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“It’s not about beer,” he said, coming closer, and I got a whiff of aftershave. I frowned because it dragged a memory right from the back of my mind. I had no ideawhatI was remembering, just something.
“Well, we don’t do much in the way of food, so not sure I can help you with much else. Sorry.”
He put his hands on the back of the stool that Marcus had vacated, his fingers digging into the leather. Narrowing his eyes on me, he cleared his throat, and the confidence of a few minutes earlier seemed to have disappeared.
“It’s nothing to do with the bar at all,” he told me in a deep baritone.
I swung my legs around, away from the bar, ready to stand up and invite him to leave, if necessary. There was something about his demeanour that was edgy. Like he was looking for an argument, or he was at least ready for one. His tongue flicked along his bottom lip, backwards and forwards, like he was playing for time.
“Listen, mate,” I sighed. “Do you want to tell me why you’re in my bar. I really need to get ready for lunchtime opening in,” I glanced at the clock on the wall, “an hour.”
“Yeah, sorry,” he replied and pulled his shoulders back. “You’re William Newman, right?”
“Yes. I told you that.”
With a quick nod, he held out his hand, like he wanted me to shake it. “Nice to meet you, William. I’m Steven Brownlow. I’m your dad.”
My mouth instantly went dry, and all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. The earth tilted a little beneath me as I stared at the eyes I suddenly recognised. They were mine.Maddy’s. The tilt of his chin was Maddy’s.
I shook my head. “No. Not a chance.”
He inhaled slowly and then let it out even slower, like he was the most relaxed man in the world. A small smile at his lips and the straightening of his spine brought back his air of confidence. Like he was a man who was never told no, never questioned.
“I can assure you I am.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. “Your mum and me in Blackpool where we met. She was on holiday with her friend, Helen. She was twenty-two when she had you and her name is Marie.”
“Was,” I croaked out. “Her namewas, Marie.”
If it was shock that made his smile drop and his shoulders stoop, it was only for a split second. In a snap his poise was back.
“I’m really sorry for your loss. When did she die?”
If I expected any emotion from him, I wasn’t getting any. Platitudes from the man who’d suddenly announced we were blood related.
Gripping the brass rail in front of the bar I pulled myself to standing. “Listen, I know who you say you are, but I’m not sure I want you here.”
“I understand. It’s a shock. Not what you were expecting when you got out of bed this morning.”
“Not what I expected for the last thirty-seven years,” I said through gritted teeth. “A bit late, if I’m honest. And don’t tell me you didn’t know about me because I know Mum told you.”
I was aware I was the product of a summer fling, but I also knew she’d told him, and he wasn’t interested. When I was eighteen, a box of Mum’s papers found their way to me. In it was the usual stuff like my birth certificate, Mum’s death certificate and a letter from my father stating he couldn’t be involved with me because he was about to get married to his long-term girlfriend. He signed it with an S, couldn’t even be arsed to put his full name. For years, I’d told myself it stood for shit bag.
“Circumstances made it difficult for me to be involved,” he retorted, flatly, like I should accept it as being okay.
“Yeah, how is your wife? I assume you married her despite getting my mum pregnant.”
“She passed away a couple of months ago,” he stated, still showing no real emotion.
“Oh right, so you thought I know I’ll go and find my long lost son.” Shaking my head, I pushed past him, nudging him with my shoulder. He was tall, yet I still had a couple of inches on him and few pounds of muscle, and he took a stumbling step backwards.
“William, please.”
“It’s Will and I’m not fucking interested.”
My heart felt like it was about to jump up out of my throat and throw itself onto the floor in front of me. It was beating so hard as I walked away from him, an act that didn’t distress me in any way. I’d never been the sort of kid who had an idealistic view of what his dad might be like, or that he might come riding in on a white horse to rescue me from my shitty childhood in foster homes. For one, he’d made it clear he didn’t want me, and for two, I’d lived with foster families and in the main they were okay until Mrs P and she was incredible. I couldn’t have wanted for a better home if I couldn’t be with my mum. In fact, Mrs P probably gave me more support and home comforts than Mum ever did or could have. How could she when she worked two jobs? It didn’t make her a bad mother, if anything, it was what made her a great mother. Mrs P just gave me something different that I needed at that time in my life. That was why Steven Brownlow could fuck off.
“I can understand why you’re angry,” he called to my retreating back. “Things were different then. I was different then. I was just a stupid young man who had no backbone. If I had, I’d have told my wife the truth.”
I swung around my chest burning with anger. “But you weren’t, and you didn’t. I’ve had thirty-seven years without you and not missed you one little bit, so I don’t really see the need to have you in my life now.” I lifted up the bar flap and walked through. “Now if you’d like to leave through the front door, I’d appreciate it.”
