My Ten-Year Crush by Olivia Spring

Chapter Ten

Faking it was hard.

Let me rephrase. Faking things for longer than a few minutes was difficult. I’d faked many things: smiles when I had to speak to someone I didn’t like, even orgasms. But right now, sitting here playing happy families with my parents—mainly with my dad—was proving difficult.

‘Wine?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

Dad put the glass in front of me on the cherry wood dining table. Like most of the furniture in the house, it was antique. The decor had stayed the same since I was a child. Burgundy wallpaper in the hallway, dining and living rooms, with matching carpets and what felt like a thousand childhood photos of me lining the walls, which were always a source of embarrassment whenever my friends came over.

Seeing the glass on the table reminded me how long it had taken for Dad to accept I was an adult and wanted to be offered alcohol instead of just water or a soft drink. Think I was around twenty. I remembered he’d also insisted I use a ‘Daddy’s little girl’ tumbler until I was thirteen.

‘They’d sold out of the one you always drink from Sainsbury’s, so I drove to M&S and got this one instead. It’s won awards, apparently, so should be good.’

‘Thank you.’ That was kind. The nearest M&S was a few miles away, so I appreciated him going out of his way.

As sweet as it was, I was still frustrated about the promotion. I’d been right about Julie getting the job. Wasn’t looking forward to being reminded of that next term. But at least now there was hope. I had the course to look forward to.

After I’d transferred the money into Sophia’s account, I’d spoken to Zainab and sent off my forms, and I was all set. Once I’d got back from shopping, there was a box outside my door with a selection of books Sophia had ordered, bless her. So I’d spent the whole day going through those and looking over the course syllabus.

Truth be told, I just wanted to stay at home today and study some more to prepare myself as much as possible for tomorrow. But I knew how much Mum looked forward to our Sunday lunches, so here I was, pretending everything was fine.

‘Looking forward to your holiday next week, Mum?’ I asked.

‘Yes, sweetie!’ she said brightly. Even though she’d moved to London when she was twelve, you could still detect her St Lucian accent. Mum’s smile was infectious. The laughter lines at the side of her dark eyes were the only creases in her skin. She was in her late fifties, with short, curly salt-and-pepper hair, but could easily pass for a decade younger. ‘It’ll be nice to spend some time by the sea.’

My parents were off on holiday to Cornwall. They’d gone every year as far back as I could remember, apart from one year where Mum had insisted that she take me to St Lucia to meet her family. I think I was only about seven or eight at the time, so I didn’t remember a lot about the trip.

Mum had returned regularly to the Caribbean until she’d met Dad in her early twenties. He wasn’t keen on flying and had always insisted that we holiday in England. His grandparents lived by the coast and he’d grown up spending his summers with them. So when I was born, I supposed he wanted to continue the tradition.

‘I hope you’ll be joining us?’ Dad said, cutting his roast beef. We always had a roast on Sunday with potatoes and veg. It was Dad’s favourite. ‘You used to love our holidays there.’

I’d enjoyed them much more when I was a kid. Cornwall was a beautiful place, and when my younger cousin Cassie came with us, it was a lot more fun. But that was decades ago. It would’ve been nice to have more of a balance, alternating between Cornwall and St Lucia so I could’ve got to know Mum’s side of the family better too. But that was how it was.

These days, I joined my parents on holiday more out of habit than desire. Every summer they invited me, and if I was free, I tried to go and stay, even if it was just for a few days. Things would be different this year, though.

‘Yes!’ Mum perked up. ‘Come with us, Bella!’

‘I’m sure it will be lovely, but I can’t, I’m afraid.’

‘I can drive back to London to pick you up whenever you’re ready to go and we can travel together if you like?’ said Dad. ‘To make sure you get there safely.’

He offered to do that every year, but I knew it took at least five hours in the car each way, so it didn’t seem fair for him to trek down to collect me when I could just make my own way there.

‘Thanks, Dad, but I can’t this year. I’ve got plans…’

Sounded so weird to say that. This time I genuinely couldn’t. I really did have plans.

‘Plans?’ Dad’s face crumpled. ‘What plans?’

‘I’m starting… going on… away…,’ I stuttered.

I’d decided not to tell Dad about the course. When I’d first mentioned that I was thinking about doing it last year in the evenings and at weekends, he said I’d be taking on too much and it would distract me from my real job. The course did seem pretty intense, and it was true that it would be hard to juggle everything during term time. That was why doing it during the holidays was the perfect solution.

Even though his objection had been addressed, I still got the feeling that if I mentioned it, Dad would find another reason why it wasn’t a good idea, and I wanted to start the course tomorrow with a clear head, without any negativity or doubts swimming around my mind.

Yep. It was better to wait until I’d finished it. Then I could show him what I’d achieved.

‘You didn’t mention any holiday plans for the summer.’ He folded his arms. ‘Who are you going away with?’

‘Sophia,’ I said without thinking.

‘Sophia?’ Mum frowned. ‘She’s actually taking a holiday? I thought she was a workaholic.’

It was confirmed. I was rubbish at lying.

‘Yes… she is… it’s kind of a spur-of-the-moment thing. I’m not even sure if it’ll happen. But it might, so I’m on standby. I need to keep myself free. Just in case.’

‘Hmmm…,’ Dad muttered, clearly unconvinced. ‘Nowhere far, I hope?’

‘It’ll definitely be in Europe. Most likely in the UK…’ That was true, at least. Dad always worried about anyone close to him travelling far. Especially if it involved getting on a plane. He had a fear because of some sort of traumatic event that had happened when he was younger, apparently, that he never liked to discuss. I’d tried a few times, but Dad always left the room when I mentioned it, and Mum always said it was best not to raise it. Even to this day, I still didn’t know exactly why. All I knew was that as far as he was concerned, air travel should be avoided at all costs.

‘Well, if it doesn’t go ahead, you can always come and join us. We’ll be there for at least two weeks.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, being careful not to commit to anything.

‘Speaking of friends’—Mum sipped her wine—‘how did that reunion go on Friday night? I was so excited when I saw your text about it yesterday. I didn’t even know it was happening. Must have been fun to see your old friends. Was that bubbly girl you used to live with there? What was her name again? Mirabelle? Melanie?’

‘Melody.’

‘That’s the one! How is she? Is she the one who just had a baby?’

‘Yes, well, her daughter Andrea isn’t a baby anymore. She’s three now. Melody’s okay. Doing the best she can, but it’s not easy being up there on her own with no family or support network.’ Truth was, she was struggling.

‘Poor thing.’ Mum sighed. ‘Such a shame she isn’t in London. And what about Michael? Was he there? Such a lovely boy.’

‘Ugh!’ scoffed Dad. ‘On the contrary, I thought that Mike boy was awful. Rude and disrespectful. I’m glad you stopped fraternising with him.’

The first time Dad met Mike, when he’d come to our student halls unannounced, we were in my room drinking a bottle of cheap wine and I was tipsy. Even though I was eighteen, as far as Dad was concerned, I didn’t drink alcohol and Mike was about to take advantage of me.

The second time, a year later, Dad had dropped by and I wasn’t there, but apparently Mike hadn’t shut the front door when he’d brought a woman back to the house we were sharing. So Dad walked in and saw Mike with his hand up the girl’s skirt when they were getting hot and heavy on the sofa.

The next time, I think, was when I was planning on going away with Mike, Melody and a few others on a cheap trip to Tenerife and Dad said he didn’t want me to go because planes were ‘too dangerous’.

Dad had always been overprotective. He never wanted me to wear headphones, because he said they’d damage my ears. I wasn’t allowed to iron my own clothes in case I burnt myself. I had to really fight to go away to a uni just outside London because he wanted me to stay nearby.

Anyway, after listening to Dad lecturing me about how dangerous it would be for me to go on holiday with my friends, Mike had lost it.

‘Jesus!’ he’d shouted. ‘Stop being such a controlling prick! You treat Bella like she’s a child. I don’t know if you’ve realised, but she’s twenty: a grown woman. That means she’s old enough to drink, have sex, get married and do whatever she wants. If she wants to go on holiday, she can. Leave her alone!’

I was actually glad that he’d stood up for me. I’d never been brave enough to do it myself. It showed he cared.

His outburst had not gone down well with Dad. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him. After calling Mike a ‘foul-mouthed cretin’, Dad had stormed out, then called later that evening, demanding I stop living with him.

He’d said this wouldn’t have happened if I’d gone to a university in London and continued living at home, which was what he wanted. They’d rejected me anyway, so I’d gone to a uni in Hertfordshire that I liked. I told him I’d already paid rent until the end of the year, so had to stay.

I think that was the last time Dad ever dropped by uninvited. But he’d never forgotten their argument.

‘He was always very polite whenever I saw him,’ insisted Mum. ‘I even thought you and him might get together…’

‘Over my dead body!’ Dad shouted. ‘I know his type. Only interested in one thing. There is no way I would have ever allowed a boy like that to be with my daughter.’

‘Allowed?’ I narrowed my eyes.

‘You know what I mean,’ Dad said.

Some things never changed. Even now he treated me like I was thirteen, not a woman in my thirties. It was so infuriating.

‘Anyway…’ I dug my nails into my palms and tried to ignore the burning sensation in my cheeks. It felt like they were on fire. ‘The reunion was fine. Like you said, it was nice to see everyone.’

I’d almost managed to stop thinking about Mike until Mum had mentioned him again. Almost. It was possible it had been a whole twenty minutes since he’d last popped into my head. Okay, maybe ten.

Dad didn’t have to worry about me and Mike ever becoming an item. I’d only spoken to him for a few minutes, and he was already taking up far too much brain space.

The reunion might have brought him back towards the front of my mind, but it was still under control. In a day or two, I would’ve pushed Mike out of my head again completely and returned to normal.

Yes. I still hadn’t decided what to do about his text, but I knew that as long as I didn’t agree to meet him, I would be absolutely fine.