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Darby Lloyd’s upper lip curled in derision and irrational fear made Britt’s hands tremble and her lungs seize. Yet no amount of deep breathing or steeling her nerves could calm her as she faced her father for the first time in ten years.
From the moment she knew she'd be returning home, she'd been bracing for this confrontation.
It didn’t make it any easier, because seeing her father after a decade catapulted her back to a time she’d rather forget.
She paused at the entrance to his apartment, one of few in the exclusive Jacaranda special accommodation home for the elderly.
Not that Darby would ever admit to his seventy-two years. He'd had work done on his face several times, had hair plugs to arrest a threatening bald patch, and continued to wear designer clothes better suited to a man half his age. But loads of money or cosmetic work or fancy clothes couldn't buy health and that was one thing he didn't have these days.
Five years ago, he'd tried to guilt her into quitting her job in London and returning to look after him as he grew older and more bitter. He'd nearly succeeded. However, some deep part of her had resisted his pressure.
Darby had been a cruel tyrant who'd controlled her life until she'd come into a small inheritance from her mum when she'd turned eighteen, and fled as far from him as she could get.
She simply couldn't return to the hell she'd left behind.
In her heart, she desperately wanted to be anywhere but in front of the man who would’ve ruined her life if she'd let him, but her pride wouldn't let her pay a visit to her hometown and not see him.
Older and stronger, surely she could confront him now?
She had come here today to prove to herself she'd finally laid the past to rest.
Working harder and longer than everyone might keep the memory demons at bay, but she knew if she stopped, slowed down her frenetic pace, the old fears could come crowding back to fling her right back to that dim, dark place ten years earlier. And she'd be damned if she let that happen.
In a way, she should thank dear old Dad for shaping her into the woman she was today: strong, capable, and successful, everything he said she'd never be.
But there was more to this visit and she knew it, no matter all her self talk to the contrary.
Hope had prompted this visit.
Hope he might’ve changed. Hope that after all this time they might actually have a shot at some semblance of a normal father-daughter relationship.
If they couldn’t, she wouldn’t let it bother her. Her father couldn’t change who she’d become: a woman on top of her career, a woman who depended on no-one, a woman a far cry from the victim she'd once been.
She'd vowed back then to never be helpless again, had instigated huge steps to eradicate the confusion and fear. Yet as she stood on the threshold to this room, trepidation tripped across her skin as the anxiety she'd fought to conquer over the last decade clawed at her belly.
'How are you, Dad?'
‘The same.' He limped towards her, using his cane to point at a seat for her. 'No thanks to you.'
Taking several deep breaths, she perched on the edge of the chair, willing the dread to subside, hating the vulnerability being this close to him elicited.
She needed to do this, needed to see if there was the slightest chance for them before she returned to London. 'You look good.'
He grunted in response and wouldn't meet her gaze, his surly expression putting a serious dent in her hopes for some kind of reconciliation.
'This place is lovely.'
Another monosyllabic grunt as his frown deepened and her patience wore a little thinner.
'Dad, I really think it's time to—'
'What the hell are you doing here?'
His snarl caught her off guard despite his churlishness, yet it wasn't his response that saddened her as much as the contempt in his truculent glare.
She'd been a fool to hope for anything other than what she got: more of the same from a boorish man who didn't give a crap about her.
'I'm here on business."
