When I’d done something really bad.

“I’m not telling you what to do,” he said softly.

I snorted. “You’re not exactly the best person to give relationship advice.” I was being mean again, all my thorns poking out of my skin.

“I have lived a bit. I wasn’t always your dull old dad, Reuben. I was young and stupid once too. Made mistakes. Did a load of illegal shit. But I also loved. Had a lot of sex. You know this. And I don’t regret a single thing. Remember that. Perhaps my choices weren’t always the wisest. Perhaps I hurt people. People certainly hurt me.”

“Yeah.”

I did know all this. And I was hurting too. I wasn’t sure how or when or why. Just the fact that he wasn’t here, in my bed, next to me. I was holding on to Mr Snuggles, when I should have been holding on to someone else.

“Text him, kid. Say good morning. Tell him he’s in your thoughts. Something like that.”

“Sounds like a stupid greetings card.”

“Perhaps.” Dad smiled. “Tell him whatever you need to tell him, but in any case…”

“What?” I took a sip of my tea, cringed at my attitude when Dad was only trying to help.

“Tell him you’re sorry. You behaved like a right twat last night.”

I had no words left to say. Nothing.

“We’re leaving in fifteen. Get your arse into gear, kid.”

Work. More shit no doubt. More of everything I didn’t want to deal with right now.

I didn’t text him. Couldn’t.

What was I supposed to say? Sorry I yelled at you? Sorry I gave you a snog. Didn’t mean to, I have no idea what came over me, and if you have any stupid ideas of anything else happening, forget it?

I felt wrecked. Empty. Dumb.

Work. I carried bloody bags. Pushed trolleys, arranged car keys and argued with taxi drivers trying to rip my guests off. I was having none of their shitty fraud here. Not at my door. Neither was my dad. We worked that door like a well-oiled machine.

Next week, we’d be on opposite shifts again, my cousin Luis taking my side instead of Dad’s, and then I had a few shifts with my other cousin Magda again. I liked working with her, as much as I liked anything right now.

My arms hurt. My head hurt, and Dad was late back from lunch and I was running around like a headless chicken when a car pulled up outside and someone got out. Someone I recognised far too well.

Shit.

He had that hoodie on again, hood up and head down but walking confidently. That rucksack was slung over his shoulder like an extra limb of some sorts. Straight through the doors, he thumped his elbows down on the desk in front of me, lifted his head and looked me in the eyes.

He was a showman, all right. I giggled. I couldn’t help it. Any second now, he’d do a little pirouette dance move and loud music would blast from the speakers alongside a cloud of show smoke.

None of that happened, of course. This wasn’t a cheesy musical.

“G,” I said. “What the fuck?”

“Just needed to see you. My driver’s waiting outside.”